Today is Day 270 of my journey to learn Haitian Creole.
I took on this journey for several reasons. One is that I love the idea of communication, of saying, writing, or singing an idea or a thought or a feeling in such an excellent way that there is a transfer between the creator and the audience. I am, after all, an editor, after having been a writer for a very long time. (Both professions were not my direct experience in either education or training, but that is a story for another day).
Another reason is that I love the meaning behind communication: that we as individuals can do something that connects us to someone else in a way that seems effective, clear, actionable, and equally individualistic. Who among us can read a poem and feel the exact same thing as the creator, and yet both the creator and the reader know in some mysterious way what that poem “means”?
Of course, there are levels of creativity and individuality that we can dial in as creators, with poetry perhaps more along the side of individuality in expression and reception and technical writing w-a-a-a-a-y over on the side of “you got this as if it were expressed in semaphore, right?” I’m all okay with someone having a different interpretation of “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” (Wordsworth) because poetry often is more about the feeling and image that the words create in your mind than the literal meaning of each word, but I’d hate to see a technical manual for installing an electric stove written as iambic pentameter as a series of imaginative clouds of words.
But tied in with these communication benefits lies something even deeper: the extraordinary, experiential pleasure of connecting with people. Language and communication were made for that reason.
And what better way to find connecting with people than to learn their language well enough to listen to them, understand, and reply in their own language with the full context of their culture?
For you see, the more I study this language, the more I learn it, the more I read and hear and see, the more I understand about the culture of those who created this extraordinary tool of self-communication and the more I understand that learning a language is a journey of learning a culture.
There are so many times when I’m in my lessons or talking with my friends that I am stumped not by which word I should use, but how would I say an expression in the way of someone who speaks Haitian natively in the context of their environment and culture. That is the absolute hardest thing—it is not simply substituting one English word for another but understanding the meaning behind a word or phrase and how it is expressed in Haitian Creole.
That isn’t something I can memorize as if a language is just a set of phrases carved in stone with one meaning for all time. English has taught me that our own language isn’t like that—it’s fluid and it moves and reshapes itself by the common daily interchange between English speakers, and poetry reminds me that language isn’t merely about the technical descriptions of clouds and hills and daffodils but instead is a way to communicate and share feelings.
It’s why the way we learn a language on our own, the first time, is through the many interactions we have with the people around us. I speak English to the degree that I do because I was raised in a culture where English was always the preferred language. Listened to many people speak it. Read many, many books. Watched many, many films. And all those experiences helped me build a connected web of meaning in my mind where words fit themselves into the proper sequence so that when I start speaking or writing, the communication is somewhat effortless. (Shout out to the editors who are saying right now “oh, it’s not quite that easy, because behind every great writer is an editor with a red pencil and a raised eyebrow of disbelief.”)
I’m not at all at that level with Haitian Creole. I have a good working vocabulary to describe everyday activities and relationships. But I am quickly at sea a few sentences in when my Haitian Creole-speaking friend or teacher becomes inquisitive, thinking that being able to say “I would like fish in my rice with beans, please” means that I can give a full explanation of how it is I came to be in the restaurant in the first place and do I know someone in Seattle that they know?
Learning Haitian Creole because I want to speak with my friends better means that I have been learning about my friends’ culture and history and experiences. When I started, I knew nothing about the people and politics and economy and cultures of the Caribbean. Knew nothing of the complexity and diversity. Knew nothing about the interlocking actions—sometimes for good, sometimes for bad—of the many nations included in the concept of “Caribbean nations.” And I surely did not know the history of the two main European and American nations that have done the most to affect the trajectory of the Haitian people, their nation, and their language. (I look back now and am amazed I still have Haitian friends after asserting confidently “Oh, Haitian Creole is just like French.”)
So I’ve learned a lot, changed my mind about a lot of things, and have come to know some truly excellent people who are patient and kind and eager to offer help. And who are equally ready to offer correction as I mangle their beautiful language, an offer mostly made with a genuine smile and not that expression of “goodness, he doesn’t know anything.”
On Friday one such friend, a teacher by profession, offered me a test gratis. (And the test is continuing as we both are working full time in our own jobs.) They presented me with a text I’d never read before and asked me to summarize it adequately in colloquial English. I knew most of the words (and hoo boy did I miss some obvious ones that got that raised eyebrow). And although it took me two read-throughs to get the gist, I mostly was able to write a coherent, equivalent passage in English. The second part of the test was far more challenging: write a 300-word essay on the topic of “what is the thing that I dream for?”
Now that was a far more challenging experience! Not only was I challenged to think about something deeply personal and significant, but also I was challenged to write about it fluently enough so that I could communicate how deeply personal and significant it was. Reader, let me tell you, that was an almost impossible task for me. I was sitting there trying to use my words to express those feelings, becoming more and more aware that writing fluently required a much deeper understanding of the cultural expressions people use when speaking about beliefs and wishes and dreams.
I tried so hard to get to 300 words but managed only to bang out about 160 words before my brain hit the circuit breaker.
There are several pieces of good news here:
First of all, what an amazing gift to me, to create for me a test to challenge my understanding and show me how far along I am in the journey.
Then, to have friends that do that for me.
And then to have friends (multiple) read my responses and offer both encouragement and corrections. I was extraordinarily pleased when one of them said “well, it’s not perfect, but you have a good understanding and I think you speak Creole.”
That kinda did make my day, and is a great way to cap off Day 270.
How far and how long will I go?
I honestly don’t know. My goal isn’t just to finish the Duolingo course, even though I am in the final set of tests to confirm that I’ve adequately learned every unit. (For those of you who use Duolingo in its newest form, all the ovals are yellow and only two Owls remain to be turned into trophy cups.)
My goal isn’t to finish the curriculum that one of my instructors is using, although there are only ten pages left.
And my goal isn’t even to take some test to confirm my fluency because I suspect that such a test would confirm my lack of fluency.
My goal still is as it always was: to learn Haitian Creole well enough that I can speak as my friends speak, and see the delight in their eyes when they realize I’ve done so much work to learn the language of their home and family and country.