DAY 365!
Good lord, I thought I’d never make it.
It was 365 days ago I first started using #Duolingo to begin my journey learning Haitian Creole (#kreyol #ayisyen).
Why?
Well, two reasons, really.
One is that I have a few friends from Haiti and I’ve wanted to learn to speak their language so that I can better communicate with them.
And the second is because I said things to these Haitian friends that were pure ignorance mixed with unfettered confidence about the differences between Haitian Creole and French, two languages I knew nothing about.
It’s hard to explain how mortified I was when I was corrected. I mean, lordy, I was just making stuff up!
They kindly let me know more about their national language, and when Duolingo released its beta version of Haitian Creole back in late February of 2022, I signed up.
I typically call March 1, 2022 as my first day because I like round numbers like “number of months,” but the actual number of days is 365 as of February 22, 2023.
I decided back then that come heck or high water I’d continue for a year and see where I got to, and let me tell you, it has been HARD. Kreyòl is deceptively easy at first – no verb declensions! No gendered nouns or pronouns! (Well, not quite, but…) Predictable pronunciation – an alphabetic character has only one sound, and one sound has only one alphabetic character to represent it. Sure, a few hard sounds to pronounce for an English speaker (the nasalized vowels and the Haitian “r” can be difficult to pick up). A vocabulary that has many French words that are similar to those same words in English (which got them from the French a bit earlier than Haiti did because of William the Conqueror and all that). A grammar that straightens out French and uses a mash up of several West African languages. How could this be hard?
Reader, I am telling you, it got hard.
Haitian Creole is a mellifluous language. It’s beautiful to listen to: direct and clear and open, just like many Haitians are when they are comfortable with the audience. But ye gods is it spoken quickly. And so many contractions and figures of speech and idioms!
After a month of Duolingo, I realized I was not going to learn Haitian Creole without help, so I hired one, then two, and finally three instructors. I began having hour-long lessons three and four times a week. I was reading as much printed materials as I could find, listening to videos and music and conversations, trying to get the hang of this language.
I was usually frustrated every single time. My brain could not wrap itself around this language that like an eel slithers away from my grasp when I tried to hold it, but when I was tired seemed to come more easily, with weeks of frustration punctuated with sudden leaps forward when my brain just sorted everything all at once.
I was getting better, sure, but to what end? How could I know?
So, this week one of my instructors in Haiti called me, out of the blue. We hadn’t talked directly in a while due to technical issues although we were texting and sending voice memos. Could I talk with him? I responded positively.
And he then put me into a conversation with his friend in Haiti who lived 60 miles away for a conversation among the three of us.
Really, a conversation where I had to lead, because my instructor had me explain—in Haitian Creole!—a book I had recently completed that was written in Haitian Creole. What was the plot, he asked. Who were the characters? What were their motivations? What happened to them? What did I like or not like about them?
Reader, I was not ready!
I did not have the book in front of me. I did not have my notes in front of me. I had to speak for ten or twenty minutes, on the fly, in Haitian Creole, explaining to another Haitian everything about this book in my own words what I had read and what it meant!
My heart was in my throat the entire time because I was sure I’d reach the end of my knowledge. But I made it to the end, a bit rattled, but I had made it through!
I was exhilarated when I was done. Without prompting, without practice, I’d had an “off the books” conversation about a topic I had not really prepared for except that I knew what I was talking about, and I kept it going.
What’s next? Do I quit after a year? Do I just keep on doing the same?
Well, I’m not going to quit. I might be able to stammer out a book report, but I need a lot more practice speaking and listening. I need to build my vocabulary, and I need to really nail this grammar what with the six prepositions serving in place of the dozen or so English prepositions. And I need help on pronouncing certain sounds that I keep getting wrong. (I’m especially terrible at the -n sound when it’s pronounced, and I struggle to be consistent the Haitian guttural “r” sound.)
So now I’m looking to push more into the language. Given that I was able to talk through a book report without notes, I’m at an approximate B1 level on the CEFR scale. But I’m not fluent.
I need more conversational practice. I need to listen more. I need more words and grammar.
I’m going to continue with my lessons, trying every day to push myself harder.
I bought my first true “book” in Haitian Creole (the one I gave the book report on was a summary of an existing book), Anba Bòt Kwokodil, Under the Boot of the Crocodile. It is a novel based upon the events of 1957 in Léogâne (Leyogàn), Haiti, and it is above my skill level, but not so much that I can’t kinda get through it. I plan to read a few pages and note what I’m struggling with each day. At 280 pages, it’s probably a year-long project. But it will force me to read harder stuff. And I’ll record what I’m reading as well.
I’ve talked about visiting Haiti one day because I’ve made some good friends who are from Haiti, some who are in Haiti. It would be great to meet them one day.
The chances of that happening are very slim. I’m an older gent, and travel is for the young.
But I think about it sometime. It would really be wonderful to meet in person some of the people I’ve come to know and love only at a distance through cell phones and apps and funny images that I laugh at but don’t always understand.
So as my dad would say when I asked him a question he didn’t want to answer, I’ll just say, “Well, we’ll see.”
I can’t end this without calling out my instructors who have given me far more in value than I can ever say. Loudwiga “Anchly” Moscova, Jean Junior Tchaikouvsky Semelfort, and Cleefford Joseph—you are scholars and gentlemen who have treated my fumbling attempts at learning your language with respect and grace and even humor. You’ve helped me learn so much about a world I knew nothing about. Because of you, I have seen a much wider world with a better sense of what it is to be living in a world where so much of what you can do is still yet to be done. You’ve helped me understand your nation and your people, and you’ve extended the warmth of your community. I am grateful, more than I could say in any language, for what you’ve given me in helping me learn a new language and helping me to see the world with new eyes for the unseen.
Students in America sometimes give their teachers an apple or a mug to express their thanks, but it’s hard to give you something when I’ve never met you in person and likely never will. So all I can say is Onè e Respè, zanmi m yo – nou ap toujou frè mwen yo.
Photo by David Griffiths on Unsplash