Shqipëria Etnike.
If Albanian wasn’t hard enough, getting to class is also a challenge. The walk to my Albanian language course is largely unlit. The only way you can judge the distance between you and others is the floating cherry of a cigarette in the possession of an oncoming pedestrian. Luckily the smoking rate in Kosovo is unofficially at 80% thus leaving only 20% to cause me surprise and direct harm.
The class itself is put on by Alliance Francais, and it has to be the safest language course known to (wo)man. The course is filled with European Rule of Law Mission (EULEX) employees which include a Dutch judge, a German law clerk, two Italian forensic policemen, a Spanish journalist, and a glut of EULEX policemen and women. The latter category is hard to miss as, from time to time, the occasional pistol is brandished. While this might sound absurd, this is a step towards disarmament when compared to the assault rifles that used to be carried by EULEX police just a few years ago. Luckily for me, fear has always been a good motivator.
The course itself has two teachers. One of teachers teaches from a base of English, the other teaches from a base of French. Half of the time, I am on my own trying to navigate explanations of Albanian (a language I try to speak) in French (a language I don’t speak). I am the only person in the class that doesn’t speak French, which of course reinforces negative stereotypes of monolingual Americans. Das bedeutet auch, dass ich mein Deutsch nicht benutzen kann. Schade.
If I was a more gifted man, this course would be a brilliant 2-for-1 deal. Instead, all I’ve managed to come away with is the phrase “Qu’est-ce que c’est . . . ?” and not its Albanian equivalent. However, this trilingual train-wreck hasn't been without its passive aggressive successes: I’ve learned that if I roll my eyes at the right moment the teacher will ask the class, “Comment dites vous en Anglais?” and someone will sigh and turn to me and say, “It means turnip.” I rue the day I ever learned German.
The Albanian language itself is an albatross for the tongue. Consisting of heavy vowels and weightier consonants, it boggles my mind with how fast the locals speak. Beyond the difficult sounds, my class teaches in the Tosk dialect, which would be great if I lived in Tirana, the capital of Albania. But I don't live in Tirana, I live in Pristina, where Gheg is the dialect of choice. So, while I can get through some pleasentries and a few questions, I can’t be held responsible for my ability to understand the response.
More broadly, after attempting to learn four different languages, and only succeeding somewhat at one, I've realized the greatest takeaway from any language class isn't the language itself, but the ability to lie about inane subjects. Rarely in your day-to-day life are you asked questions like “What did you eat last night?” or “What color is Marco’s shirt?” And if you were asked these questions during a normal day, a suitable and correct response would be to listlessly shrug your shoulders and make a dull look at your ungifted conversation partner. But that doesn’t cut it in a language class.
These inane questions are staples to any language course. And if you don’t know the words for “noodles and broccoli” or “mustard yellow” you have no choice but to lie with vocabulary you have. “Um for dinner. . . Schweppes Bitter Lemon and a tomato and some Nutella.” (As a side note, when in doubt brand labels are a quick way to a correct answer in most any language. Let globalization work for you). Inevitably, the teacher will stare at you and asked shocked, “For dinner?!” And you will sheepishly nod affirmatively in hopes that the attention will move on to another classmate with a better diet. So, while I can speak less than a dozen combined words in Spanish and Russian from previous language fiascos, this is the strange, learned pathology I've honed in introductory language classes.
When I started this course, an Albanian colleague of mine said that it was important that I learn Albanian. Beyond the practical implications, he said that the Albanian language is the only true historical artifact that the Albanians have. I’m not sure that this is 100% true, but I also don't think he's far off. While Albanian food and history is a bag mixed by conquering powers, Albanian is its own branch on the Indo-European language tree. While it has adopted words from Turkish, amongst other languages, it is a wholly unique linguistic experience. And it will be the most special trinket I'll take with me when I leave here; well, that and my Plisi.
While Albanian is a challenge, it’s been an enjoyable one. I can negotiate cab fare, order food, and be friendly with vendors on my street. However, my Albanian remains infantile and limited. All the same, this course has shed a little light to the Albanian language, which is more I can say for the infrastructure here. My walk to class is still in the dark.
The course itself has two teachers. One of teachers teaches from a base of English, the other teaches from a base of French. Half of the time, I am on my own trying to navigate explanations of Albanian (a language I try to speak) in French (a language I don’t speak). I am the only person in the class that doesn’t speak French, which of course reinforces negative stereotypes of monolingual Americans. Das bedeutet auch, dass ich mein Deutsch nicht benutzen kann. Schade.
If I was a more gifted man, this course would be a brilliant 2-for-1 deal. Instead, all I’ve managed to come away with is the phrase “Qu’est-ce que c’est . . . ?” and not its Albanian equivalent. However, this trilingual train-wreck hasn't been without its passive aggressive successes: I’ve learned that if I roll my eyes at the right moment the teacher will ask the class, “Comment dites vous en Anglais?” and someone will sigh and turn to me and say, “It means turnip.” I rue the day I ever learned German.
The Albanian language itself is an albatross for the tongue. Consisting of heavy vowels and weightier consonants, it boggles my mind with how fast the locals speak. Beyond the difficult sounds, my class teaches in the Tosk dialect, which would be great if I lived in Tirana, the capital of Albania. But I don't live in Tirana, I live in Pristina, where Gheg is the dialect of choice. So, while I can get through some pleasentries and a few questions, I can’t be held responsible for my ability to understand the response.
More broadly, after attempting to learn four different languages, and only succeeding somewhat at one, I've realized the greatest takeaway from any language class isn't the language itself, but the ability to lie about inane subjects. Rarely in your day-to-day life are you asked questions like “What did you eat last night?” or “What color is Marco’s shirt?” And if you were asked these questions during a normal day, a suitable and correct response would be to listlessly shrug your shoulders and make a dull look at your ungifted conversation partner. But that doesn’t cut it in a language class.
These inane questions are staples to any language course. And if you don’t know the words for “noodles and broccoli” or “mustard yellow” you have no choice but to lie with vocabulary you have. “Um for dinner. . . Schweppes Bitter Lemon and a tomato and some Nutella.” (As a side note, when in doubt brand labels are a quick way to a correct answer in most any language. Let globalization work for you). Inevitably, the teacher will stare at you and asked shocked, “For dinner?!” And you will sheepishly nod affirmatively in hopes that the attention will move on to another classmate with a better diet. So, while I can speak less than a dozen combined words in Spanish and Russian from previous language fiascos, this is the strange, learned pathology I've honed in introductory language classes.
When I started this course, an Albanian colleague of mine said that it was important that I learn Albanian. Beyond the practical implications, he said that the Albanian language is the only true historical artifact that the Albanians have. I’m not sure that this is 100% true, but I also don't think he's far off. While Albanian food and history is a bag mixed by conquering powers, Albanian is its own branch on the Indo-European language tree. While it has adopted words from Turkish, amongst other languages, it is a wholly unique linguistic experience. And it will be the most special trinket I'll take with me when I leave here; well, that and my Plisi.
While Albanian is a challenge, it’s been an enjoyable one. I can negotiate cab fare, order food, and be friendly with vendors on my street. However, my Albanian remains infantile and limited. All the same, this course has shed a little light to the Albanian language, which is more I can say for the infrastructure here. My walk to class is still in the dark.
