I was born in America - in Los Angeles to be exact. In almost all ways I am very fortunate. I grew up with an amazing family, extended family and friends. I lived in a beautiful home, went to decent schools (and a boarding school!). I never went hungry and I was given every opportunity to succeed. There is only one real thing that is missing in America - other languages.
In Europe, everyone speaks at least two languages. You have to, all of your neighbors 2 hours away speak something different. In Switzerland, there are four national language. Within the same country you can change languages several times. People who just speak a "little" French, German, Italian and Spanish speak more of one of those languages than an American high school graduate speaks of one. I am continually amazed at the amount of English everyone around me speaks. I am also continually ashamed of the very small amount of French that I speak. At this point in my life I can't blame it on America. I have lived in Switzerland for two years (non consecutively). But I have excuses. I have an entire bag of excuses. My husband speaks English. Our flatmates speak English, so do all of our friends. I work in English, both in America and in Switzerland. Other than the working pieces of language (Merci, S'il vous plait, non, oui, etc.) why do I need to know more?
I also know many many expats who have lived in Switzerland for ten, fifteen, twenty years and they don't speak a lick of French. I say, how is that possible? Why didn't you learn? Then I look at my life and I see it is just one year after another. One step after another. Twenty years later, surrounded by English speaking family and friends, you don't speak the native language. I do not want to be one of those people.
So for the last four days I have been with my French speaking students and my French speaking colleagues at Les Martiens - a chalet in Plains-Sur-Bex, up in the mountains. It has an absolutely stunning view, good food, and is entirely in French. My team teacher, Sophie, speaks English very well. The other teacher who came with us, Vanya, also speaks very well. Both of them took "a few courses" of English in school, and yet their level of English far surpasses mine of French. Luckily, they were ready to teach me.
For four day, I listed to the children tell me stories in French. I'll be honest, I didn't always understand everything. Sometimes I had to ask them to repeat, or I had to ask about a word. It is a very humbling experience, asking an 8 year old to repeat something because you didn't understand. It is also quite uncomfortable. But that is learning sometimes - humbling and uncomfortable. I also think it might be the only way to truly learn a language. You have to be completely immersed, with a dictionary and a few minutes of translation here and there. If I had the safety of my English speaking home to retreat to, I would not have nearly learned as much. I am still thinking in French right now - and I suppose that is a good thing.
I am also completely exhausted. I know it is not just the school or the kids. I've worked at camps that are much more exhausting. It is the constant listening and paying attention. When you are learning a new language just by listening you can't be passive. If I am not always paying attention and focusing on every word, I lose my place and thought. I get completely lost in the word. I can't pause to take in what is said. The Francophones speak too fast for that. I have to be attentive and let myself flow with the river of French. It takes all of my energy all day. I am completely wiped.
So it's bedtime now and there are no little voices asking for a bisous (kiss) or calin (hug). Just silence and my thoughts that range from English into French and back. And I think about how grateful I am to have had the life I had, but also how much easier it would be if I had lived in a place that valued other languages, that made it a priority. Instead I am learning it now, at 25 years old. Better late than never, right?
