De l’opacité à la transparence

The further I go in my study of languages, the clearer things become for awhile. It’s as if I’m polishing a glass window with a rag. It starts out completely opaque and I have no idea where to start. Sure of my ability to turn challenges into opportunities, I pick a spot and start polishing. Books and classes are my WindexTM, daily practice is my cleaning rag. This récemment-trouvé (new-found ) translucence is usually just clear enough for me to see just how much more work there is to do. But, whatever, I’m feeling pretty confident in my abilities and tackle a large swathe. Ooomf! I overreach and feel more lost than before. Then I remember how hard it was to make that first tache claire (clear patch) and go back to books, classes and speaking. Eventually, I get this spot clear and continue. Une fois terminé (once finished), I wipe the whole window again to turn translucence into transparence. I’m currently at different stages of this process for different language. Par exemple, the French window is mostly transparent with a few stubborn spots of translucence and some opaque blotches I have yet to encounter. I’d say that my English window is quite clean with a few specks, my Spanish window is getting more translucent by the day and that my Local Language window is mostly opaque with a few spots of clarity. I don’t need all of the windows to be perfectly clear all of the time – I’d simply like to be able to see what’s going on outside.

One domaine in which I’m currently trying to improve my vocabulary is biology. As the title of this blog explains, I’ll be teaching Sciences de la Vie et de la Terre in French once I return to Host Country. This is a challenge which puts me on equal footing with all of the other co-stagiaires since I don’t have a large scientific vocabulary in any language other than English. My language classes centered on daily activities (what kinds of fruit to buy, how to express that one would like to ski) and literary interpretation. These skills come in handy when trying to explain the reproduction cycle of flowering plants and climates of the Earth, but don’t give much clue as to the "proper" scientific terms. Last year in Nancy, I used to wander through the aquarium/natural history museum and gaze at the beautiful names for the exhibited wonders. Some corresponded directly to their English counterparts: une étoile de mer (literally “sea star”) is a starfish. Others had chosen different characteristics to highlight, but were still recognizable: une méduse is a jellyfish, which as a cnidarian goes through a life cycle of polyp and medusa stages. Still others had seemingly no connection: un scalaire is an angelfish, un escargot is (you guessed it) a snail.

Back in the States, I’ve been watching nature documentaries in French and Spanish. Clips from the BBC’s award-winning series “Planet Earth” and “Blue Planet” are available on YouTube in various dubiously-legal formats. Furthermore, I watched the French film “Océans,” a spinoff of the BBC idea condensed into one 1.5 hour film instead of several episodes. I learned that a walrus is un morse (una morsa in Spanish) and une baleine à bosse is quite literally a humpback whale. Granted, while living in a landlocked Sahelian country it’s unlikely that I’ll see any of these creatures, it’s still interesting to think about how language influences the way we think about the natural world. Since eighth grade my teachers and professors have expounded on the miracle of binomial nomenclature as a universal naming system. As more and more scientific articles are published in English rather than in French, German or Russian, what shifts are yet to come?

Speaking of shifts, I had a pleasant conversation with Host Country administrators this week and we’ll hopefully work with Peace Corps HQ to create a return plan for me in the coming months. À bientôt (see you soon)!