Languages

Notes on the languages spoken in D’Kar, and my efforts to learn them.

I realize I have been writing a lot of long, somewhat analytical, boring entries – but I want to get down the basics of my situation here, so that there is some context for more narrative, descriptive, INTERESTING entries later on. Bear with me.

Three primary languages are spoken in D’Kar: Naro, Setswana, and English. Naro, one of the San click languages, is the mother tongue of most people. There are approximately 17 Bushman languages, each of them as different to the other as English and Hindi – although all include clicks, many of the clicks are different, and there are extremely few word similarities. Naro is the most widely-spoken Bushman language, and most San can at least understand Naro in addition to their own language.

Setswana and English are the official languages of Botswana, and are taught in the schools. Beyond the first couple of grades, however, there is no schooling in Naro available, and at the moment it isn’t even available as an accepted language/literature elective in high school. All of the residents of D’Kar can communicate in Setswana out of necessity, but most strongly prefer to use their mother tongue, and their Setswana is full of mistakes and sounds strangely accented to other Batswana (or so I am told – at this point, I certainly can’t recognize different accents in Setswana!)

It’s an interesting comparison to India; in Botswana, and in Africa in general, there is a great deal of fear of tribalism. Certainly, when one takes into account events like the Rwandan genocide, there is ample reason to fear tribalism. But the Botswanan government is so afraid of it that they won’t allow mother-tongue education or community radio, worried that they will promote tribalism. India is very much a contrast to this – each state proudly uses its own language, generates its own mother-tongue entertainment industry, and provides schooling in its own language. In Tamil Nadu, many people barely speak Hindi. Not to say that India is without its problems, and certainly having 60 million or so Tamil speakers is a different kettle of fish than the small number of Naro speakers – I don’t have a good estimate, but the population of Botswana is about 1.7 million, so Naro speakers are probably under 200,000. The point is, we are talking about VASTLY lower numbers than in India.

Aside from the numbers, however, Botswana is very proud of the fact that all citizens can consider themselves Batswana; that beyond their tribal identity they should be proud of their country and hold a strong sense of national identity and belonging. This is easier in Botswana than in many other African nations, because the country is actually functioning quite well – due mainly to wealth in the diamond mines, which has been well-managed by the government. However, the national pride almost makes the situation of the San more difficult. It is hard for them to be supported as a unique and independent cultural group without incurring the suspicion and resentment of the other Batswana, who believe they should be Batswana above all. Speaking Naro comes with a certain stigma, and other Batswana believe that the San should be speaking in Setswana all the time. [Disclaimer: I’m simplifying a very complicated issue, and my understanding of the situation isn’t complete, so please take this opinion with a grain of salt.]

This situation makes it rather frustrating, though exciting, for my own language studies. On the one hand, I want to learn Setswana – it will be useful all over Botswana and in parts of South Africa. It is much, much easier than Naro: I can make and recognize all of the sounds, it is written using the Roman alphabet and pronunciation rules are straightforward, and the grammar is relatively simple. On the other hand, I want to learn Naro – it is the preferred language of the community I live in, and the best way to communicate with the people I work and live with. But it is much, much harder than Setswana: though I am making a lot of progress with the clicks, they are totally foreign and difficult for my tongue to produce, and there is also some degree of tonality to the language, which is almost more difficult for me to grasp than the clicks. (Setswana has some tonality as well, but not as much.) The grammar of Naro is also more difficult – without even getting into the rest of the pronouns, it is one of the extremely rare world languages that has a separate male and female version of “you.” (Naro is also written using the Roman alphabet, but due to the clicks, pronunciation is much more confusing.)

I have been working hard at my Setswana, with occasional forays into Naro, and I am happy to say that I’ve been making significant headway. I say this with no little surprise, because I’ve always considered myself to be hopeless with languages – but here, however hopeless I am, it seems necessary. If I weren’t present in the office, nobody would speak English. Around D’Kar, I simply can’t communicate with most of the people I see. In the settlements, I’m a nuisance – everything has to be translated, and I feel as though I can’t be considerate to the people I meet. So I must learn Setswana.

Of great assistance has been H, the pastor – or the muruthi, in Setswana. As I mentioned before, he is fluent in Setswana and Naro as well as a variety of other languages, and he has an insatiable curiosity and delight for languages. He inundates me with new words and grammar every time I see him, and never seems to tire of helping me. It is a source of great disappointment to him, I think, that most of the volunteers who come to work in D’Kar never learn to communicate in anything other than English. All of the Peace Corps volunteers do some intensive Setswana training before they start their positions, but most of them stop there and continue to use English. Virtually no-one makes any headway with Naro – I can’t promise that I will, either, but H is persistent in teaching me, and I would like to learn enough to at least be courteous. I feel rude here – the worst kind of arrogant American. My goal is to master conversational Setswana and be able to pepper it with enough Naro that the San know I am trying.

Thankfully, everyone has been extremely supportive of my language-learning efforts. Perhaps they’ll withdraw their support in a month, when I’m still pestering them for new sentences, but at the moment I have all the help I could ask for. Every smile I get when I spew out another Setswana sentence or Naro greeting makes my efforts more than worth it – people here aren’t snobby about their language. They try to help me learn, rather than turning up their noses at the way I butcher “ntlogetse” (Setswana) or “qãe tcaor ko” (Naro). I’m having enormous fun learning, practicing on everyone that comes my way, and if I continue to make progress hopefully I won’t become tiresome.

Frankly, I feel handicapped as a person with fluency in only one language. It is true that you’ll never thoroughly know a new place if you cannot communicate with the local people. I was never able to do that in India, and it’s one of the reasons I took this position - I wanted to be in a situation where I was forced, beyond my own shyness and awkwardness and Western snootiness, to be a part of the local community. Even here, I’m removed. I work in an office; I speak through translators. But I’m steadily learning more and more, and I think I have the marvellous opportunity to become close to the San. They are a wonderful people, with the most ancient of heritages, and I am privileged to be able to work with them. On Monday night I went with H to the Dqãe Qare game farm (a project started by the D’Kar Trust) to see traditional trance-dancing. It was a performance put on for a busload of German tourists staying at the game farm, but when they danced, the feeling was not that of a performance tailored for a paying audience – it retained its roots, its essence, as a community healing dance. The dancers paid little attention to the Western onlookers, but instead devoted themselves to the women clapping and singing for the dance, holding each other up when they swayed into deep trance, treading a deep double circle of ruts in the sand around the fire. It was beautiful. It is why I am here.