How Many Languages Do You Speak?

and other inconsequential questions

Lately, whenever I try to have a casual conversation with someone, things get awkward. (That is, more awkward than usual.)

It goes like this:

“Hey. Long time no see. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Just learning 12 languages in 12 months.”

“?…?…?”

OR

“Hey, so how is life?”

“Oh, I’m alright. Just learning Rusyn and stuff.”

“You’re learning… what?”

“I’m learning Ru… "

And then everyone in the radius of 8 meters makes big round eyes (because apparently it’s not how normal people spend their time?) and for the next 15 minutes, I become the center of attention. And I don’t like being the center of attention. I just want the whole world to read what I write.

And then of course at some point, comes the inevitable question: “So how many languages do you speak?”

I don’t enjoy this question. I have no idea how to answer it. I’m afraid of disappointing people or something.

The thing is that different languages in your head don’t sit all together neatly on a bench like standby soccer players ready to jump into the game whenever you call on them (at least mined don’t.) There is a team that is always on the field, and then there are a couple who are on standby (is this the right word? I don’t know anything about soccer), and a few who didn’t make the nationals this year, and one who is injured and so isn’t playing this season, and some who are taking a break from soccer and are slowly getting out of shape, and a few who are retired and play soccer with their grandkids in their backyards. 

But they all still sort of know how to play soccer.

Technically, before starting this project, I studied seven languages (if you count English that is.)

But right now my soccer team of languages that are always on the playing field consists of only three players: English, Russian, and Hebrew. 

At one point in my life I was fluent enough in Spanish to write academic papers in it and in French to do a job interview in it (I didn’t get the job, but I like to think it wasn’t because of my language skills) and in Oji-Cree to be able to teach this language to others, and in Latin to read the Metamorphoses and in Sanskrit to read the Upanishads.

But I haven’t had a reason to use these languages in the past ten years. I can still read in all these languages with a dictionary (I think). And I think that if you give me a couple of days I’ll be able to revive them. But if someone approaches me right this very moment and wants to have a conversation in Sanskrit, I won’t be able to cooperate. (Or who am I kidding, my conversational Sanskrit skills were never top-notch.)

I also don’t like the word ‘polyglot’. Something about the ‘glot’ part bothers me. Maybe because it sounds too much like ‘glop’, I don’t know. I’m okay with ‘poly’.

Also, maybe it’s different for different “poly-glops.” I’m an extreme introvert. I don’t like talking, period. I’m much more comfortable reading, listening, or talking to myself or my labrador.

When I mentioned my aversion to talking in one of the “poly-glop” groups on FB someone pointed out that it’s not enough to just be a beautiful woman who knows a lot of languages. You should also have important things to say to people. Well, that’s just not me. I prefer to capture the world with my dazzling looks.

It also makes me tired, this question. Does it matter how many? I love learning and knowing languages but it’s not a stamp collection that I lovingly review from time to time.

I’d rather tell you how Oji-Cree has two words for “we”. One means “me and you” and is called an “inclusive we” and the other means “me and someone else” and is called an “exclusive we.”

What’s the difference? Imagine the following exchange:

Your friend tells you: “Good news! We are invited to Johnny’s wedding!”

You go: “Oh that’s cool. What do you think I should wear?”

And your friend goes: “Ummm… well, when I said ‘we’ I meant ‘me and my girlfriend’ actually.”

Oops. 

Oji-Cree saves you from this embarrassing situation because it uses a different word depending on whether the addressee is included in the ‘we’ or not.

You say nitishaamin to mean “we (but not you) are going” and kitishaamin to mean “we (including you) are going.”

By the way, no need to wax poetic about any of these and say things like, oh, Oji-Cree people are so inclusive or so exclusive or whatever. It’s just grammar.

I recently heard someone say that because Finnish has just one-third person pronoun for both ‘he’ and ‘she’ (hän), Finland doesn’t have gender discrimination. Yeah right. I’m sorry but language doesn’t have that kind of power. I wish it did. 

I’d rather tell you what it feels like when you go to an Oji-Cree reserve and you meet Kanena, an elderly woman you haven’t seen since last summer, and you’re happy to see her but also eager to show off your improved language skills, and she hugs you and then looks into your eyes and says in Oji-Cree a sentence where you only understand the word ‘grandson.’

She says it again, but you shake your head, confused. She calls A. who speaks English and so can translate it for you.

And A. says, “She said ‘My grandson drowned this summer.’”

No words.

Or what it feels like when about fifteen years later (or more precisely three weeks ago), after not being in touch for a couple of months, you contact A. who you’re FB friends with, just to confirm how to say Happy New Year in Oji-Cree (as if people are merely walking language depositories) and she shares with you that two months ago she lost her own 11-year-old granddaughter to suicide.

Who cares how many languages you can speak if none of them has the words you need?

Photo by Christian Lue on Unsplash