Over a year ago I moved to Antwerp.
I remember when I was doing the interview, I apologised that I could not speak Dutch. The man that became my boss chuckled and told me that it didn't matter. Nevertheless, my mother was thoughtful enough to arrange some Dutch lessons for me while I was still in Ireland. They went well.0 But I didn't apply myself at the time,1 so all of my off-the-cuff insights and reasoning, didn't become automatic; it was just a puzzle to solve.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, I began my actual Dutch lessons back in February. At that point I had been listening to quite a lot of it in work... maybe hearing it is a better word; sounds like a menagerie of unidentified animals sailed past my ears and over my head. Naturally, there were some words that were familiar to me from other languages. But really it was a mystery to me.
One of the main reasons I was excited about coming to Belgium was the wonderful chance it was to learn another language. In many respects it is one of the easiest countries in which to learn the local language, because at the end of the day, if you don't know the right phrase to say, or you don't know what the other is saying, you can simply ask in English. Of course, one would need to have true grit not to stay in English, never dipping a toe into Dutch. Luckily, I am made of grit. :)2
I used every single opportunity to speak the Dutch I had. In the beginning it was just morning greetings, farewells, thanks, etc. I listened, and still listen, as carefully as I could to conversations around me. Being the perfectionist that I am, I was self-conscious of making mistakes... at the beginning it tended to hold my tongue. But I told my self, quite reasonably, if I don't say anything, I never will. So I would stretch what I knew to it's limit. Much like a child, I would literally, or figuratively, point at things and ask,"What's that?"
*****
Interlude
I quite often resisted the urge to talk in English during lunch breaks. This aversion to using English comes from my Summers of Irish college.
For those not in the know, Irish College, is an institution in Ireland, disguised as a Summer camp – and by institution, I mean:
An established law, practice, or custom : […] Informal a well-established […] custom, or object : he soon became something of a national institution.3
These camps are usually based in Irish speaking enclaves [Gaeltacht(anna)] so that you are immersed in the language. The one I faithfully attended as a teen was Coláiste Laichtín Naofa on Innis Oirr.
In the morning, we had classes in Irish; in the afternoon we played games and/or swam in the sea; and every night we had a Céilí, a traditional Irish dance, where we danced our socks off in crude approximations of various Irish set-dances– I am pretty sure the craic I had in those evenings is why I now enjoy dancing so much.
The mantra was Gaeilge an t-am ar fad [Irish at all times]; One was discouraged from speaking English. Those caught speaking English had to write copious amounts of lines,4 and/or were threatened with being sent home. Every afternoon and evening, the names of those caught speaking English were called out –names provided out by the muintir an tí [Family of the house; the family that you stayed with on the island], a helfpul local, or a teacher ag gabháil timpeall an oileáin [Going around the island]. It was never safe to speak English [cue ominous music].
So, off the back of my rather oppressive experience5 with immersion in a language; my reluctance to fall back on English is understandable.
********
Now, where was I...
I won't pretend that it wasn't hard; my job is quite often mentally intensive, and when I took, and take, moments to chat there was, and can still be, quite an under-tow to work against, to dredge up Dutch. I didn't succeed every time, but I would try and if it didn’t work, I made a mental note to give it a go the next time.
Within the first two months, I began writing as much of my email correspondance in Dutch as I could, and my friends at work were happy to look over it afterwards to give me corrections and suggestions. One of them even included me in his email circulation of jokes in Dutch - from comic strips or just written jokes - a number of which I had read in English.. it made me wonder how many languages the jokes had made it to.
I bought a pocket Dutch-English dictionary. And I rightly, kept it in my pocket, along with a little notebook for words that I deemed useful. For the first 6 months, on my way to work, I grabbed a copy of the Antwerp Metro. I read through it as carefully as I could, all the while my left thumb between dictionary pages. For the first 3 months, I retained very few of the words that I would learn in a day.6
I watched Het Eiland, a Flemish TV series like the Office on BBC. I got the most benefit out of this because I could play back sections with the subtitles underneath so that I could reconcile the aural with the written. Similar to De Metro articles, we would prepare exercises based on individual episodes for class.
I think the main reason that the Flemish and the Dutch have such a high standard of English is the fact that they dub virtually none of the English language shows and films that they get. I’ve used this to my advantage as well; when I go to the cinema, my eyes are glued to the subtitles. It is a great way to pick up turns of phrase, because the English equivalent is provided in context and it’s just a question of noting what the subtitles say.
Our monthly meetings gave me a wonderful meter for my progress because they were done exclusively through Dutch - I am the only non-Belgian on the team. By the beginning of the Summer, I had the gist of large chunks of what was being said. I could not have repeated it to you in Dutch of course, but I between body language, tone, and snatched words, many meanings were clear. For the rest of the Summer, it seemed like I wasn't making much progress in understanding, but boy was I making progress in telling someone what I heard! Over time, I have developed the language enough, that I don't have to rely on guess-work and context to understand what people mean.
So, to round things off... 14 or so months after moving here:
· I speak it comfortably and mostly understand what people say to me
· I’ve had a couple of dreams in Dutch.
· On two occasions I have forgotten English words, but remembered the Dutch equivalents. I forgot what azielzoeker and dringend mean [“asylum seeker” and “urgent/pressing”]
· More and more, I find myself spontaneously thinking in it.
· There’s still a long way to go before I would say that I speak it well.
· I’m reading a fascinating Dutch book called Handboek voor Creatief Denken [… I won’t insult your intelligence by translating that].
AND (drum roll please! Hahaha)
· Last week I had an interview in Dutch with a journalist as part of a series she is doing about Expats.
It was about what I watch, listen to, read and what kind of technology I use for these things. Initially, she emailed in English asking about an interview. Naturally, I responded in Dutch, telling her that I would prefer to speak in it too.
I’m pleased to say that it went off without a hitch, and I did not have to speak any English. :)
She was impressed with my level of fluency after such a short time in the country. I thanked her and told her that my friends and colleagues at work, and my teacher have helped me a great deal in my linguistic adventure. It has done wonders for my confidence to see the progress I make in the language.
I strongly encourage you to go learn a new language. :)
I strongly encourage you to go learn a new language. :)
The next two blog posts are about the 12 words I have chosen as my favourite Dutch words, one for each month of my first year here.
0My teacher was generally impressed with how quickly I figured out things ["He's so fast; scientists aren't usually good at languages"]
1It's funny that; back in those days all I had was time; the thesis was done and all I was doing was pottering about at home... telling myself I'd do something constructive.. in just a few more minutes.
2At least by my own estimation... my dedication to martial arts and completing my PhD, should have me scoring high on the metrics.i
3 As ever, I am grateful to the thorough dicitonary application on my Mac; Apparently it is based on the “New Oxford American Dictionary.”
4 The Zen Art of Writing Nothing: Often the same line over and over again (just like in the opening credits to the Simpsons), generally cast away at the end of a session; leaving the writer with nothing tangible to show for their time; just an existential quickening.
5 Don’t get me wrong, it is a huge high point in my formative years; my mind teems with fond memories from the time, but the negative reinforcement employed to encourage Irish taints those times somewat. It’s difficult for me to explain… I love speaking Irish, and I do so without reluctance, but I don’t care for the lengths that they went to to enforce the language. In kids less obedient, studious, driven, and more independently minded than me, it generally leads to a rejection of or a reluctance to use the language.
6There is a short story that I read a number of years ago, that Benjamin Buttons this idea. I wish I could find it to link it somehow.. but I don't remember the title, which is appropriate. It is about a man who is so strongly affected by the sense of solitude he experiences on a holiday, that he returns home and decides to unlearn his own language. At the beginning, he had to repeat a work hundreds of times until it lost its meaning. Over time, he got so good at that, that a single utterance of a word would vanish it from his head. I found the end of it rather profound; I shan't spoil it.
*****
