Most of the residents of Ekipe originated in Tongoriki, so their first language is the native language of Tongoriki. My first few days in the village, I was getting totally confused and more than a little upset because my family was not only speaking in Bislama – and correcting everything I would say in Bislama – but they were also insisting that I learn how to say most things in their native language as well. I finally mentioned to my language teacher, Kevin, that my family was insisting on teaching me 2 languages – and then many of the other trainees chimed in and said the same thing was happening to them! So, Kevin went around to each of the households and explained that Bislama was the only language being taught and to limit the immersion training to Bislama only. Things improved a bit after that. However, immersion language training was a challenge the entire 8 weeks because the family really only used Bislama when speaking directly to me. The rest of the time all conversing was within their Tongoriki language.
Bislama is known as a “pidgin” language – which originated with the “broken English” of early day whalers and traders. However, I have to say that I was pretty naïve in thinking that Bislama was going to be quite easy to learn. I began studying the basics before leaving the states – and since many of the words were the same or similar to English, I didn’t think it would be much of a challenge. But in reality, that is precisely what makes it such a challenge. Often times when speaking, I’ll stutter around trying to think of how to say something in Bislama when it is actually the English word…or some derivation of an English word. The other confusing thing about Bislama is that when asking a question, it is completely the opposite of how we would typically phrase a question. As an example, if you or I would want to know where the store is, we would just ask “Where’s the store?” But in Bislama, it is asked “Lo stoa i wea?” (The store is where?) Additionally, many of the words in Bislama have multiple meanings. As an example, the word “olsem” could mean: like, such as, to be as if, just as, as, like this, like that, like the one previously, for example, how…or just “ummmm”.
But perhaps the hardest part of it was that most of us felt very silly when we initially started speaking Bislama because we felt like we were about 2 years old. As an example, instead of saying “I like…”, in Bislama, it’s “Mi laekem” (me likem) – or I don’t like (Mi no laekem). Or, if something isn’t nice, in Bislama you would say “I no naes” – meaning “It’s not nice”. So, we would sometimes get out 1 or 2 words and then just start laughing and snorting uncontrollably.
So, to say that it was a challenge to me is truly an understatement. Language classes were typically first thing in the morning and usually lasted anywhere from 90 minutes to 2 hours. Classrooms are non-existent, so we typically carried a woven mat with us to somewhere under a tree or behind somebody’s house. It was hot and dirty – not to mention quite hard on the back and butt to sit on the ground with no back support. Or maybe that was only the case for an “Ol fala” (old person) like me! It was further compounded by flies, bugs, spiders and mosquitos that were unrelenting. On the other hand, at 9 am break, we usually snacked on some delicious fresh-picked fruit, so it wasn’t all bad.
I do remember one particular morning in Bislama class. We were about half way through the class trying to grasp the concept that “stap” (pronounced as stop) in Bislama does not mean STOP. Instead, it means “to be at”, “to stay”, “to stay at”, or “to live”. I was still trying to keep that straight in my head when we moved on to “finis” and “finism” – which could mean “have already”, “to have finished”, “finished”, or “then”. I don’t know if it was the sweltering heat, the “stap” or “finis” or “finism”, the flies and gnats, or the very loud and scary dog fight that broke out just a few feet away from where I was sitting – but the frustration of it all took over and I couldn’t take it another minute! I felt my throat closing and knew that croaking sobs weren’t far behind – so I just jumped up (as fast as I could jump up that is) off my mat, rolled it up, and tore out of class back to my little bungalow and let ‘er rip. I felt better after about an hour – and went back to class the next day. One of my classmats stopped by that afternoon and we commisserated together -- but finally ended up in howling laughter about where we were, how we were living, and that we were now reduced to talking like a toddler!
Yes, “Biswhatta” has been a challenge – so some of us teamed up to study together or to ask the language instructors for some additional sessions. One of the most helpful things for me was to stay after class and read the newspaper – and then tell the teacher in Bislama what the article was about. It was non-threatening, and it was a way to actually just talk back and forth and learn by talking.
I guess the old adage “all’s well that end’s well” really is true. I passed each of my weekly oral tests as well as the final oral examination. I’m by no means fully fluent even now, but am confident that I can speak well enough to be understood – and can ask a native speaker to slow down just a bit so that I can understand and respond – and can introduce myself:
Nem blong me lo Vanuatu: Leiso. Nem blong me lo America: Carla. Mi wan pis kop voluntia mo mi stap lo Vanuatu lo 27 manis. Mi wok witem ACTIV lo maket mo expot produk lo Vanuatu.
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