That was what the scene of the first class looked like. Sitting in a circle in a way to make visible any member of the class who might be inspired to go to sleep without permission, the students all introduced themselves and what their motivations are. “My name is… and I’ve always been interested in language. I’m interested in what the possibilities are for language teaching and learning and I look forward to being able to teach it somewhere around the world in the nearest future.” Of course that’s convenient. A second way to answer the question could have been “My name is… and I’m bored with staring at the cielings in my house, and traveling, that I decided to come back to school and make something with my grey matter.”

That would at least have been honest, if hilarious, but this student wasn’t thinking that mischievously at the time as he sat quietly along with eleven other folks of different ages and convictions from different parts of the world… Taiwan, Mexico, America, China among others, and being introduced to the course that will make their lives miseerable for the next thirteen weeks. One of the other fun requirements of this course is finding someone learning English for the first time and tutoring him/her for at least once a week for three months of the course, and to describe and respond to their tutoring experiences in a weekly online journal posted on Blackboard. Isn’t that interesting? It’s about time to discover what thrill and frustrations there are in teaching, this time a new language, but one that is still new to the target student.

“Hi, my name is… and I’m looking forward to being able to go to St. Louis at least once a week to mentor one or even more refugee students and understand their attempt to learn English for the first time. Thanks for having me.”

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http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2009/12/29/languages

NOTE: It was just a few days ago that I was talking with friends who expressed surprise that a language like Yoruba is taught in an American institution. “French or German, yes, but Yoruba?” they wondered. “How is it ever useful to anybody anywhere?Who would use it? Everyone (including the Yoruba people in Nigeria) speaks English anyway.” they said.

Apparently, it is still hard to sell the idea of learning a foreign language that doesn’t come with a “sophisticated” appeal like Spanish or Russian to most common people anywhere in the world. My interlocutors were one American and one African. A day earlier, another friend – this time a Nigerian on the chat messenger – had expressed similar sentiments. He even added a twist of the absurd by insisting that I was working for the CIA. That was the only way he could rationalize a scholarship that affords me the opportunity to teach my language in the United States. He also could not understand why foreigners could be interested in the language.

I think this attitude is a result of a fundamental ignorance of the purpose of learning anything at all, which is simply to gain knowledge. And there is no knowledge that is not power, as that writer Ralph Waldo Emerson puts it. Learning a foreign language gives one access to new ways of looking at the world, no matter how small the number of people who speak the language is. But the Yoruba language is spoken by over 30 million people, and has a culture that has survived hundreds of years and has influenced countless other cultures all over the world from the Carribbeans to the United States’ African American population, and produced one Nobel Laureatte. What is there not to learn about its culture, and language, and people? The lesson for me – if any at all – is in learning more about the importance of linguistic, language documentation and cultural studies. It helps to have something to say while being challenged about the use, or uselessness, of what one does.

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Now that I have spent the whole of Thursday holed up in the hotel attending one workshop to the other, I am beginning to think that these photos from my solo walk around the little town yesterday might be the only ones that I have of its interesting sites. Or not. Let me check. Yes, I’m right. This conference is all I have come here to do.

Meanwhile, the conference itself is very warm gathering of 409 Fulbrighters from 49 countries teaching hundreds of languages all over the country. I have met old friends who remember me, and those who don’t. I have also met new ones who had heard about me and those who hadn’t. There will be more conference sessions tomorrow, and more feeding sessions too, until Saturday when the conference officially ends. We have learnt about Social Networking for the Foreign Language Classroom, Writing for Publication in Foreign Language Journals, and Scenarios & Strageties: Addressing Individual Student Concerns. Tomorrow, there will be more… Before this conference ends, we will meet with some representatives from the State Department. No, I don’t think that there is a chance to see the Secretary of State, so that’s that, already crossed out.

But this was my lethargic Thursday put into good and productive use of my time, although now, the only thing that hasn’t changed is the tiredness I feel at the end of the day. I however learnt many things in the conference sessions today. One that stuck with me was a fact that forty Fulbrighters from eleven countries have been awarded the Nobel Prize since 1952. They include Jean-Marie Le Clézio (France, and Nobel Laureate for Literature in 2008), Henry Kissinger (USA, and Nobel Peace Prize 1973) and two time winner Linus Pauling (USA, and Nobel Laureate in Chemistry 1954).

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“Ẹ káàsán o. Ẹyin akẹkọọ,” I started, and the class went silent! A thick, almost disqueting silence quieter than a deafman’s graveyard.
A second trial yielded a few suppessed sounds, but it attracted a more encouraging response. “Ẹ káàsán o. Ẹyin akẹkọọ.” I said, again and I picked up a chalk to write it out. Then I wrote my name, in full, pointed at it, and contined.
“Orúkọ mi ni Arákùnrin Kóla Ọlátúbòsún. Ẹyin Nkọ?”
Everyone kept quiet, and looked a little amused. A few giggled, and it was just what I was waiting for.
I touched my chest, moved away from the board, and repeated. “Orúkọ mi ni Arákùnrin Kóla.” Then I pointed at the one with the most mischievous smile. “Iwọ nkọ?”
She looked lost, as did a few more, and then after a little moment of almost uncomfortable silence, the bulb lighted in someone’s brain and he shouted from the back, “Ross!”
“Beautiful.” I responded, the first time I would speak English in the class. They all felt at ease from then on, and each volunteered their name in turn: “Keonia, Adam, Amber, Tonde, etc.”
“But you shouldn’t just say your name,” I corrected. “You should preface it with ‘Orúkọ mi ni…’ then put in your name. Let’s do it again in pairs, shall we?”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Amber. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Tonde.”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Trish. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Ross.”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Keonia. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Adam.”
…and that went all around the class of thirteen students, only three of whom are black – out of which one (Tonde) is a Nigerian Ijaw.

I turned out to be a better experience than I imagined, and I left the class feeling elated and swollen-headed. This is going to be fun. I am actually teaching my language in an American university. The aim of the course, if you’re interested in knowing, is to make authentic Yoruba speakers out of those bright and brilliant American students. By the end of the class that lasted one and a quarter hour, we seemed to have forgotten about time, and all they wanted to say is “Sé alàáfíà ni”, “Báwo ni”, “Dáadáa ni. Iwọ nkọ?” If you have a child in Nigeria, Britain or America today to whom you have refused speak your language, you would have only yourself to blame when after they reach the age of twenty-one, you have to put thousands of dollars out just to make them learn it well, this time from those to whom it’s not even a first language. As for me, I’m having fun here, and discovering interesting new things about my language, and how it comes across to the complete strangers hearing it for the very first time.

By the next class, each of those students would have chosen their own personal Yoruba names to be used in class and everywhere else. No more Ross, Trish or Adam. Let the Yorubanization begin!

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