ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

On the Mid-Term Test

IMG_0571The test of students’ progress is not always as tricky if one is lucky to have listened to the students beforehand and to have understood what they are used to and what they are not. In most cases, as long as the teacher knows that his purpose in the test is not just to surprise and attack but to monitor his own progress, there would be less tears and heartbreaks when the day is over.

A few days before our mid-term test, I had given the students a list of areas to focus on, as well as how exactly to answer specific type of questions. There should be no one-word answers to questions requiring full sentence responses. There would be extra credit points for those who put the correct tone marks where necessary. There would be questions on personal introduction, identifying objects, numbers and greetings. And lastly, they should go over virtually everything we had learnt in class. After all, it was supposed to be a test of ability as well as hard work.

Beside the thirty questions that covered all we had learnt in class, there were also five extra-credit questions meant to help whomever needed it to get their grades up, and the questions there included “Kíni orúkọ olùkọ rẹ?”, “What is your adopted Yoruba name, and its meaning”, “Who is the author of the class novel ‘A Mouth Sweeter Than Salt’”, “Where was Suzanne Wenger originally from?” and “What’s the word for ‘zero’ in Yoruba?.

I have now finished marking  (or scoring/grading in American English) the tests, and beside an overwhelming joy at how good they performed, I have made a few prominent observations:

  • That none of them remembered my surname. It must have either been too long to remember.
  • That many of them spelt “Good Afternoon” as “kassan” instead of “kaasan”. I’ve now told them that Yoruba does not have consonant clusters. That’s why when the word “brother” enters the language, it is pronounced as bùrọdá.
  • That only a few of them knew the name of the author of the class novel. A few more remembered only the first name and not the surname, while a few knew the surname but couldn’t spell it.
  • That everyone remembered the Yoruba word for “zero”.IMG_0573
  • That some of the students studied beyond what they were taught in class. A case in point: even though I didn’t ask for plurals, a student responded to a question on identifying pens as “èyí ni awọn gègé.” (trans: here are some pens). I found that very impressive, and she was rewarded extra for it.
  • That almost a quarter of the class didn’t remember their adopted Yoruba names, and half of those who did had forgotten the meaning. It was sure that they were not expecting to be asked about this in the exam.
  • That some students would just NOT read the instructions on the exam question paper no matter how many times they’re told to do so, and notwithstanding the same instruction having been previously stressed again in the exam review materials.
  • That there is always one student in class who would not perform well no matter how much help the teacher gives. S/he is either just lazy, or dull. The problem is, they are the ones who do not speak up when they don’t understand, for fear of being too prominent, when they should ordinarily be the most vocal.

I have my work cut out for me for the next half of the term.

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The Second Class

The teacher did not think much of his own language advantage when he entered the second class where his foreign language students waited expectantly, but he did make space for a few discouraging responses that might come from those who had found the first class rather intimidating. It was never an easy thing learning a new language, not in the least the one with tone marks, subdots, proverbs and really strange-sounding consonants. But then, when he found that most of the students had already chosen their favourite Yoruba names by the begining of class on Wednesday, he almost hopped in excitement. A few more followed suit on the following Monday, and by the second Wednesday (which would technically be the fourth class), everybody had become Yorubanized, if only by name. Students had gone online to find their unique names, it’s meaning, and pronunciation, and they each took turns in class to speak about it, eagerly and with a twinkle in their intriguing eyes. “I will be Yéjídé,” Keonia said when prompted. “It means mother has come back early.” The traveller looked a little amused as he asked the student where her mother or grandmother had gone when she was born. “Nowhere,” she replied. “They’re still alive, but I love the name.” That seemed fair enough. Ross was absent. He had dropped the class, and would not be returning. Adam stayed, and would be “Babáfẹmi” from then on. When the teacher inquired again with a playful sneer if Adam really believed that his father loved him that much, the  student replied that “It depends on which day of the week it is.” to rounds of priceless hysterical responses. Bre would be “Olúfunkẹ, given by God to love” and Trish would be “Àkànkẹ, a specially treasured one.” Kate wanted to be “Abiodun” because she was born during Thanksgiving, and Andrew preferred “Ọlánrewájú” for his “wealth keeps advancing”. Cassidy was “Títílayọ, the everlasting joy”, and Amber simply became “Fẹmi: love me.” (Hey Steve Marth, what’s yours?)

The teacher did not think much of his own language advantage when the oral exercise in the Yoruba alphabets began. “It would all be easy,” he must have thought. “It can’t be as bad as Russian, Chinese or Japanese where the visual cues to the language’s letters are never much help to the new speaker learning to speak or read.” And so he went to the chalk board, wrote out the twenty-five letters of the language alphabet, pointed at them from the top downwards, one at a time, and challenged, “Say after me everyone, Ah!”

All, “Ah!”

Say “Bee.”

“Bee!”

“Dee.”

“Dee!”

Say “Eh!”

“Eh!”

“E!” As in Egg.

“E!”

“Fee!”

“Fee!”

Giggles.

Now, say “Gee!” Don’t pronounce it as it’s written. Not Jee as in Jesus, but Gee as in Geek. Think sounds, not letters.

“Gee!”

Beautiful!

Say “Gbee.”

Silence.

Giggles.

A few random looks of misery.

“Can you all say “Gbee”, Gbee as in ‘Gbenga’.'”

“Benga?”

“Noooo. What of “kpee”? Can anyone pronounce “Kpangolo” or “Patapata”?”

“Nooooooooooo”.

“Oh my.”

The traveller did not immediately despair. It’s not always as bad as it looks – or sounds – the first time. And surely, as he thought to himself a bit afterwards after two hours of practice with the new “strange” consonants, it was going to be a lot funner than he thought at the begining.

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