The Politics of Language and Albanian Reality

It has been a hectic two weeks! I attended a conference on conflict mediation in schools in Ohrid, Macedonia, sat in on more than a few ESL classes, actually taught a class in Public Sociology, “joined” a book club (well, went to a book club meeting), and attended two “event” dinners sponsored by my host institution.

I also managed to rent a car (and drive through the mountains to the conference!), vote, make a trip up Mt. Dajti, and get my hair cut.

Okay. Now that I wrote those activities down, they really don’t look like that much. But things take time here—mainly because I am still trying to feeling my through the culture and partly because, well, things just take time here.

This post starts with some observations and reflections on the politics of language, something I keep running into as I settle into life in this region of the world, and it meanders on to the topic of “The Albanian Reality,” a term I keep hearing that seems to elude definition.

The next post will be about the conference in Ohrid, Macedonia (and there will be pictures!) and the beauty of this region as exemplified by the landscape, the culture, and the resilience of the people.

But first, the politics of language.

As I mentioned above, I have been sitting in on an ESL class, which as been fascinating in many ways. Here I wish to describe a few somewhat related “lessons” from that class.

The Translation of Idioms. I’ve already written about some of the idioms I have encountered here, but in the ESL class I learned a few more. The task of the class one night was to translate English idioms into Albanian equivalents. The results yielded some interesting insights into the culture. Here are a few of the translations:

“Too many cooks spoil the broth” translates to “Too many midwives maim the baby.” Wow! Now that to me suggests a far more serious problem than spoiled broth! But both are in the private realm, which marks a clear difference between this idiom translation and its direction opposite: “Many hands make light work.”

The Albanian equivalent of “Many hands make light work” is “ Union makes strength.” Yes, they basically mean the same thing, but the connotation of the Albanian version seems more public to me. I generally imagine a group of women washing tons of sheets when I hear the English version (okay, maybe I am just weird!), but the Albanian version conjures up a group of people working for some cause or against some injustice. The image that jumps into my head is of the Solidarity Movement in Poland, but that again may simply be my own idiosyncratic interpretation.

In the same vein of public realm vs. private realm connotations, the Albanian equivalent of “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch” is “Don’t tally your own bill, let the innkeeper do it.” Again, a more public, or at least more market-based, connotation. Well, I guess both are market-based if one is going to sell her chickens, but I’ve never really thought of the English version that way; I’ve generally thought of the idiom as being about private reflections on hopes and dreams and anticipation of success, not about a monetary exchange.

Three other translations students performed were, to my mind, far more equivalent: “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill” translates as “Don’t make a beam out of a hair”; “Rome wasn’t built in a day” translates to “With one stone at a time, you can build a castle”; and the translation of “His bark is worse than his bite” is the very similar “Barking dogs seldom bite.”

Now on to the English idiom I had never heard, some ruminations on the difference between British and American English, and the politics of teaching people language.

I have never heard the idiom “A bad workman blames his tools,” but it was one of the idioms in the lesson. The Albanian equivalent is “It’s the donkey, not the saddle.” Similar to the idiom I noted in an earlier post, “If the baby doesn’t cry, you don’t know s/he wants milk,” as opposed to “The squeaky wheel gets the grease,” the Albanian version connotes relationships with living beings, not inanimate things. This seems culturally significant to me in that it clearly connotes harm or attention to a helpless beast or infant. The English versions “de-personify” while the Albanian version do not.

As evidenced by the idiom above, the course materials used in the class I am sitting in on are unequivocally British, which makes for some interesting discussions in the class, as I am unabashedly American in my perspective to the language.

A quick example: one evening, the professor had the students read a transcript from an interview with a person who was visiting a remote village in Bhutan.  In the course of the interview, the “trekker” made the following statements:

“I had to acclimatise [sic] myself to the thin mountain air.”

And, “The girls were just beavering away at the wood, while I was left puffing.”

What?!?

I told the class I would never say either of those two things, but rather something like, “I had to get used to the thin mountain air,” and “While the girls chopped the wood with ease, I was left gasping for air after a few swings of the axe.”

After my remarks, the professor made an astute observation: “You know what they say about the UK and the US? Two countries, separated by a common language.”

So true!

One last observation about the class and the politics of teaching people language.

A few nights back, the lesson centered on the workplace: appropriate dress, different kinds of work-styles (telecommuting vs. traditional office work), and the benefits of having paid employment.

It is the characterization of the benefits of paid employment according to the course materials that I found most interesting. The article the students read boldly asserted that paid employment was far superior to volunteer work, and that research (which was not cited) shows paid employment leads to higher self-esteem than nonpaid (voluntary) work.

Moreover, according to what the students read, too much work or working long hours is not detrimental to one’s health nor does it make people irritable.

These two assertions were reinforced in the comprehension test as students were asked to identify the following statement as “true”:

“Paid work is better for one’s self-esteem than is voluntary work.”

And this statement as “false”:

“Too much work is detrimental to your health.”  

Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I questioned the validity of both statements, but also noted that in terms of showing competence in comprehension, they would have to answer such questions as “true” or “false” according to the article they had read.

But in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the power of language to shape our reality and how this lesson on work both revealed how work-centered Western culture is and how either consciously or unconsciously language teachers inculcate their pupils with certain cultural values with the examples they use and the course materials they select.

In addition to my observations in the ESL class, I have had several conversations with colleagues about the politics of teaching language. One striking example was at a dinner my host institution sponsored recently. Most of the conversation that evening was about plans to launch a new graduate program, but at one point it turned to the teaching of English.

However, before I relate that brief conversation, I would like to set the scene for the dinner, as it gives some insight into an illusive term I keep hearing: “The Albanian Reality.”

So, meetings here tend to happen rather spur of the moment. All of sudden, you get a phone call asking you to be somewhere to meet someone to go some place. My experience has been that the purpose of the meeting is left unsaid, so I have just gone with the flow, managed to show up where I am supposed to show up, and hope for the best.

I guess that is one aspect of “The Albanian Reality.”

On the particular evening of the meeting I will describe below, I met three colleagues from my host university at the cabstand near my apartment. One of my colleagues was carrying what I thought were two bottles of water in a plastic grocery sack. I vaguely wondered why she had brought the water, but soon put that thought out of my mind.

We walked to the car of another colleague, got in, and were off to a part of the city I had never been to. My colleagues pointed out the building where the Parliament met and a few other landmarks. It seemed to me we drove a long way, but in retrospect we really didn’t, because on the ride home I was aware of familiar surroundings within a few minutes of our leaving the place we had dinner.

The place where we had dinner was Hotel Viktoria, a lovely little boutique restaurant owned and operated by the husband of one of my colleague’s husband’s sister (I think I got those relations right. There tends to be a lot of those kinds of connections here).

Anyway, our party ended up being about eight people, and as far as I could tell we were the only people in the restaurant, perhaps the whole establishment except for the staff.

We sat down at a table in the main dining room, immediately to the left of the entrance to the hotel. The waiters brought water and bread and I engaged in chitchat with the people seated next to me. I even asked one woman about the term, ”Albanian Reality.”

“You just have to experience it” was her response. “You will know it after you have been here awhile.”

Not one minute later, our conversation was interrupted as another colleague said something to everyone at the table and we all stood up. I didn’t know what was happening but went along with everyone else, who was walking to the stairs or to the elevator.

I chose to follow the people who were walking up the stairs—five flights of them!

We arrived in the foyer to a private dining room with a large terrace overlooking what I assume was the city: at least I could see twinkling lights in the distance. We were escorted into this private dining room, where we all took our seats again. Waiters poured more water and started pouring wine.

The person I had been conversing with before the move looked at me, smiled, and said, “See? Albanian reality!”

So another aspect of the term, I guess, is “change.” In this case change for the better.

We had a most lovely and delicious meal: Cheeses, green salad, fried patties with corn and what I think was rradhiqe, pasta with squid, fried sardines and mullet, an exquisite grilled fish (similar to trout) with what tasted like a basil lime sauce, and vanilla and chocolate gelato.

And wine.

And raki.

And coffee.

A few words about the raki and the coffee.

The bottles of liquid my colleague had carried with her to the dinner did not contain water. They contained “raki,” a traditional Albanian alcoholic drink, usually made by distilling grapes (but I’ve been told it can be made from other fruits). She had made the raki herself. Now to describe raki:

Colorless. Smooth (at least this raki was. I have had a commercial raki since then that was not as smooth). Delicious. And POTENT!

Although it looks harmless, the effects of raki sneak up on you after a few sips.

After the meal, we were offered coffee. Most of my colleagues ordered either espresso or macchiato. I decline both explaining having coffee that late would mean I couldn’t sleep.

The conversation turned for a moment to the difference between American coffee and Albanian coffee (or any coffee in this regions really—Italian, Turkish, etc.). The consensus of the group was that American coffee (even Starbucks) was not really coffee, but more akin to tea.

Perhaps a penchant for raki and strong coffee is another clue to the meaning of “Albanian Reality”: Potency that can sneak up on you without warning.

As to the purpose of the dinner/meeting? It was to discuss plans for a new program at my host university.

As I listened to that discussion (which was mainly in Albanian, although occasionally someone would translate parts of the discussion for me), I learned a lot about the plans and the various positions people took to bring the plans to fruition. From people’s inflections and expressions, I surmised that there was some disagreement, but in the end everyone seemed to agree at least on a general way to proceed.

Again how, where, when this meeting took place may also be a clue as to the meaning of “Albanian Reality”: business can be mixed with pleasure and discussions over good food, good wine, and a little raki may be the best way to reach agreements.

As for the brief conversation during this dinner related to the politics of teaching language, one of the people present, who had been an exchange scholar to the U.S., explained how he had been in English language lessons since he was a grammar school.

His recollection was that the English classes were smaller than the other classes and the lessons were taught in a more interactive manner.  He also noted that by the time he was in high school he was able to take more advanced classes, such as physics, as they were only offered in English.

So it seems the politics of teaching language may extend in some cases beyond the ESL classroom.

Two more observations about “The Albanian Reality” before I close this post.

Thursday was Eid al-Adha, a Muslim Feast Day. Even though Albanians are not generally religious people, it was a national holiday, so I was off.

Two colleagues of mine, both here on grants similar to mine, one as a teacher of  legal English and the other as a student researcher, coordinated a trip up to the summit of Mt. Dajti. Two other Americans here on research grants accompanied us.

Here’s a picture of everyone in our party except the teacher of legal English (who took the picture).

Our mode of getting up to the summit was a “cable ferry,” or what I would call a “ski lift” that took us over some lovely countryside and offers some amazing views of the city.

Once we got to the top of Mt. Dajti, I immediately noticed a drop in temperature and a change in the air. The air in the city is fairly polluted because of all the cars; however, the air on the mountain is clean and fresh. Here are some pictures I took from the cable ferry:

We ate lunch at a small restaurant near where we got off the ski lift. Five of us had a substantial and tasty lunch for about $20 including tip. We then walked a ways on one of the paths through the trees, coming upon a few bunkers that had been built during the communist era.

I had to turn back at this point to make it back to the city for my hair cut appointment, but my colleagues that stayed told me later they had a leisurely walk up to a lovely restaurant with panoramic views off the terrace where they had coffee.

So, this little day trip afforded me a bit more insight into the “Albanian Reality,” with the sharp contrast between the pollution and bustle of Tirana and the serene calm on top of Mt. Dajti.

While Thursday’s weather was beautiful, yesterday it poured rain. Poured.

It can pour rain where I am from, also. I am no stranger to driving rains that require galoshes (which I didn’t bring with me!) and a good raincoat (which I didn’t bring with me!). No stranger to rains that soak you to the bone if all you have to protect you is an umbrella (which I did bring!).

So yesterday as I walked to an event on the other side of town with my flimsy umbrella, I got soaked. And when I walked from the event to a bus stop, to catch the bus to the ESL class, I got soaked.

But what I noticed was almost everyone was getting soaked, too! Few people had galoshes or raincoats. Just umbrellas. Just like me.

On the bus ride to the ESL class, I noticed the roads in that part of town had turned to rivers and even the main roads were flooding to some extent. I was accompanied on this ride by a colleague, who when he got off the bus at his stop (one stop before mine), gestured to the flooded streets and the soaked people around us and said (with an ironic cheerfulness), “Welcome to Albanian reality!”

As my colleague leaped from the bus and into a puddle, I noticed the bus driver light up a cigarette as he tried to navigate the flooded road crowded with cars and people. I braced myself for the ride up the hill to my host institution’s second campus.

When I got to my stop, I made my way through riverlets of muddy waters to the campus and to the ESL classroom where only the professor for the class was waiting.

Eventually, three (out of about fifteen) students made it to class. Soaked. We had a good class. The students were lively and they helped me to learn a bit of Albanian.

Today, the sun is shining and the air is crisp.

My understanding of “The Albanian Reality” is becoming clearer every day.