An Art Institute with endless exit corridors that lead into one another.
An art institute with exits that pass through a gift shop.
Museum officials who speak French.
Bennigans Grill and Tavern with 15 mins waiting time.
Senseless arguments on the differences in champagne and white sparkling wine.
Exhilaration on the Sky Deck overlooking the famous city.
Problematic calculations on tipping.
Slow Africans at traffic go lights.
Grant Park.
Traffic lights.
Tourists with the slowest feet.
Impatient Africans at traffic stop lights.
A city that never stops demanding.
The Magnificent Mile.
Cold Wind
Fast-moving feet.
Pedestrians that keep walking even when the sign says “stop”.
Road signs that read “West” when it means to read “East”.
White working-class women with iPods earplugs who text while crossing the road.
Tax on food purchased at restaurants which doesn’t include tips.
Waitresses who smile.
Old white men who don’t acknowledge greeting nods.
Old black men who seek eye contact.
It’s Chicago, the windy city. It’s Chi-town, birthplace of Hillary Clinton in the land of Lincoln.
It is Chicago, a city on the Michigan Lake. It’s Chi-town, home of the president. A city of lights and lightening warmth. A city that sleeps with its eyes wide open.
The four of us who left our little sleepy town yesterday have now landed safely in the bosom of the Windy City. The journey from St. Louis to Chicago only took five long hours on a double decked megabus that offered a beautiful view of the pitch blackness of the road and only a little compensation of little street and vehicle lights. A journey during the day might have given a little more to rejoice for as far as road sight-seeing is concerned. It was something to be thankful for however that it provided a few pockets of sleeping time for us who had spent an earlier part of the evening riding in a private van all the way from Edwardsville. The bus which left the St. Louis Union Station pulled over at the Chicago Union Station a few minutes after six this morning, and we the travellers stepped into the cold wind with gigantic buildings blocking our view of the beautiful morning sky.
We are Reham, Audrey, Mafoya and I: two males, two females; three Africans and one French; two Fulbrighters and two International students; two and a half speakers of French, one of Arabic and one and a half of Yoruba; one moslem, an atheist, one Christian and one composite. In short, a United Nations of sorts. We have so far visited a few fun places, and as I lay here typing after a long day, I don’t know just where to start. The day had definitely been fulfilling, from getting lost on the streets, to getting shoved within a crowd of busy pedestrians going and coming without a discernible pattern of intentions. From becoming the centre of attention on the corner of a busy street because of a heady insistence to consult the large city map right there to the long, pleasant ride up into the Sky Deck observation area of the Sears (Willie’s) Tower to get an aerial view of the whole city, and to learn more of the very much cultural import of this city that has defined America in more ways than one. From a long walk on Adam’s street coming from the magnificent Sear’s Towers to the enchanting awesome experience of the corridors of the Art Institute of Chicago – an experience of a lifetime that requires a long post of its own. From sitting at Starbucks on an early Friday morning observing people getting their morning beverage ritual to returning home tired at night to this five star hostel that had put up no big public sign of its name and had got us a bit wandering. From the ups and downs of this exhilarating day, here we are, bushed from a day on a town that never stops demanding, yet bubbly with a kind of sweet miserableness.
One of the other guys in this large room for ten where Mafoya and I sleep talks a little too loudly on his phone to/about his boyfriend/admirer in an often not too discreet manner. Sigh, will we survive it?
The free coffee provided in the first floor of this almost ten storeys building is one of the crappiest in the world. But since I’m not such an addict in the first place, I should survive, I think.
Our room – a ten-bed suite for the males – for a reason beyond my explanation bears the number 419, a curious number to have as two African students in a foreign land as this. For now, it is our inside joke. And so, we will survive.
Tomorrow will find us back on the streets, seeking out the treasures of a place that could boast of the likes of Barack Obama, Ernest Hemingway, Jeniffer Hudson, Hillary Clinton, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jordan, Louis Armstrong, and yes, Kanye West among its notable citizens. The city has welcomed us with open arms. Its time to ravage it. Let the day break.
In the culture I grew up in, you were trained to look out for a signal from God, nature, the gods or whatever (you choose) especially when you are making and taking a serious decision. My move to Toulouse (Midi-Pyrenees), a southern city in France was one of such decisions I needed to consider carefully. I had been studying in Houghton Michigan for a few years, so it felt like a needed a new adventure.
With friends in downtown Toulouse
As a Nigerian, I needed a visa to live and work in France. My visa got approved so I took that as a good sign only for me to miss my flight on the day of departure because I had overslept having spent the previous night doing some last-minute packing for the trip. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I almost got on the flight out of the little old town I lived in the following day although I arrived late again. But alas, I was told that the flight attendant would be needing my seat as hers was damaged so “we’re sorry you can’t get on the flight, but you might still be able to fly out to Chicago from a neighboring city.” I was angry, confused and wondered why life had to be so unfair! My dear friend who dropped me off at the airport had left, but luckily enough I got a ride back home from a stranger. Did I mention that the neighboring city was almost 4hrs away? We made it to Central Wisconsin Airport, Wausau in good time for my flight. Upon arriving in Chicago, I thought to myself, “now you are finally on your way to France.” However, I was told by Aer Lingus Airlines that I needed a transit visa to travel through Ireland which I didn’t have thanks to my travel agent who thought that I was American 😊. My world almost came crashing down, I couldn’t believe that the ‘village people’ (a Nigerian term for negative spiritual forces) were still trying to come after me. I didn’t burst out crying but I shed a tear or two as I walked away from the airlines counter at O’Hare airport. I made some calls and the situation got fixed. My sponsors had to buy me a new flight and this time, I would be travelling through Germany and not Ireland. I thought that I might avoid Ireland for a while, little did I know that an Irish man was waiting for me in Toulouse.
At place du Capitole
On August 26, 2019, I arrived in Toulouse. It was a warm evening, the airport was moderately busy considering the time of the day it was, French was flowing all around me, but I couldn’t swim in it. That was when it suddenly dawned on me that I had set myself up for something wild. I boarded the tram from la aéroport to Palais de justice. From there, I got a bus to my final destination. Right from when I arrived my broken French was tested, and I also pushed my luck because in my imagination most French people should understand some English expressions so I should be just fine. How wrong was I? The lady who directed me to the bus stop at Palais de justice had been on the tram with me, a young French-Arabic who spoke no words of English but still bothered to speak French to me and used a lot of gestures. Someone else who spoke English on the tram had explained my ordeal to her and so my co French-Arabic passenger had taken it upon herself to help me. I was glad for their kindness but frustrated as I could see a glimpse of what the life of an Anglophone might look like here.
From day 2 in France, google translate became my best buddy. I listened to the voice translation and practiced expressions ahead of a potential interaction in French. Every so often, I blurted out “Tu parles anglais?” Or “Vous parlez anglais s’il vous plaît?” (in a formal context) = Do you speak English? Hoping to be transported back into my Anglophone world. My cliche expression worked sometimes but not nearly enough to make me let my hair down.
A few days upon my arrival, when I showed up for work, my hopes were renewed because my team was made up of native English speakers. Once again, I could express myself freely without feeling inept. Work turned out to be my safe haven since my job was to speak and teach English. The experienced members of my team were very helpful in guiding me and the other newbies into the expatriate resources in Toulouse. The word expatriate had never been associated with me but now as a Nigerian studying in America, I was considered as an expatriate in France where I was offering my English communication skills to French university students. I joined different English-speaking community groups on Facebook, such groups were a constant reminder that many people out there were trying to figure out the French system just like me and I didn’t feel all alone.
The reality of English language in France
Pont Saint- Pierre
The truth is, France is a rich country that educates its citizens entirely in French at all levels of education but can also afford to teach students English starting from primary school. However, many students do not get the opportunity to use and practice their English beyond the classroom so many of them are not likely to improve their English skill to a comfortable intermediate level. Except for kids who were raised bilingual (often with one English parent, or kids of English origin living in France). A good question to ask is why should the average French person care about the English language when they have all that they need available to them in French? A lot of resources are pumped into translation efforts in the French society. Many books, novels, journals, movies, news gets translated into French. Furthermore, prolific dubbing of French over English digital materials makes Grey’s Anatomy (the dubbed version) readily available on TV. I once turned on the TV, saw Johnny Depp’s Pirates of the Caribbean was being aired, only for me to hear some strange voice when Johnny Depp was supposedly speaking. That was when I realized that it was the dubbed version. Another time, I walked into a lovely librairie (bookstore), in Montauban (a neighbouring town from Toulouse). This store was well furnished with print, digital and multimedia resources of various genres, of course all in French. It was fascinating to see the French version of some novels written by Nigerian authors.
English is used in addition to French
Despite the large number of English speakers in major cities like Paris, Lyon,Toulouse, Bordeaux, Marseille etc. The English as a Foreign Language (EFL) status undermines the visibility of English in the French society. One might expect that major companies and businesses would have English services just like services in Spanish is a norm in the USA but that is not the case. As an Anglophone, I get lucky every once in a while, when I come across a service provider who is willing to use their English. It doesn’t help that there is a subtle resistance to the English language and in some cases overt resistance. For example, Académie Française is responsible for keeping the French language updated and relevant. They constantly work on metalanguage, hoping to reduce the influence of English on French. The interesting thing is that the English language has borrowed so much from French, the two languages even share some cognates. For this reason, faux amis (literally meaning false friends) is a challenge for English speakers learning French and vice-versa. Yourdictionary.com defines faux amis as “one of a pair of words in different languages or dialects that look related but differ significantly in meaning. Some common examples are jolly in English and jolie (pretty), medicine and médecin (doctor), actually and actuellement (at present) among others.
Picnic by the garonne
For sure, English seems to thrive in the French advertisement channels especially in print ads and display ads with English words embedded in them, English phrases somehow find their way into advertisements. Many young French people love English movies. They are quick to mention Neftlix when you ask how they have been working to progress their English skills. The problem is Netflix feeds you movies that do not necessarily engage you. I suggested to a few students that a better way to get more out of Netflix was to see an English movie and then talk to someone about it in English or even write about it in English. In the language acquisition process listening comes before speaking, so you can watch a foreign movie with or without subtitles if you’ve got some level of competence in it and understand most of the storyline. The actors’ gestures as well as other actions or movements you see give you a hint of what’s happening.
The Attitude
At Asa’s concert
The general attitude towards the English language is positive among the young people (especially students since they have to learn it at school anyway) Interestingly, the Macron administration seem pro-English such that the President has been criticized for embracing “English too much.” For instance, the President Macron tweets in English when abroad, grants interviews in English which offends the French language purists. In fact, the French language conservatives believe that the English language is a big threat to the French Language. Afterall, the English language has been called ‘the killer language’ by some Linguists. This fear of French going into extinction is outrageous in my opinion considering that it is a language spoken by about 300 million people (mostly in Africa), serves as the official language in 29 countries and is the sixth most widely spoken language in the world after Mandarin Chinese, English, Hindi, Spanish and Arabic. Maybe this fear keeps the French on their toes and gives them a reason to continue to perpetuate language imperialism or do some people call that globalization? 😉
The fact that some universities in France offer programs in English, such as an MBA program among others is undoubtedly a friendly gesture to encourage Anglophone students in France. But what is the point not being unemployable upon completing one’ studying and because of deficiency in French language? This has been the experience of several students The pickup line is that you can study in private universities in English, but no one tells you your lack of French will lead to no “good” except you plan to leave the country immediately after your studies. Honestly, graduates in Engineering or STEM fields have higher chances of getting jobs that doesn’t require speaking French.
Portraying a positive attitude towards English language
Conclusion
With colleagues at an Ethiopian restaurant
France is culturally rich, has a diverse immigrant population and stands as an imperial force in the world today. My appreciation for good cuisine or gastronomy, nature and openness to pets increased from living and experiencing the French way of life. I enjoy baguette, croissant nature but not chocolatine a specialty in Toulouse because I am not a chocolate person. Now, I can properly ask to buy something at the boulangerie without being corrected for wrong grammar – I now say “bonjour, une baguette s’il vous plait and not un baguette ☺ I have also learned about the galettes du fête among other French food and pastry traditions.
Living in Toulouse has helped me reflect on questions like who has the privilege of resisting a (foreign) language, as in the case of English in France. Many people around the world never learn to read and write their mother tongue because of scarce resources but globalization order ensures that some countries remain wealthy while others scramble for leftovers from the wealthy ones. France continues to reassert her dominant power structure and culture on its residents both directly and indirectly. Who is to blame? Those who succumb to linguistic oppression like me? Another thing is does merely speaking the French language make one French?
I consider myself privileged to have my level of education and access to opportunities allowing me to master the English language (especially the Nigerian variant). With my international exposure and education, I have observed the fascinating nature of other Englishes like the American, Indian, Ghanaian, British among others. In the same way, I have been exposed to varieties of French dialects and accents from the Caribbean or French Islands, Africa, Italy, Latin America. These varieties have become music to my ears since I am only aware of the mixed melodies but can’t really join in the conversation and interact casually with strangers except in simple sentences. This loss of meaningful interaction, feelings of isolation when surrounded by people speaking, laughing out their hearts be it at the park, the busy streets of downtown Toulouse, or on the metro sends my mind to translation mode especially if I am perceiving connected speech which I struggle to catch up with so that the rhythm around me brings a longing of the faraway atmosphere that I once knew- what home was felt like, at least the romanticized version. In spite of the daunting disconnect due to the language barrier, my love for language keeps me motivated to learn French, thanks to my companion Duolingo. Living in a Francophone country as an Anglophone made me realize that being fluent in three languages may not be enough, it just depends on where you find yourself. My multilingual identity is submerged by my baby French level. What is the point of language without the freedom to rap out your soul, say something pressing on your mind, engage in and with your community, feel heard, help out a lost stranger on the street etc?
__________
Tolulope Odebunmi is a communications strategist, a trained linguist and an educationist from Toulouse, France. Her interests include geopolitics and globalization, development issues and popular culture. She was a Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistant (FLTA) at Michigan State University, USA. She enjoys learning, travelling and problem solving.
I realized, while fielding interview questions recently, that unless someone reads this blog from beginning to end, or have someone guiding them, they will have trouble locating all the travel pieces I have written over the years. So I’m creating this page as a guide to the places I’ve been and my thoughts on them. The cities are listed alphabetically. I will endeavour to update it as necessary.
The four of us who left our little sleepy town yesterday have now landed safely in the bosom of the Windy City. The journey from St. Louis to Chicago only took five long hours on a double decked megabus that offered a beautiful view of the pitch blackness of the road and only a little compensation of little street and vehicle lights. A journey during the day might have given a little more to rejoice for as far as road sight-seeing is concerned. It was something to be thankful for however that it provided a few pockets of sleeping time for us who had spent an earlier part of the evening riding in a private van all the way from Edwardsville. The bus which left the St. Louis Union Station pulled over at the Chicago Union Station a few minutes after six this morning, and we the travellers stepped into the cold wind with gigantic buildings blocking our view of the beautiful morning sky.
We are Reham, Audrey, Mafoya and I: two males, two females; three Africans and one French; two Fulbrighters and two International students; two and a half speakers of French, one of Arabic and one and a half of Yoruba; one moslem, an atheist, one Christian and one composite. In short, a United Nations of sorts. We have so far visited a few fun places, and as I lay here typing after a long day, I don’t know just where to start. The day had definitely been fulfilling, from getting lost on the streets, to getting shoved within a crowd of busy pedestrians going and coming without a discernible pattern of intentions. From becoming the centre of attention on the corner of a busy street because of a heady insistence to consult the large city map right there to the long, pleasant ride up into the Sky Deck observation area of the Sears (Willie’s) Tower to get an aerial view of the whole city, and to learn more of the very much cultural import of this city that has defined America in more ways than one. From a long walk on Adam’s street coming from the magnificent Sear’s Towers to the enchanting awesome experience of the corridors of the Art Institute of Chicago – an experience of a lifetime that requires a long post of its own. From sitting at Starbucks on an early Friday morning observing people getting their morning beverage ritual to returning home tired at night to this five star hostel that had put up no big public sign of its name and had got us a bit wandering. From the ups and downs of this exhilarating day, here we are, bushed from a day on a town that never stops demanding, yet bubbly with a kind of sweet miserableness.
