Learning Wolof
”He drank seven bottles of alcohol.” Naan na juroom-naari buteeli sangara.
That's an unlikely phrase to use frequently in Senegal; yet it's an example found from Peace Corps Gambia Wolof grammar book which is available online. The example phrase might tell you something about the ways in which the Peace Corps volunteers behave when they have get-togethers...
Besides my daily work with the environmental development project in Senegal, I have also tried to learn a new language, Wolof. It's the main language in Senegal, spoken by the majority at least as a second language, and by 40 % of the population as their mother tongue. And, might I add, spoken fluently by many more people than the official language, French.
Working with only Senegalese colleagues means that they use Wolof among themselves most of the time, and from this follows that if I don't speak it at all, I will be left out similarly as a non-Finnish speaking foreigner would be in Finland.
If I had lived in Dakar during my stay in Senegal, I could have even inscribed myself for a Wolof course at the Institut Francais. However, being stationed in Mboro and travelling frequently around Senegal, attending a course in Dakar was outruled as an option.
Learning a new language follows a similar pattern for me. Basic greetings and the most important words are quite easy to learn during the first few days, but then you just get stuck: how to get past those simple things to the real stuff?
I had bought a little book for learning Wolof in Paris in January, and had various documents for learning Wolof: one meant for the volunteers of the NGO Tostan (of which I wrote my Bachelor's Thesis in Development Studies on!), and one from the above-mentioned US Peace Corps Gambia site. In addition, I finally bought the more academic Wolof text book, ”J'apprends le wolof” in a book shop in Dakar in May.
After four months of more or less persistent self-learning in my room with my Wolof books, watching news and other programmes on Wolof TV channels, listening to endless joking in Wolof, where am I in my quest of learning the language?
I'm still far from being fluent, or even understanding most of the content of a normal conversation. But during the last month I have begun to feel that I master at least some notions of Wolof, and it feels less impossible to remember words or to even use them in occasional discussions. From work-related occasions I have learnt words such as ”garbage” (mbalit), ”malaria” (sibiru), ”diarrhea” (biir buy daw), ”mosquito” (yoo), or ”clean” (set).
From colleagues I have learnt some less useful words such as ”big buttocks” (ndiayefonde, ortography non-accurate here) – that was pretty much the first thing the women working in the kitchen wanted to teach me. In fact, the Wolof-English dictionary by the Peace Corps in Gambia has four different words for ”buttocks”. The importance of big size is demonstrated also through the example phrases in the dictionary:
”She has big buttocks” (Dafa am kofal ku rey.)
”She has sizeable buttocks” (Kus bu em la amee.)
The equivalent phrases for masculine organs that I found in the same dictionary are somewhat weird, especially when it comes to their potential usage in every day life:
”A sizeable penis is good and tasty”. (Ganda gu ema baax te saf.)
”He touched his penis”. (Lamba na kooy am bi.)
The latter actually happens a lot in public places: men tend to keep their hand in their crotch without any shame, something that we have not stopped wondering with female foreign friends. Several explanations offered for this include: they affirm their masculinity in this way; it itches down there; the things need to be kept in place especially if the person does not have any underwear; the trousers have to be adjusted or kept in place with the help of the hand; the gesture protects against any bad eyes thrown against him and his sexual organ. I have yet to confront any Senegalese man with this subject, but I highly doubt receiving any reasonable explination for their behaviour. If anybody happens to know the true reason, let me know.
Sometimes the Wolof course books offer hilarious insights of the society. In Swahili books I remember discussions including questions such as ”how are your cows doing?”, a question that I never had to use in Tanzania while living in urban environment. The Wolof text book ”J'apprends le wolof” has one chapter with a very realistic sounding conversation in which the foreigner is trying to buy something to drink or to eat from a street restaurant, with little luck:
- How are you? (Literally "Do you have peace?", Jamm nga am?)
- I'm fine. (Literally "I'm in peace", Jamm rekk.)
- Bring us two beers and a limonade! (Indil ñu ñaari beer ak benn limonaat!)
- We don't sell alcohol here. (Dunu jaay sangara fii.)
- Then bring us three limonades! (Kon, indil nu ñetti limonaat!)
- We only serve food. (Lekk rekk lanuy jaay fii.)
- You don't sell even water? (Dungeen jaay ndox sax?)
- We only have tap water. Nobody sells it. (Ndoxu robine rekk lanu am; kenn du ko jaay.)
- Then bring us four dishes of rice with fish! (Indil book netti ceebu jen!)
- Ah! I'm just going to close – it's time. Go to a hotel! (A! Damay tej de. Waxtu wi jot na. Demleen ca oteel ba!)
- But I have tourists with me who want to taste the Senegalese food. (Nii, danuy ay gan te begga mos toggu Senegaal.)
- So, you'll wait until tomorrow. (Kon, dangeen di xaar ba elleg.)
- Tomorrow we won't be here anymore, we're going to Dagana. (Elleg, dunu fi nekk; danuy dem Dagana.)
- With whom are you going to Dagana? (Kan ngeen di andal Dagana?)
- With nobody. We have a good friend there. (Andunu ak kenn. Danu fa am xarit bu baax.)
Now, for example the conversation above I could (almost) do already on my own. Considering the amount of time I have used for trying to learn the biggest national language in Senegal, it's a pity that I will return to Finland in less than two months, and will have little chances of keeping up my language skills there. At least I might be able to exchange a few words once in a week with my Senegalese drumming teacher who's in Finland since the 1980s – if he still remembers the language, that is!
How to end this post except by saying that it was supposed to be something like ”Wolof for beginners”, meant for people wanting to learn bits of the language, and to illustrate how learning a new language offers a deeper understanding of the local culture(s). And then I ended up rambling about buttocks and men's obsession with their masculinity...well, that is also very, very Senegal.
That's an unlikely phrase to use frequently in Senegal; yet it's an example found from Peace Corps Gambia Wolof grammar book which is available online. The example phrase might tell you something about the ways in which the Peace Corps volunteers behave when they have get-togethers...
Besides my daily work with the environmental development project in Senegal, I have also tried to learn a new language, Wolof. It's the main language in Senegal, spoken by the majority at least as a second language, and by 40 % of the population as their mother tongue. And, might I add, spoken fluently by many more people than the official language, French.
Working with only Senegalese colleagues means that they use Wolof among themselves most of the time, and from this follows that if I don't speak it at all, I will be left out similarly as a non-Finnish speaking foreigner would be in Finland.
If I had lived in Dakar during my stay in Senegal, I could have even inscribed myself for a Wolof course at the Institut Francais. However, being stationed in Mboro and travelling frequently around Senegal, attending a course in Dakar was outruled as an option.
Learning a new language follows a similar pattern for me. Basic greetings and the most important words are quite easy to learn during the first few days, but then you just get stuck: how to get past those simple things to the real stuff?
I had bought a little book for learning Wolof in Paris in January, and had various documents for learning Wolof: one meant for the volunteers of the NGO Tostan (of which I wrote my Bachelor's Thesis in Development Studies on!), and one from the above-mentioned US Peace Corps Gambia site. In addition, I finally bought the more academic Wolof text book, ”J'apprends le wolof” in a book shop in Dakar in May.
After four months of more or less persistent self-learning in my room with my Wolof books, watching news and other programmes on Wolof TV channels, listening to endless joking in Wolof, where am I in my quest of learning the language?
I'm still far from being fluent, or even understanding most of the content of a normal conversation. But during the last month I have begun to feel that I master at least some notions of Wolof, and it feels less impossible to remember words or to even use them in occasional discussions. From work-related occasions I have learnt words such as ”garbage” (mbalit), ”malaria” (sibiru), ”diarrhea” (biir buy daw), ”mosquito” (yoo), or ”clean” (set).
From colleagues I have learnt some less useful words such as ”big buttocks” (ndiayefonde, ortography non-accurate here) – that was pretty much the first thing the women working in the kitchen wanted to teach me. In fact, the Wolof-English dictionary by the Peace Corps in Gambia has four different words for ”buttocks”. The importance of big size is demonstrated also through the example phrases in the dictionary:
”She has big buttocks” (Dafa am kofal ku rey.)
”She has sizeable buttocks” (Kus bu em la amee.)
The equivalent phrases for masculine organs that I found in the same dictionary are somewhat weird, especially when it comes to their potential usage in every day life:
”A sizeable penis is good and tasty”. (Ganda gu ema baax te saf.)
”He touched his penis”. (Lamba na kooy am bi.)
The latter actually happens a lot in public places: men tend to keep their hand in their crotch without any shame, something that we have not stopped wondering with female foreign friends. Several explanations offered for this include: they affirm their masculinity in this way; it itches down there; the things need to be kept in place especially if the person does not have any underwear; the trousers have to be adjusted or kept in place with the help of the hand; the gesture protects against any bad eyes thrown against him and his sexual organ. I have yet to confront any Senegalese man with this subject, but I highly doubt receiving any reasonable explination for their behaviour. If anybody happens to know the true reason, let me know.
Sometimes the Wolof course books offer hilarious insights of the society. In Swahili books I remember discussions including questions such as ”how are your cows doing?”, a question that I never had to use in Tanzania while living in urban environment. The Wolof text book ”J'apprends le wolof” has one chapter with a very realistic sounding conversation in which the foreigner is trying to buy something to drink or to eat from a street restaurant, with little luck:
- How are you? (Literally "Do you have peace?", Jamm nga am?)
- I'm fine. (Literally "I'm in peace", Jamm rekk.)
- Bring us two beers and a limonade! (Indil ñu ñaari beer ak benn limonaat!)
- We don't sell alcohol here. (Dunu jaay sangara fii.)
- Then bring us three limonades! (Kon, indil nu ñetti limonaat!)
- We only serve food. (Lekk rekk lanuy jaay fii.)
- You don't sell even water? (Dungeen jaay ndox sax?)
- We only have tap water. Nobody sells it. (Ndoxu robine rekk lanu am; kenn du ko jaay.)
- Then bring us four dishes of rice with fish! (Indil book netti ceebu jen!)
- Ah! I'm just going to close – it's time. Go to a hotel! (A! Damay tej de. Waxtu wi jot na. Demleen ca oteel ba!)
- But I have tourists with me who want to taste the Senegalese food. (Nii, danuy ay gan te begga mos toggu Senegaal.)
- So, you'll wait until tomorrow. (Kon, dangeen di xaar ba elleg.)
- Tomorrow we won't be here anymore, we're going to Dagana. (Elleg, dunu fi nekk; danuy dem Dagana.)
- With whom are you going to Dagana? (Kan ngeen di andal Dagana?)
- With nobody. We have a good friend there. (Andunu ak kenn. Danu fa am xarit bu baax.)
Now, for example the conversation above I could (almost) do already on my own. Considering the amount of time I have used for trying to learn the biggest national language in Senegal, it's a pity that I will return to Finland in less than two months, and will have little chances of keeping up my language skills there. At least I might be able to exchange a few words once in a week with my Senegalese drumming teacher who's in Finland since the 1980s – if he still remembers the language, that is!
How to end this post except by saying that it was supposed to be something like ”Wolof for beginners”, meant for people wanting to learn bits of the language, and to illustrate how learning a new language offers a deeper understanding of the local culture(s). And then I ended up rambling about buttocks and men's obsession with their masculinity...well, that is also very, very Senegal.
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