Beyond Hello

My enthusiasm for Setswana has waned. I don’t seem to study like I used to. People are content—and convinced of my fluency—with my immaculate greetings. I started training as one of the few people who studied. I hit the ground running, but by the end of training, I was run into the ground. 7:30-4:30: 4 hours of language, followed by a lunch consisting of peanut butter straight from the jar, then technical training— a lesson in tedious frustration. When my day was over, what used to be dedicated to Setswana was shifted towards a required portfolio and novels. Novels for my sanity. The portfolio, to demonstrate my Peace Corps competencies with a colorful backdrop of construction paper and bright, fruit scented markers. Cutting up pretty pieces of paper was mindless, cathartic, my host nieces loved it, and I let it wholly replace my Setswana studies.
Since I’ve been at site, I’ve only made it to page 23 of my self study language manual and I’m downright ashamed. Ashamed that I haven’t made it past the pleasantries, beyond an “Intermediate Mid” score on my LPI language test when I should have broken Intermediate High, at least. So here I sit, thinking of all the immigrants back home that don’t speak English and the frustration of being mute in a big country far from home. The longer I can’t speak Setswana, the longer the shame of mostly interacting with English speakers hangs over me. English speakers aren’t the people who need services the most. During training, current volunteers spoke to us, and we inevitably asked them how their Setswana was. They curled back and said they got frustrated and gave up, and wished they didn’t. Perhaps they’ve got a newfound empathy for immigrants far from home who move to America, live there for a decade or more, and never learned much English, aside from the absolute bare minimum. The necessary. The “I don’t speak English” phrases that are memorized. Lots of Peace Corps volunteers in Botswana don’t speak much Setswana. They can’t make it beyond hello and other small pleasantries. They depend on others to speak English. My group was one of the first groups to take the language seriously, and the Peace Corps has been putting the smack down on Setswana. Rightfully so. Setswana and English are the two languages here, but English is not called English, its called Sekoga, which sounds strangely similar to Lakoa which is essentially an English speaking white person. English is my first language as I’m from an English speaking country. Somehow, I qualify as a Lakoa, which isn’t a bad thing. It exempts me from certain protocol. I sit with my head hung in shame. Its hung over page 23 of my self study Setswana book. My neck has a crick and it will stay there until I reach a certain level of language proficiency and can hold my head high—I’m aiming for Advanced High in eight months when I take my next LPI language assessment. To move to a country and be mute beyond hello doesn’t suit my long winded, shit talking personality. Similarly, when Batswna speak to me their English is proficient. I would describe most people’s English as proficient only. Not fluent but proficient enough for me to avoid Setswana. My heart flutters when I find someone who is fluent—who speaks English as well as they speak Setswana. But their Setswana, among themselves is animated and it vibrates with meaning that’s under the surface. Life is lived in Setswana and Sekgoa (English) is a necessary evil.