French Lessons: for many nationalities

“It’s a new law,” my jovial, French father-in-law said to us over the phone; a new French law that would now require all immigrants to take free, government paid French lessons. This was good news! The number of lessons would reflect your current level of French. Advanced, only get 100 hours. Débutante, you get the max, 400 hours. I took 4 years of French in high school with Mrs. Ryder and although that was over 20 years ago, I knew I’d at least remember the basics if not more. She was a wonderful teacher, very charismatic and jovial herself.

We spread the news about the new law at our going away party. Our friends and family were impressed that France was so bold. Yes, America could stand to take a few pointers on this subject. Imagine if the US required all immigrants to learn English. It sends quite a message, don’t you think?

In France you will hopefully never hear this when making a phone call: Press 1 for French, 2 for English, 3 for Arabic… France wants to hold on to their identity, and rightly so. I can’t blame them. Remember when you didn’t have to press 1 for English in the States? That was a long time ago. 

Turkey and her stuffed animal in the Sherpa bag

Two weeks after our party, we were gone; boarded the plane in Boston with a mix of emotions, a few suitcases and one Sherpa bag containing one Turkey. She rode in the cabin with us of course.

The immigration office is located at the préfecture. You are told to arrive at 7:30am, only to end up waiting outside for an hour and a half with 100 other people until the place actually opens at 9 o’clock. Baa, we resembled a herd of sheep I thought, all facing the same direction, cramming toward the gate waiting for the door to open, where you then have to haul a$$ to then wait in yet another line, where you are then given 2 minutes of someone’s time to explain your needs, and she gives you a number and you wait yet again for 1-3 hours. Good times. 

At the préfecture I was given an oral French exam to determine my niveau de français. I quickly learned that the poorer my responses were during the exam, the more hours I could rack up in free French lessons. So, I purposely botched a few answers. Et voila! I managed to get myself 300 hours.

As a side note, and completely unrelated…I was also given a chest x-ray. Standard procedure for les étrangers. What’s NOT standard procedure to me however is doing this type of exam buck naked. Well, I was naked from the waist up. I asked for a johnny, a drape, two napkins for pete’s sake, something! Eh beh non, Madame, c’est juste comme ça…

holiday party, had to dress in our country's colors - USA!

“You must be the other American!!” she excitedly boasted from her seat at the big classroom table. She was Brigid, another blonde, blue-eyed, uber-friendly American. We would soon become each other’s BFFs (best friends in France). I smiled and sat next to her, and with total disregard for the fact that this was my first day of French class, I immediately started chatting with her in our fun, native tongue. Ah, American English, so refreshing. So popular! ALL eyes were on us. Our teacher entered the room, however, and quickly put an end to that. En français, les filles… Oui, madame,  désolée.

Several French classes were offered during the week, with a variety of profs, and I attended class about twice a week. Each class was 3.5 hours long. The teachers used the direct method with us. Ohlalalalala. This is where the teacher refrains from using the student’s native language and only speaks in the target language. Most of the profs spoke English, but they refused to do any translating for us. Well, except for one. She was really cool. It wasn’t just me and Brige that spoke English. It was the 2^nd language for many other students as well. 

a motley crew

So in addition to Brige from Florida, I made other friends through this course. I met a cornucopia of interesting people! We were such a motley crew. I wondered how hard that must’ve been for the teachers. I was truly surprised to realize just how many different nationalities were represented. Here are just some of the people that I met: Laila from Portugal, young Amadou from Senegal, Christian from Chile, out-spoken Sanye and soft-spoken Sadye from Turkey, sassy Anya, Katia, and a slew of others from Russia, Svetlana and many more from the Ukraine, Neno from Georgia (which I am embarrassed to say that I never knew was a country), Tanya from Ecuador, Terri from New Zealand, Marco from Brasil, Gianna from Italy, a bunch of very nice chatty-cathy’s from the Philippines, Nathamon from Thailand, Oh and Jung from Vietnam, Fatima and others from Tunisia, Susan from Norway, Mel from The Netherlands, Tomoko and Midori from Japan (two very cool chicks), Mike from The Big Apple, Mara the California girl, a young boy from Iraq, Ali and Temirlan of Chechnya, and our oldest student, a grandmother, age 75ish but sharp as a tack, named Alla from Russia. 

I got to know a lot of people and Brige was always amazed at how I could remember all the names. She calls me Rainman for that. I’m not shy and can strike up a conversation with anyone. Other than the Americans, I most enjoyed talking to the Japanese women and the Muslim women wearing the headscarves. Or rather, these Muslim women seemed to really enjoy talking to me. But I remember one though who always looked at me with contempt. I was friendly with her just the same. I don’t think they’d ever had much opportunity to speak with a woman from the west. 

Once even, when I was turned talking to Brige, I felt something on my hair (long, blond hair). I turned and it was the sweet-faced Fatima from Turkey. She had touched my hair and apologized for doing so. She said she’d never really seen blonde hair up close, or touched it. Did she think it would feel differently? She commented that it was so pretty and soft. I asked her about her hair, if it was brown or black, wavy or straight, and how she likes to wear it at home when she’s allowed to take off the scarf. And there we were, two women from completely different cultures, backgrounds and religious beliefs, just chatting about hairstyles, make-up, etc. It was a completely different kind of lesson; the type that opens the eyes and mind, and introduces similarities in a world full of differences.