The beauty of language and culture: Part 1 (A dedication to my father)
My father was a linguist; he was very smart. Myself? I speak English, American and London! All jokes aside, I’m generally very good at understanding languages - including some I’ve never learnt before, and it always takes people by surprise when they realise that I’m quick to catch onto the conversation even though I can’t reply back. I must get that from my father… My father, Fadil - a very traditional name - was fluent in ELEVEN languages: Albanian (obviously), Bosnian, English, Arabic, Russian, Macedonian, Croatian, German, Slovenian, Serbian and a little bit of Italian * and breathe! * I even double checked with my family to make sure this was accurate - how incredible is that? My earliest memories of my father included many books in many languages; we had a secret spot at the back of the house where my father had Albanian merchandise (how patriotic!) and little Russian dolls amongst other books in different languages. I remember he would show me books in Albanian and Arabic and attempt to teach me on occasion even though I was still very young. At the back, we also had a stash of olives in a 5 litre tin (who knows where he bought it from) and other foods like mussles and things that no-one in the house would dare eat (I would try anything so it quickly became our thing - also very fattening!) so I developed a taste for different types of foods.
Mother, Father, Myself and my little sister Emmanuelle.
My father had a curious mind and would not shy away from exploring new things. I think his traits and mindset has influenced myself and all my siblings whether we’ve realised it or not. My father was the sort of person who refused to listen to what people said and would rather do his own research and come to his own conclusions - especially regarding religion. Although I inherited many of his traits, it is a shame that I never inherited his linguistic abilities, though, that may also be from a lack of practice and dedication on my part (I’m trying to improve). My mother is also fluent in three languages: Kikuyu, Swahili and English, so you could say I was brought up around a variety of languages (honestly, my lack of linguistic skill in comparison is very disappointing), but I’ll speak more about her in my next post. Sometimes, I laugh at the irony of having parents who are fluent in multiple languages (and English is not their first language), yet somehow I still only know one - pathetic!
I feel like I should introduce my father properly before we move on. Fadil was the only son in his family (a bit like my brother). He has a twin sister - my aunt, and three other sisters…five in total. He was born in former Yugoslavia (please, let's leave the geographical debates for another day) to a Bosnian Mother and Kosovan Father in Gjakova, Kosova. From what I knew, he was a translator, taught English as a foreign language and loved education.
Unfortunately, he died shortly after my eleventh birthday so I didn’t have the privilege of learning about his heritage in full or picking his brain on culture, religion and language. When my father was alive, we would speak to my cousins and aunts abroad when he would ring them daily, however, at this point, we had never flown over. We were babies when my grandparents came so I never got to meet them properly either. It was only until a decade after he passed, that I finally decided to reach out to my family and booked a flight (on pure faith and impulse) to visit the country my father once called home. I knew there were risks, and I wasn’t sure how I would be received - especially with the language barrier, my ethnicity and no father to shield me - but I said to myself that even if I never wanted to go back again, I could at least say I went in his memory. I’m all about embracing my heritage, so I invited my sisters along to share the experience with me. We’ve now visited a total of three times and I’m sure my father would be so proud that we finally met the family.
During every visit, I’ve learnt new things about my father from his best friends, cousins and my aunts. I now know that he was, in fact, the smartest person in his university and during his school days the teachers were so impressed with his knowledge that they would ask him to teach the class instead. As he grew older he qualified as a teacher and taught English as a language to everyone in the village. He encouraged people to read and explore the world and would often travel regularly himself (this is probably how he learnt so many languages). He later went on to be a translator and found himself translating for his country in the Olympics (which is funny because my mother represented Kenya as a marathon runner in the 1988 and 1992 Olympics. This is not where they met).
My family say that my father was always a unique individual who often went against the grain (marrying a black woman as an Albanian man was certainly out there, to say the least!) and he was someone that people looked up to. From what I gather, he was loved by everyone and always tried to help where he could. He joined the army in his twenties and served in Slovenia with his best friend before coming to England when things became too dangerous. From pictures and stories about him, he sounded like the life of the party (I see the apple does not fall far from the tree) and according to my cousins, our grandmother also had a passion for travel so it’s clear that this desire is generations deep. I find it fascinating that with little guidance (or maybe a subconscious prompt?) I find myself enjoying and exploring the very things my father was known for.
When we were little, my siblings and I would have “lessons” in our living room. Imagine this: four little children sitting on plastic tables and chairs in a row with whiteboards and paper all facing the front like school classes (I think I had a red table, my twin brother green, and my sisters had yellow and blue - cute right?). Mind you, this was when discipline was at its peak (African and Albanian parenting = no slack) and with all credit to my parents, they did try and teach us languages so that we could speak their mother tongue. My mother had asked one of her cousins to teach us Kikuyu (our tribal language) and Swahili whilst my father did his best to teach us Albanian. Unfortunately, we were terrible students with too little focus! When my father would call home (daily) he’d give us the handset, listen in on the call and whisper in our ear a reply. I think we had more fun pretending to know Albanian than actually leaning so we ended up learning nothing. One of the only few words I remembered him teaching us was “shqipe” (shi-pe) and we would tell every Albanian we met… It turns out it just means “Albanian” in Albanian * Face-palm. *
Although the first attempt was a categorical fail, my parents did try again to get us into languages. My mother, in particular, would emphasise on the importance of foreign languages and enrolled us all into language school to learn Italian, and Latin. At the time, my brother and I found ways to bunk lessons once my mother stopped driving us and we never took it seriously enough. Latin lessons might have given me a slight head start at school, but I don’t think we really appreciated what my parents were trying to do for us. Fast forward to now, and I really wish I had tried a bit harder. Now I’m doing my best to learn languages in my own time with the help of friends and willing strangers.
I believe my passion for language and culture has always been there: I was often the inquisitive kid that wanted to learn about new things and places. When people used to ask me what my super-power would be, I’d always reply “to be fluent in every language in the world” and it’s something I’d still say to this day. Forget the invisible powers and clicking fingers to teleport nonsense, the power of language has to be one of the greatest gifts of all, for to be fluent in all communications is to be truly free (well, at least that’s what I believe). Can you imagine being able to understand everyone in the world? I think most of us take English for granted because it is accommodated internationally, but what if we actually tried? The networks you could build through language is a power in itself! Although my father set the bar high at eleven, I am going to make it my mission to learn at least one language fluently over the next few years.
I’m not sure where I first had the desire to learn languages but I must give credit to my parents who somehow, unintentionally had an impact on my passion for exploring different cultures and languages. As I’ve found myself travelling more and interacting with people from all areas of the world, I realise how limited I really am. I have a few languages I would like to tackle at some point in my life (other than Swahili, Kikuyu and Albanian) such as French, Mandarin and Italian but these are skills that take a lot of practice, time and dedication… so one step at a time! I would encourage everyone to learn another language and explore a culture other than one they know. Language is the front door to new experiences, yet sadly we leave many doors closed.
My father may not be here, but the few years I did get formed the foundations for my adult life. I wouldn’t say I was aware of my father’s achievements at that age but as I am growing and still learning about my father and his culture, it is evident that we were cut from the same cloth. It’s quite funny how things start to align later on in life, and whilst my father won’t be able to explore the world and its languages, his fire for language and culture will continue to thrive on through me.
Daddy’s biggest troublemaker.