STAR Project, Research brief #4 Field notes and Facebook: An open fieldwork diary in Guinea Bissau Kasper Juffermans Institute for Research on Multilingualism University of Luxembourg
This is the fourth in a series of research briefs in the STAR project. STAR stands for “Sociolinguistic trajectories and repertoires: Luso-Luxo-African identifications, interactions and imaginations”, and is a three-year CORE research project funded by FNR, Luxembourg. This multi-sited project seeks to contribute to the field of sociolinguistics of globalization by investigating language and migration between the global South (Cape Verde and Guinea Bissau) and North (Luxembourg) from the perspective of both accomplished and aspiring migrants. This fourth research brief reports on the exploratory fieldwork in Guinea Bissau by Kasper Juffermans from late August to early October 2014. It does so on the basis of Facebook posts sent from the field and reflects on the uses of Facebook as a means to make the fieldwork experience more transparent. Ethnographers keep fieldwork diaries or write field notes. That’s one of the first lessons we learn as students of ethnography. Field notes are there to help us remember and make sense of our observations. They help us observe attentively and reconstruct our observations before we forget the details. They are a first step in analyzing the stuff we investigate. They can be developed into vignettes that help us in constructing an argument, they can be elaborated into a conference paper or chapter of a dissertation. Field notes are perhaps the building blocks of ethnographic research. That’s the theory. In practice, ethnographers use field notes in manifold ways. Some write them in the style of elegant literary prose, others scribble lists of bullet points accompanying sketch drawings, charts and maps (e.g. of family relations or classroom lay-out). A fieldwork diary may be akin to a rough first draft of a later monograph, or may be more like a scrapbook with newspaper clippings, brochures, flyers, business cards and other material stuck into it. Some ethnographers write them in a systemic daily fashion, first thing in the morning or last thing in the evening. Some write them on paper, with fountain pen or pencil, in special notebooks, simple school exercise books, or on the back of beer felts or toilet paper, whatever is at hand. Some also write them on a laptop, or carefully copy their handwritten notes on a computer while still in the field or later on. Some write them in the same language they do their field research in, or in the same language they publish in, or in whatever language one most expressively and easily writes in. But often the language one most easily writes one’s thoughts in yet another one. Those who do “domestic fieldwork” close to home or office can often step back into their study room to write up their field notes after a morning or afternoon of fieldwork. Those working in remote villages of developing countries for longer periods of time often have more basic conditions and sharply differentiate weeks or months of desk and field research. I should confess that my field notes are quite messy and anything but systematic. When I’m in the field, most of the time, I don’t have a desk and chair available to make myself comfortable to write. I have written field notes lying on a bed or with the book on my knee sitting on a stool, with children looking over my shoulder, and even http://starprojectlux.blogspot.com
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standing or on the go in public transport. I’m often also too tired after a long day to write down meticulously everything that happened that day. Except during classroom observations when the conditions are ideal to make field notes, I’m not a good field note writer. I write them in a mixture of Dutch and English and whatever language I hear something that’s worth quoting literally. My handwriting is horrible and aggravated by the lack of writing desks, etc. Attempts to write field notes are also often interrupted by social interactions that are always available, and should be given priority over solitary writing. Usually, the further I proceed in my fieldwork, the less I end up writing classic field notes. I use my field note book instead also to make notes in taking communal language lessons, often from children. With few exceptions, I seldom consult my own field notes after fieldwork. Most of it is in the end not really worth reading back. This last field work I tried out something different. I kept an open fieldwork diary in the form of daily posts on my Facebook account addressed to my list of friends scattered around the world. My list of friends on Facebook consists of old and new friends; close and extended family; colleagues from current and previous workplaces and from the international conference circuit; people I meet during fieldwork; and a couple of people I’ve never even physically met—all of whom are inclusively lumped together as my virtual friends. When posting on Facebook I’m addressing an audience that’s extremely diverse in terms of interests, national and linguistic backgrounds, education, religious, lifestyles and mobility. These include friends from school and childhood in Belgium; family in the Netherlands; fellow students from Ghent and Hong Kong; current colleagues in Luxembourg; former colleagues and students from Tilburg and Hamburg; academic friends (colleagues in the wider sense) in places such as Denmark, Finland and South Africa; friends from fieldwork in The Gambia and now Guinea Bissau; a distant cousin in Australia; and people from all these categories who, like myself, have relocated to other places. I’ve had an account on Facebook for about seven years now but have hardly made any regular active use of it throughout this period, until now. I suppose I worried (a bit too much) about what to say in what language about what to whom, and how that would come across. To my surprise (and satisfaction), I received a decent amount of comments and “likes” through the Facebook interface as well as, directly and indirectly, through other channels. In general, the reactions were positive, and gradually I grew less scared of the medium. (Fortunately, Facebook hasn’t got a “don’t like” button built in!) It was finally doing something that worked for me. And so I kept posting, trying to commit myself to posting an observation, anecdote or story once a day. Below I will reproduce these posts as I shared them (without the comments). The main advantage of using Facebook in this way was that it made the fieldwork experience more transparent. A family member commented that she finally understood what my work for the university was about, or what research on language entailed. Some colleagues comparatively commented or advised me (when prompted) on issues emerging from my fieldwork. My closest friends in the fields could in this way keep track and comment (online as well as offline) on the observations I was making in their midst and often with them as protagonists. Facebook also allowed me to stay in touch and discuss, even plan, work with colleagues in what should be characterized as an environment of poor connectivity: often I couldn’t get my laptop to access the Internet via Wifi, but could connect to the 2G network with my smartphone which was fine for simple Facebook posts, chat and e-mailing. For
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instance, I drafted an abstract for a conference talk together with Bernardino, and worked on a panel proposal for a conference with a colleague in Switzerland). This new transparency has some implications for research anonymity as it is commonly practiced. The ethical stance I adopted is that anonymity should be given as a choice rather than forced onto participants (friends). Where possible I asked for permission to use people’s real names (or photos in some cases) and had them read the posts in draft-form for approving and improving, or I simply left out their names. The posts are mainly in English with appropriate codemeshing to illustrate the multilingualism on the ground, although some are also Dutch and French. The main device for writing these notes was my Samsung smartphone. The posts were first drafted in the Memo app, and than copied and pasted into the Facebook app as status updates, preferably with a picture as illustration. 31 Aug 2014
Een klein berichtje aan iedereen thuis die zorgen heeft geuit omtrent ebola: er worden in Guinea Bissau zowel grote als kleine maatregelen getroffen om ebola buiten te houden: • de grens met het andere Guinea is gesloten; • grote bijeenkomsten zoals ceremonies en weekmarkten (lumo) zijn verboden; • bij aankomst op de luchthaven wordt iedereen onderworpen aan verplicht (symbolisch?) handen wassen; • handen wassen en zeep is populairder geworden en naar verluidt wordt er ook minder handen geschud; • er mag geen bush meat gegeten worden (wild zwijn, konijn, aap, rat); • er zijn voorlichtingsspotjes en reportages op tv en radio; • het leger wordt ingezet voor een nationale "campanha de limpeza"—een grootschalige schoonveegactie van de straten... Er lijkt veel steun en goodwill te zijn voor deze maatregelen van de nieuwe regering. Ik kijk op dit moment in Bissorã het nieuws en het gaat al een heel uur nergens anders over—er lijkt geen ander nieuws te zijn, behalve de transferdeadline in het Europese voetbal dan...
2 Sept 2014
Some things just work so much more efficiently in Africa than in Europe. Still in Bissorã I got my old phone fixed this afternoon: it was great to watch how the whole thing got dismantled and reassambled again with the broken part replaced from a bag of rice full of spare parts. At 5,000 FCFA or € 7.50 for half an hour of work a little overcharged no doubt, but I thought it was well worth it... and he would let me pay "ate manha"!
2 Sept 2014
Regentijd in de tropen. De lucht is zwaar en zwoel en vanaf de ochtend tot de vroege avond is de zon zinderend heet. Het is wachten op een bui die de ergste hitte even weg neemt. Bij de minste inspanning werk ik mezelf in het zweet en onmiddellijk na het baden weer. Zelfs theedrinken is onmogelijk zonder zweetdruppels op het voorhoofd en de onderrug. Overdag bieden enkel de mango- en cashewbomen en zeldzame zuchtjes wind enige verkoeling. 's Avonds maken de kikkers in de plassen in de weg zoveel kabaal dat je in het voorbijgaan soms je gesprek moet staken. De nacht is zwart en zacht maar vol geluiden. Ik val hier iedere nacht in slaap met een helse symfonie van krekels en kwakende kikkers in paringstijd. Soms wordt het heel even stil, als een roofvogel er een wegpikt of iets anders ze opschrikt, maar vrij vlug beginnen ze weer alsof hun voortbestaan ervan afhangt. Behalve de kikkers zijn ook de mensen waakzaam op rovers en veedieven in de nacht.
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4 Sept 2014
Today I bought myself a so-called "container bike", this to distinguish it from "made in China" bikes. Container bikes are imported segundo mão from Europe, with some post-export African bricolagemanship added on to it. I bought mine—an all black Logan with both reverse and left-hand break, and a new saddle—from a salesman at the central Praça who once made a business trip to Dubai. He smiles with a mixture of pride and shyness when I remind him of that. The man likes to try out his English to me as we negotiate the price and conditions of sale. The last time I bought a bike in Africa I used it for only half an hour before giving it away. But that was in automotive urban Gambia; this time in pedestrian and (moto)cycling semirural Guinea Bissau will be different, or so I think.
4 Sept 2014
Multilingual financial literacy. Talking about money in multiple languages can be confusing and even more so in Guinea Bissau. Duzentos (200) can sound as douze cents (1200) and cinq mille (5,000) as cem mil (100,000). And when speaking African languages, the amounts need to be multiplied by 5 to get their equivalents in the European languages including Creole. The explanation goes that in colonial times the basic unit was the 5 francs coin, which was regarded as 1 in the African languages across l'Afrique occidental française. This double counting system was imported to Guinea Bissau when it joined the BCEAO and had the old peso replaced by the CFA franc in 1997. So dalasi tang lulu (50), keme (100), and keme fula (200) in Mandinka correspond to duzentos cinquenta/deux cents cinquante (250), cinco cem/cinq cents (500), and mil/mille (1000) francs CFA, respectively. It's confusing only to foreigners, including or perhaps especially to Anglophone Gambians, as it requires double conversion—calculation and translation—at once. To avoid confusion, amounts are often quoted and reconfirmed in multiple notations and in multiple languages as part of price negotiations.
5 Sept 2014
Weekend on Bolama, Ilhas dos Bijagos, with Reinaldo Natcha and Issa Dabo. It's fun to learn Creole because it doesn't start from scratch but builds on to the Romance and Senegambian parts of my repertoire. Here are a couple of phrases of Guineense I've picked up so far: 1) Bon dia; Bo tardi; Bo noiti. 2) Kuma di kurpu/familia/tarbadju? -Sta bem/dritu. 3) Kumu ku bu nomi? -Nha nomi i Gaspar/Malang 4) N ka ta papia kriyol dritu. Bu obi ingles/frances/mandinka? 5) Nha mindjer ku nha fidju sta la. 5) Bu kunsi la? 6) N tene sedi, misti bibi yaku fresku. 7) N tene fomi, misti kume kaldu branku. 8) I karu, n tene so 500. 9) Na bai laba kurpu. 10) N kansa, misti sinta. Any translations needed?
6 Sept 2014
My verbal repertoire here is a mixture of Mandinka, English, Creole-annexPortuguese, French, and a tiny bit of Wolof—mostly broken, severely accented, in learning mode, and with minimal competence, but all of it
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evidently growing in the process (even if most of it will never mature). The point of course is that languages don't exist, only speakers do. It's wonderful how encouraging everybody here is to my translanguaging (and take "trans" here in the same sense as in transvestite). Today I was filmed by a local fisherman, Morke, on his phone, asking me to speak a little more. And an old woman said I was only the third white person she met who could speak "clean" Mandinka—one of the other two being a woman with a big nose. I wonder how she will remember me.
6 Sept 2014
Over te nemen: olympisch zwembad-annex-restaurant met zeezicht. Toplokatie, verlaten sinds enkele decennia. Een van de vele mogelijkheden op Bolama voor de durfkapitalist met geduld. Voor als de wereld de Bijagos archipel ooit herontdekt. Maar tot dan idyllische plek voor specialisten in vergane glorie.
7 Sept 2014
Returning to Bissau after a great weekend escape to Bolama already begins to feel like coming home... but what does home mean anyway?
8 Sept 2014
The telephone rings. Issa brings his white Alcatel smartphone to his right ear. I hear him quote some prices and protocols for installing wireless Internet. Issa works at Orange customer service. Towards the end of the call he says that he's on vacation and will deal with the application when he gets back to his office after the 17th. When he hangs up, I ask him where this customer is from. "From Bafata." I mean from what country. "He's Bissau Guinean, we just like to practice our English."
8 Sept 2014
Though I'm not that kind of linguist, it's fun when learning a new language to discover a structure that doesn't work in any of my other languages. Here's one from Guineense: Tchuba na tchubi > The rain is raining Another I discovered through English: It wants to rain < I misti tchubi (It rains almost every day now and that apparently has some effect on my vocabulary.)
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10 Sept 2014
My friend Natcha, the English language teacher, has a remarkable collection of downloads on his laptop and phone that we watch or listen to at night. These include the South African film Sarafina with Whoopie Goldberg, documentaries and speeches of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King, recordings of Nigerian stand-up comedian Basket Mouth, soundtracks of Westlife, and performances of African American motivational speaker Les Brown. I only got to know the latter through Natcha, but now know parts of his speeches by heart. When we walk through the streets of Bairro Militar or Pessaque on the outskirts of Bissau, we sometimes recite Brown's words as pep-talk for the mind: • "You can achieve greatness in your life. How? How is none of your business." • "It's better to be prepared for an opportunity and not have one than to have one and not be prepared." • "You cannot get out of life alive!" • "You gotta be hungry!"
11 Sept 2014
This week I was welcomed at EFTA school, a popular private language school in the centre of Bissau. I asked the director to think of ways how my presence in the school could also benefit the school community. "Ok, then we'll have you as an extra teacher." I could start the following day. The same day I made a round of introductions across the seven classes of the school named Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, Sorbonne, Rochelle, Coimbra and Bologna. At this time slot, from 9 to 10 am, they were lower level classes of English (3), French (3) and Portuguese (1) respectively. Natcha would later comment: "Oh, today you try Portuguese, that's good, but you mix it with French and you make it sound like you want to speak Spanish." The following evening, I observed one and taught two English classes. After that, the director asked if I could also do French, so the French department wouldn't be jealous. Am I underestimating my language skills or is someone overestimating them?
12 Sept 2014
September 12. New public holiday in Guinea Bissau. Amilcar Cabral's birthday 90 years ago. Agriculturalist, engineer, politician, poet, awareness raiser, freedom fighter and father of two nations that didn't become one... Will we witness a Cabralist renaissance with President Mario Vaz?
12 Sept 2014
Nha amikus: nha kuarti tene dus ratus badi kama ki fazi di noiti barudgu manga del.
12 Sept 2014
Ebola. A friend/colleague in London who's preparing for a field trip to Casamance (Senegal) with her team asked me for an update on the situation re Ebola here. Below is more or less what I answered. For all clarity, Ebola hasn't spread into Guinea Bissau but has made large numbers of victims in neighbouring Guinea (Conakry) as well as in Sierra Leone and Liberia further east. The surrounding countries, however, are on the alert and taking practical measures to stop the epidemy from spreading further. Guinea Bissau as one of these, is highly alert about Ebola and seems to be doing all that's possible and necessary to keep it out, even if it remains vulnerable as a poor country with a fragile state. The topic dominates the news as well as many everyday conversations here
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(incidentally, as I write these words I hear the E-word on the radio). So there seems to has emerged something of an increased awareness about contageous diseases and personal hygiene in general. Although some of this may seem trivial, I've noticed many changes in daily routines in response to Ebola, especially in the city. These include adding disinfectants (lixivia) in water for washing and drinking; a generally increased use of soap and more opportunities for washing hands; some people now avoid to shake hands or "shake" fists, wrists or elbows instead; further, prior to entering official buildings such as banks, ministries, major companies, schools, etc., it's required to wash hands with specially provided desinfectant water. In addition, there are graphic sensibilisation campaigns everywhere on posters, television screens, etc., designed to be "read" also by non-literates. The borders with Guinea are still closed and eating bush meat (although still possible) is stigmatised now. For most people, including myself, it's not too hard though to refrain from eating monkey (sanchu) or bat (mursego) meat. All in all, life's become more hygienic and cleaner than ever. I feel healthy and so seems everybody around me. So far so good...
15 Sept 2014
The other week I was called into a nail and beauty salon annex barber shop. It's run by two Guineans in their mid-twenties. I was asked to choose a hairstyle from the posters on the walls. I couldn't easily find one of black male hairstyles to be compatible with my Caucasian hair. And I wasn't prepared to get a Balotelli coupe or to have Bart Simpson engraved on the back of my head. So I asked for a recommendation. "Ça c'est jolie pour toi. Ça je pourrais faire avec tes cheveux," the friendly immigrant barber said, while pointing at a North African looking model with a square cut. Unconvinced, I said I would think about it.
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An odd week later I'm back at their salon for a coupe ouest africaine. I opt for "Looking Good Cut" n° 43—the only white guy on the wall, and with the same frontal bolding as I. An old pair of scissors, two razor blades, a tondeuse, two questions and a little hour later, and there I am again with that mm-cut I last had when I was thirteen. Merci Ibrahima. 16 Sept 2014
I ask my new friend S. the hardware seller where he's learned English. S. is a Fula from Gabu and he's the one who sold me that bike. He offers me a plastic chair and buys me a bag of groundnuts. I joke with him that he should pay the lady only after we've eaten them, like his customers commonly request for the parts he's selling. Before he can answer my question, a woman walks into his shop. To my surprise he greets her in English. When their transaction is complete I ask her where she's "heard" English. In Zimbabwe, she answers to my even greater surprise. She's been there with ADPP for a training course. S.: "I see no teacher for learning English here." There was only Portuguese in his school; the English teachers came too late for him, in his final year. When he heard them speaking he got interested in the language but lost the interest again after graduation, but after moving to Bissorã the interest came back. He repeatedly asked one of his customers to be his teacher, but this man had "no spare time". So he found some books in Bissau and began teaching himself, "until I can try small small." And now he uses English with that customer, he concludes triumphantly.
17 Sept 2014
I don't think I had seen any Brazilian television prior to this trip, but what is that!? On the news a few days back—I think it was the news—they first brought an item about long-range guns and other heavy weapenry "ladraõs" (robbers) are now using. I could then see amateur video coverage of a car crashing into a building, and of another accident killing a child and her aunt, followed by an emotional interview with the deceased's husband and some eyewitnesses. The next item brought a theft of a car with a labrador in the trunk showing the thief's face (innocent until proven guilty?) as he was caught trying to sell the dog. Another newsworthy item called attention to the phenomenon of women fighting over their double-booked lover, illustrated with some spectacular footage of women ripping each other’s clothes off... TV Record, come to Bissau to see it.
18 Sept 2014
The night is full of surprises. Coming home from the language school I shared a taxi with a teacher and a student. All taxis are shared here and not the customer but the driver decides where he's going. At night and when it's raining it's hard to find one going to Bairro Militar because of the condition of the road. The student halted and talked to the drivers while the teacher and I share an umbrella. Only the thirteenth or so that stopped would take us. We climb on the back seat and watch the film that's playing on a screen attached to the dashboard. It's a Chinese martial arts film dubbed in Portuguese with women fighting and killing each other with swords and sticks. It's very sexy. I ask how much we're paying. The student insists he's
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18 Sept 2014
paying. The teacher gets off first. The student hands the driver a 1,000 bill and tells him where he drops and where to drop me next. He tells me "buy a small light" and gives me a 500 note. He doesn't take no for an answer. After he drops, the film becomes erotic and has all my attention. I hardly realise the car has stopped. "Rua Bula." Navigating the African city. I've always been bad at spatial orientation. Those who know me well, know that's an understatement. But here I'm managing relatively well. But not because its easy. It's not. Imagine a street with houses on both sides. Imagine that street becoming narrower and narrower. Now imagine that street simply disappearing between the houses, including a friend's home, before leading via a narrow alley past a church to another street—one that looks like a street again. Imagine that you need to turn left after a short distance into that street before a place called "Bar Holandesa". Imagine that you need to take a right turn after the first house in that street. Also imagine that all of these are dirt roads and, with many potholes and sandbags to channel the water. And imagine that it's pitch-dark and has been raining since the afternoon and it's still raining, and that you're alone. Imagine that you need to walk diagonally over three unfenced compounds (mind the barbed wire and the sharp currogated roofing!) to bring you to a narrow path through a swampy farmland. Imagine that after that you need to zigzag between four or five compounds (you keep forgetting the actual number) to bring you to an open area at the other side of which is your house. Would you be able to get home safely after dark? I do, despite my poor navigational skills. Perhaps I do because I need to stay focused and use all my senses. (Buying a small light—see the previous post—was certainly not a bad idea!) But I also do because I'm getting simultaneous feedback all along the way. If I mistake a compound for the road, I'm being told so ("Kaminhu ka ten li") and redirected in the right way. As I get closer to home, somebody usually recognizes me and walks along in the right direction or looks in the direction of home when asking if I'm going home. That's how I make it home safely.
18 Sept 2014
Learning by doing (or: legitimate peripheral practice). I'm still surprised how often and unexpectedly I'm being put in front of a classroom here. Three times in three different places today. First at the uni campus in a class at the American Corner, then a group of 9th graders in a Korean-funded private school, and in the evening a beginner's class at EFTA language school replacing a teacher who got stuck in traffic. And nobody seems to notice or care that I'm not actually qualified or trained for teaching. (But isn't that also the case at our universities?)
19 Sept 2014
Futebol. Een oude antropoloog zei me ooit dat hij een hekel had aan voetbal in het veld. Met het veld bedoelde hij niet het voetbalveld maar zijn werkterrein. Voetbal leidde af van de traditionele cultuur in de dorpen en was dus ruis. Voor mij ligt dat anders. Voetbal verbindt en stelt me in staat om met weinig gedeelde taal gesprekken te voeren. Bovendien vertelt het veel over de wereld en de lokale verbeelding.
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In de vele videoclubs zijn alle wedstrijden van Benfica, Porto en Barcelona te volgen. Iedereen hier weet dat Bruno Martins Indi eigenlijk van hier en dus van hen is. Een jong talent dat enkele van zijn vrienden voetballenderwijs naar Portugal heeft zien vertrekken en hongerig op zijn geluk wacht, wist alle spelers van het Belgische team op te noemen: Lukaku, De Bruyne, Hazard, Fellaini... Iedere wijk heeft zijn team (FC Medina, Real Kidis, AC Ada, Onze Attaquante, Rebentes...) en zowat iedere jongen heeft hier ook een voetbalnaam: Benzema, Ronaldo, Messi, Eto'o, Zlatan, Robben... En de wat ouderen herinneren zich die van hen van toen: Zidane, Poborsky, Kaka, Puyol... Plastic waterschoenen doen overigens goed dienst als voetbalschoenen, bij gebrek aan the real thing. Een paar dagen terug kreeg ik een briefje met daarop enkel het getal 41. "Mijn schoenmaat. Ik wil graag 'botas'. Als je terug komt?" Botas zijn echte voetbalschoenen. Zijn broertje had me een dag eerder hetzelfde gevraagd, zij het zonder briefje. Dus aan de mama's en papa's met jongens (of meisjes) die voetballen: hebben jullie nog gebruikte botten om te sjotten voor een tweede leven in Afrika?
19 Sept 2014
Lessons in African ethnicity. You (short for Youcenio) says he doesn't feel very much Bijago even though officially that's his ethnic group. People often don't believe him when he says he's Bijago. He doesn't look like that, doesn't speak the language, has never been to the islands and admits to being afraid of the water. His cousin mocked him the other day saying: "Bu kunsi so terra; ami n kunsi terra, n kunsi yagu." Above all, You feels Bissau Guinean, and ethnic identities shouldn't be as important as they are sometimes held to be. He begins to narrate his family heritage and within minutes he's mentioned nearly all ethnic groups of Guinea Bissau. "My father was born on the islands but grew up in Bissau. My grandmother is Balanta and I even have a Balanta name (Midana). My stepfather is Fula and so are two of my brothers. You know, my mother and aunts are Djiba— they don't really have an ethnicity, they're the original speakers of Creole. Their grandfather was Kabriano, from Cape Verde, and was very light. My cousins on that side are Biafada and Mandinka through their fathers. We also have Pepel in my family and my girlfriend is Mankanhi." "I have something of all these ethnic groups in me, that's why I say I'm Guinean. I think these ethnic groups will eventually all go away and we'll all speak Creole."
20 Sept 2014
"It's better to be prepared for an opportunity and not have one than to have one and not be prepared." (Les Brown) This slogan is applicable to many situations of life in Bissau. It applies to the young football talent I mentioned in Friday's post as well as to the students and teachers I hang out with: they're preparing for an opportunity that may never come. But when it comes they're ready for it and eager to grab it.
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It also applies to the bairros, the districts at the outskirts of the city. People moved here faster than the city could be planned and they're patiently waiting for the city's infrastructure (streets, tap water, electricity) to catch up with their presence. Take my friend Issa's house for example. It's all wired up and even wifi connected—a great exception here!—and it has all the bathroom furniture only nowhere to connect these to. Sometimes we have light (usually during weekends and after midnight) but most of the time we don't. And when there's light we can connect to the wireless router, but all too often the network is too busy and unaccessible. But when it's not, we're at least prepared for it.
22 Sept 2014
In the classes I visit I routinely begin by introducing myself and the purpose of my visit. I've learned to improvise a short lecture on language and migration adaptable to the average age and level of the class. The questions afterwards are not exclusively related to the content matter though. The following are among the most recurring: • • • • • • • •
What's your nationality? Where do you live? What's your marital status?, followed by, Do you have a son? How do you see our country? How old are you? What countries (in Africa) have you visited? How many languages do you speak? What advice can you give us? (in learning languages)
The most intelligent one I got a few days ago from a girl in ninth grade: • Why are you doing this research? 23 Sept 2014
Our contribution to Bissau's linguistic landscape: getting known by being worn.
24 Sept 2014
O 24 Setembro: Dia da Independência na Guiné-Bissau. Spent it with friends under a lemon tree enjoying a three-course banquet of Cape Verdean catchupa, rice with homegrown duck, and grilled fish on a bed of lime-seasoned cucumber. Served with fresh baobab and French lemon juice, roasted groundnuts, and romantic Brazilian music. Viva a Independência Guineense!
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25 Sept 2014
Observing classrooms is often downright boring—who cares about the rules of verb conjugation if you can apply them?—but not the last hour today in "Coimbra". The day after Independence Day I receive a most fascinating and lively introduction into the life and politics of Amilcar Cabral and the struggle for Guiné's independence and development up till now. My teachers? Five students struggling real hard to express themselves in English and an extraordinarily well informed and nuanced teacher of English, who apparently missed his calling as a history teacher. Born in Guiné to a Cape Verdean colonial officer and a Guinean house maid but grown up in Cape Verde and further educated in Portugal before moving back to Cape Verde and then Guiné, the figure of Cabral is, four decades after his death, still full of controversies and paradoxes. One of these concerns the question of whether Cabral could or should have obtained Independence through dialogue instead of armed struggle. Some even hold him personally responsable for all that's wrong in Guiné today. Another question is whether Cabral is truly Guinean. An idea articulated in class is that Cabral used Guineans to fight while granting Cape Verdeans opportunities to study abroad. Teacher Candé skillfully dismantles the latter with reference to simple historic facts as propagandist character murder by the post-Independence coup plotters. I want to believe him that it's only after that and due to their incompetence that things began to fall apart. Cabral's heritage is very much alive. As I take the taxi back home and try to digest this history lesson, the car radio plays an old eulogy song for Cabral.
27 Sept 2014
Your advice please. In the language school, I'm mostly addressed as "teacher" (also as Kasper, senhor Kasper, mister Kasper, monsieur, professeur, prof, pursor) but I do not always occupy that role. My role is something in between that of a silent observer, a participating guest and a (co-)teacher or teaching assistant. Moreover, the teachers commonly ask me for advice or even to assess their teaching—which would make me an inspector. This ambiguous role troubles me. Before I continue, the teachers are all wonderful persons and very competent in their job (n tenne manga di rispitu pa pursori di Bissau!), but we're in the most outer circle of World English and French here. Most of the time there's no problem, but this is my dilemma: What do I do when I'm not the main teacher and the teacher writes "shocks" on the board or lets students repeat "sweat shirt" as "sweet shirt" in a lesson on clothes. Or when a French teacher writes: "A quoi ça servent?" or pronounces Egypt's capital Le Caire after an epic lesson on prepositions with "ai" as in mère? There are more examples, but that's not the point. Should I: 1) offer a correction in class? 2) offer a correction to the teacher in private after class? 3) do nothing?
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All three make me feel awkward. While 1) or rather 2) seems to be what the teachers want when asking for my advice or feedback, I can't seem to find the appropriate form in which to bring this. So 3) seems to be the easy way out, and commensurable with the antiprescriptivist ethos of sociolinguistics. But on second thought this goes against local research valorization and the teachers’ requests for feedback. 3) also seems to fall back into the non-participant observer's paradox fallacy (of observerless observing or denying the observer's presence). Further, my research has very little to do with formal aspects of language learning and teaching, so making a big point out of these minor spelling or pronunciation issues would give the wrong meta-message, I'm afraid. And finally, I'm not flawless either. Go and find the endonormatively incorrect features in my posts here if you like. It'll make for a decent list I'm sure. I'm not qualified as a language teacher, and I'm not even an English, let alone French, language specialist. Frankly, I'm not even 100% certain that "A quoi ça servent" counts as a mistake. The issue is bothering me and I'd like to know how those of you doing classroom research have addressed this. Your advice please.
27 Sept 2014
Sad news. When I arrived in Bissorã today, I was informed that a car carrying 29 passengers from a nearby village to a funeral in another nearby village yesterday hit a landmine. The bomb split the car in two parts and killed most passengers, adding two dozen victims to the Independence war forty years after. While this is not likely to make it to global headlines, its impact here can hardly be overestimated. #landmineskill #guineabissau
28 Sept 2014
Kreeg vanmiddag het volgende briefje van mijn vriend Mussa (11 jaar) nadat zijn moeder tweemaal een gelijkaardig briefje had onderschept. "Malang, help me met voetbalschoenen, maat 39." Ondertekend met zijn schoolnaam, woonplaats en voetbalnaam (Alexis Sánchez—de nr. 9 van FC Barcelona voor diens transfer naar Arsenal).
30 Sept 2014
Voici Mustapha alias Tafisko, vendeur de café touba, champion et homme d'affaires au Praça de Bissorã. Il est Baye Faal, de Sénégal, et travaille des très longues jours, des prières de suba jusqu'à minuit, n'avec qu'une courte sieste au plus chaud du jour. Son français, comme son wolof, s'entend sophistiquée et "cool", comme il a grandit dans les banlieus de Marseilles ou Paris. Mais sa vie se situe entre Zig en Casamance et Bissorã en région d'Oio bien en Afrique. Faisant des petits-déjeuners, il rêve d'une carrière en musique ici ou ailleurs. Dans son hip-hop il chante de purité et d'authenticité, en wolof qui parfois semble anglais: Hip-hop gina dém Hip-hop gina siguii Sii kaw ñu téwal Hip-hop tiguii.
Hip-hop will take off Hip-hop will lift up If we make The real hip-hop
Hip-hop gina dém Hip-hop gina siguii
Hip-hop will take off Hip-hop will lift up
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Sii kaw ñen baye Lu ñaw lu ngèn indi (2x)
If we leave The bad you brought along
Nii lañuy doréy Sii kaw mi fa sol la si do ré Tambali doréy ak fake-gi Ñuy doréy yii lyrique yii beau yii doré Matal li ñu tal Te wo wáñekou Ndax fajar bujot real MC Guënn di wáñekou. . .
That's how we begin On the rhythm of mi fa sol la si do ray Beginning by beating the fake Beating with the best and golden lyrics To succeed in what we have to do And never to diminish Cuz every morning the real MCs They diminish. . .
Hip-hop gina dém Hip-hop gina siguii Sii kaw ñen baye Lu ñaw lu ngèn indi
Hip-hop will take off Hip-hop will lift up If we leave The bad you brought along
(C) Tafisko & Kar Bon Squad
1 Oct 2014
Learning a new language is fun and fast at first, then usually stagnates and goes frustratingly slow until you realise you've made some modest progress after all. Here's a one of my first independent successful conversations, with a driver. Note: they've started road works that are making transport to and from my area a lot easier. €1 equals 650 CFA. K: Taxi! Bo noiti. → Taxi! Good evening. D: Bo noiti. → Good evening. K: Bairu Militar. → Bairro Militar. D: Bin, no bai. → Come, let's go. (I get into the car.) K: N misti bai Rua Bula. Gosi kaminhu i sabi. → I want to go to Rua Bula. The road is "tasty" now. (The correct way to say this is "Kaminhu sta bon/diritu") D: Kaminhu i sabi? → The road is tasty? K: In, i sabi aos. → Yes, it's tasty today. D: I rampadu? → Is it "repaired"? (I didn't know this word, but understood it in the context.) K: In, i kantu? → Yes, how much? D: Rua Bula, lá? 750. → Rua Bula there? 750. K: Nau, i karu. Kaminhu i sabi. → No, that's expensive. The road is tasty. D: I sabi? → Is it tasty? K: I sabi mal. → Very tasty. (Other passengers audibly laugh at my struggling Creole and confirm that the road is good.) D: Ma i lundju. → But it's far. K: I ka lundju. N tenne 500. → It's not far. I have 500. D: No bai. → Let's go. K: Ubrigadu. → Thank you.
2 Oct 2014
Many of my English-teaching friends in Bissau have visited China or India for short training programmes. Some even three or four times.
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The journey to China is long, and depending on the destination requires changing planes several times over two or three days, e.g. Bissau-DakarBamako-Addis Ababa-Mumbay-Beijing-Ningbo; Bissau-Dakar-DubaiBeijing; or Bissau-Cassablanca-Qatar-Beijing-Yiwu. There are programmes on pre-school education, vocational education management, greenhouse vegetables cultivation technology, solar energy, and—mind the irony!—deforestation and climate change. All expenses are paid for by the Chinese ministry of commerce through the embassy. The rewards of these trips seem to lie mainly in the cross-cultural experience itself, in the being there, in seeing the skyline and the hyper-urbanity with its advanced technologies, and in getting to know people from around the world. These aspects are talked about quite a bit more than the actual content of the programmes. Another benefit is that it adds to one's "motility" or future mobility potential. (Travelling is like money: once you have acquired some of it, it becomes easier to get even more of it.) There are also a good number of Chinese in Guinea Bissau, typically working in the timber industry, in construction, or in wholesale & retail. A common complaint about them is that they're so shy and nearly impossible to become friends with. Even if you show proof of your visit to China they remain suspicious and disappointingly uninterested in getting to know you. The programmes in China are usually bilingual in Chinese and English (some also are in French). And more than anything else, language proficiency appears to be a key selection criterium. In this way, China is an English-speaking country and pushing the globalization of English. One teacher said: "Most Chinese people I met there speak English and their English sounds very good, as if they've learned to speak it in the UK or USA."
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4 Oct 2014
My last day here. Packing. What do I leave here for next time? What will I need next week in Cape Verde? And what should I take back home? Time also to provide some context. I'm in Guinea Bissau for a project that has received funding from the FNR in Luxembourg to investigate people's language learning for and through migration. My colleague Bernardino Tavares is in Cape Verde for the same purpose. These two countries in West Africa are linked through their history of Portuguese colonisation, and connected to Luxembourg through the significant Lusophone (Portuguese speaking) migrant presence there. Our project focuses on mobilities and foreign language learning (English and French mostly) and asks questions such as: -Where and how have you learned English/French, and why? (past) -What do you expect/hope to gain from knowing English/French? (future) The answers are leading us all around the world—to Portugal, Brazil, USA, UK, Morocco, Dubai, India, China and beyond, as well as to tiny Luxembourg. I've been experimenting with keeping an open fieldwork diary, for (old) friends, family, colleagues, and new friends here, to follow what I'm doing, seeing and learning here. In fact, I've never been more active on FB or in taking field notes. I hope you like what you've been reading. Your likes and comments made me feel connected in many ways. Thank you. Obrigado. Abaraka. Merci. Bedankt.
5 Oct 2014
It turns out yesterday wasn't my last day here after all. I'm not flying OXBDKR-RAI this morning but experiencing my personal Eyjafjallajökull moment of air travel disruption. Cape Verdean authorities have cancelled flights between Dakar and Praia because of Ebola. I only found out after check-in when inquiring why my handwritten boarding pass was only issued to Dakar and not to Praia. In response, my boarding pass was taken from me and my whole itinerary declared invalid. Rebooking was impossible, even only to Dakar. But I held the boarding pass in my hand! "That was a mistake, sorry." I should contact my travel agent in Belgium (on a Sunday morning!) or purchase a new, outrageously priced ticket to Dakar. Desperate and ready to do that, I was told they only accept cash. Hmm, I wonder why... There was an ATM outside—but out of service. So how could I pay for this? And what about my TAP flight to Amsterdam from Praia? "C'est pas mon problème, monsieur, ça c'est ton problème." Now, only his supervisor could decide if I was permitted to board the flight to Dakar. But she was out of town and her cell phone went dead or out of reach just after greeting her. Another, older and more cooperative official advised me to go to Senegal Airlines' office when they open on Monday (or Tuesday?) to find a solution. Meanwhile, the flight to Dakar has gone, without me.
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At least now I'll be spending Tobaski here. I'm sitting under the mango tree again, waiting for warga and mutton and watching the prayers. When and how I will travel now? Through Praia, Banjul, or Dakar? N ka sibi. On this holy day, so Deus ki sibi.
6 Oct 2014
This seems to be the problem (read the previous post for context): Cape Verde has announced a ban on non-resident foreign nationals coming from countries affected by Ebola from entering the country. Guinea Bissau is not one of these, but my one-hour transit in Dakar would technically count as such. Senegal is banned even if there has been only one case and the situation seems to be under control. This makes it impossible for Senegal Airlines to keep running its flight to Praia. In case of flight cancellations, the carrier is normally required to offer a rerouting, even if the options for that from Bissau are extremely limited as well as complicated (e.g., via Cassablanca and Lisbon). I won’t be going to Cape Verde now after all, but am flying out with—or trying out—Royal Air Maroc, to Brussels via Cassablanca. But hey, I’ve always wanted to have breakfast in Morocco.
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