What is the point of bothering to learn a language that is only spoken by 50,000 people?
A language that no one else understands, that is only really used on remote islands on the far side of the world? Well, last week was the final lesson of my fourthScottish Gaelic course.
Though born in Otago, my grandfather was a native Gaelic speaker. His grandparents came to New Zealand in the 1870s from the Isle of Lewis in Scotland and always spoke Gaelic.
In the 1980′s, when my grandfather was racked by dementia and couldn’t remember who was who, he reverted back to speaking Gaelic to my grandmother.
I had never heard him speak Gaelic. In fact he spoke more Māori to us. Whenever we would arrive, he would call out “tēnā koe, tēnā koe”, as he had when greeting his Māori customers in his butcher shop near Moeraki.
Growing up near Dunedin, I was aware of my Māori and Scottish ancestry, although we didn’t speak much of either language.
Dad taught us to count to tekau (10) in Māori, but not much else because he believed that the Māori language would hold us back.
A 1960′s article by American researcher David Ausubel, in a text book on Māori education, laid out the belief by school teachers that being bilingual was an “intellectual retardant”. This was of course nonsense. Modern neurological research has shown that being bilingual improves cognitive ability and is protective against degenerative diseases such as Alzheimer’s.
However, if you were a good parent and wanted the best for your child, what would you do if the word was out that being bilingual was an “intellectual retardant”?
Interestingly this dismissal by teachers of bilingualism only applied to the Māori language and not to the French and Latin favoured by the elite.
Anaru Eketone. Photo / Supplied
What this meant for our family is that we grew up knowing Māori cultural concepts, but only having English words to define them.
So issues around tapu and noa were described as hygiene, cleanliness, good manners or associated to religion. We didn’t use the word manaakitanga, but knew that there were different expectations regarding generosity between how Māori relatives were hosted and Pākehā relatives were hosted. We didn’t discuss the expectations of whanaungatanga, but we knew that making connections wasn’t about what you did for a job, but about who you were and where you were from.
The understanding of a language is important because it highlights the priorities and expectations within a culture which can become confused if you don’t know it well.
This is one of the reasons I wanted to learn Scots Gaelic. I wanted to find out what part of my upbringing and values came from the Western Isles of Scotland and what Gaelic words and concepts I understood from growing up in Dunedin.
I noticed when I moved to Auckland, that there were times I had to translate something I had said into North Island English.
As a language student, I am hopeless. I “butcher” the Gaelic language trying to fit my mouth around sounds I have never heard before with spelling that sometimes does my head in.
I am by far the bottom of the Gaelic class, but I enjoy the fellowship of the mostly Scottish born class. I am also enjoying a deeper appreciation of the Gaelic culture through the concepts, the songs and the various sayings we are learning. However, it does not make me feel Scottish.
My connections to Scotland are too far distant and I am far removed from the geography and memories of the Isle of Lewis. However, I have been able to memorise that very important Scottish phrase, “would you like a drink?”
As for te reo Māori, the connection is different because the link to the landscape and the people is right in front of us every day.
My te reo journey has also not been easy. Over the years I have undertaken 24 Māori language courses and try to make up for my continued lack of competency by persevering. I still struggle to hold a conversation, but again it is the journey and the people that have made it enjoyable.
This week is Māori Language Week and to the many who, like myself, struggle with languages I have three pieces of advice; Take your time - the slower I speak the better my pronunciation is; Practise whenever you can - I did this by reading aloud every Māori word I saw; and keep revisiting your pronunciation - I surprise myself with how many bad habits I return to.
While fluency may be beyond some of us, the increased understanding through te reo of Māori values and beliefs, and also the fellowship it can bring, is well worth all my perseverance.
Anaru Eketone is an Associate Professor in social and community work at the University of Otago and a columnist for the Otago Daily Times.
