The Mother Tongue in Foreign Lands
Lisa Teasley
As Wang Ayi states, we have come to Shanghai each with our own mother tongue, while conversing in English, the global language. ?English is conveniently mine — as I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California — but as an African American traveling abroad, my mother tongue is a reliability, not necessarily an entrée. ?Outside of America, Africa, the African Diaspora and the larger cities of Europe, I may arrive to a country where I am relentlessly stared at, to be figured and sorted as a tall, dark-skinned and dreadlocked woman in a country where there are not many like me. ?My use of English is no trump card or privileged assumption, but rather a practical relief from various obstacles. ?I no longer pout as much on this point, but instead, listen to the natives speaking in whatever country I’m visiting along with the fellow travelers from all over the world — hearing all mother tongues, together, as music.
I listen to and appreciate language as music, I always have. It is part of the reason I became a writer. I am in gratitude that when I read, I hear some different and beautifully imagined voice of the narrator inside of my head. I can comprehend some French, Spanish and a little German as well, taking pleasure in reading aloud any language I can pronounce. I was delighted to come home and find on my porch the surprise gift of a Rosetta Stone on Mandarin, so thoughtfully sent by my ex-husband and daughter upon hearing the news that I was accepted to the Shanghai Writers Association residency. After each Mandarin lesson, no matter how low my score, I become teary with joy that life brings surprises, such as the opportunity for new focus on the harmonies of Chinese language.
My daughter is a musician, a drummer — the heart, the beat of rhythm. I play accordion, not well, but as distinct as the sound of this instrument is, and how most have stereotyped the accordion in their mind’s ear, ?if one listens to the starkly remarkable difference in which melodies are played on accordion throughout the world — so very many more countries than one might expect — then vastly more people would appreciate it. ?This logic could follow for all stereotypes: of peoples, of races, of languages, of cultures, of religions, of politics.
If most of the world is on a pentatonic scale in music, any kind of music can be met with a sense of familiarity within its “foreignness.” Music has always been the universal language, and I don’t argue that English is that for any of its particular qualities, neither do I critique the varied accents and rhythms of speaking English, nor do I ponder globalization in all of this — but rather that sound in general can be appreciated for its multitude of dialects, the beauty of boundless cacophonies.
Teaching in a country like Haiti, for example, where I needed a translator for the Creole my students spoke, I listened to myself speak English evermore intentionally clear for the translator. ?I listened to his translation of my words into recognizable notes of French within Creole harmonies that I couldn’t understand as words, but could appreciate as music.? I could appreciate all of our communication as music. I could make out in tone the sometimes reactive comments or questions from my students in their language, the translator’s paring it down more simply, perhaps editing for diplomacy, and my answer again in English — and I heard all of it as music. The fullness of the soundtrack included the roosters crowing in the distance, the younger children playing in the dusty courtyard of the school, run by Madagascan nuns who spoke softly.
This is the way I travel: to Indonesia, Australia, Nigeria, Switzerland, Panama, Italy, Mexico, Singapore… wherever I am blessed enough to land. I worry not over pronunciation, grammatical rules, or vocabulary when listening to language as music when I travel and appreciate another culture from mine. And while I may be discriminated against for any stereotype imagined in some gatekeeper’s mind (danger, poverty, criminality?) I will not judge another for the English they do or do not speak. I celebrate the many voices and languages of music, including my own.