Characteristic moments

Turns out that the lighthouse that I can see from my roof is for guiding aeroplanes (away from the hill it sits on, I suppose), not ships. As observations go, it’s not exactly profound, but it’s a good bit of lateral thinking.

I’m learning a lot from my French lessons. Not much French, but some interesting other things:

• I have the ability to get really angry at a language. I know that French grammar wasn’t made up just to annoy me, but it usually feels that way when I’m trying to understand yet another exception. Can anyone explain why it’s je me l’ai lancee, but je la lui ai lancee ?
  It’s very easy to look very stupid when you’re trying to do things in another language.
• Most lessons, Mme Diagne will slowly and clearly explain an element of a question that’s really obvious and basic, when I understand it perfectly and my problem is trying to remember the translation of a particular word. It makes me wonder how often over the years I’ve unfairly assumed a non-native English speaker is that bit slower or unobservant because they’re not grasping something really simple.
• I'm so lucky to be a native English speaker. Today I had two meetings where I had to work so hard to choose my words and make sure I got across precisely what I meant. If it’s taken me this long, and that’s still a challenge, I can only imagine what it would have been like trying in another language.

Another set of cultural differences have been coming out during introductions with the locals. At last week’s education workshop, the session began with each delegate announcing themselves. The westerners all used only their own first names, while the Africans generally introduced themselves as “Amadou Kane, but you can call me Amadou” (or whatever). The exception was an elegantly dressed West African who described herself as “Dr Elisabeth Sarr, but you can call me Dr Elisabeth”. So this week, I wasn’t surprised when my cleaner introduced herself as Mademoiselle Sagna, after I’d called myself Leo. But even so, I hadn’t expected the reaction I got the next day, when I asked her what her forename was and was told that it was Mademoiselle.

There’s a great passage in a book I’ve just finished, Sacred Hunger: “There are moments in anyone’s life when some blend of circumstances, some consonance of surroundings and situation and character, show him in a light peculiarly characteristic, make him seem more intensely himself – to the observer that is, the subject will not be aware of it. He seems to us then to be immobilized, taken out of time – or he steps, rather, into some much older story. He is there imperishably, always, always to be found there.” In defiance of the remark that the subject is unaware of it, I’m now forever wondering if some particular passing moment is my peculiarly characteristic one. On reflection, I’ve got a feeling that my imperishable moment is the one where I’m wondering which one is my moment.