Living in a Bilingual World (Allegro Moderato)

Christmas has always posed a major problem for the bilingual in me. Until ten years ago most of the phrases I use in English now related to this particular December festivity were unknown to me even in my native Spanish.

Christmas in Cuba was always a hush-hush subject. The reasons were plain for everyone to see. Religion was taken out of the equation shortly after the incumbent government took control of the country. But as an ex-colony of the Spanish empire the main celebration before 1959 was always Christmas Eve or Noche Buena as we call it in our mother tongue. A big supper at 12 midnight marked the birth of one of the most controversial figures ever.

In my house my late Grandma did maintain the Christmas Eve big supper tradition and despite my cousin's links to the Youth Communist League and my late auntie's membership of the Communist Party's a shindig was held every 24th December with most of my relatives coming from far away in the countryside to eat the roast pork laid on the table.

When I arrived in Britain one of the first tasks I had to face was how to learn the new words that involved the Christmas festivities and translate them into Spanish for my offspring. No easy feat this, as many of these terms were not used in Cuba at all since they were clearly rooted in Castillian Spanish.

The gamble has paid off, though, Im glad to say, as my own children recognise that sometimes I'm lost for the meaning of a certain word in Spanish and we all strive to look up the more apposite translation in the dictionary.

In 2007, however, our Christmas celebration reached its zenith. The surprise arrived after devouring the tasty 'guanajo' (turkey) that Wife had cooked that day.

Wife had arranged a special 'Desert Island Discs' with Children, Mother-in-Law and Mother-in-Law's Boyf. We were to pick three tracks that had made a special impact on us in our childhood, younger years and adulthood. Of course, because Children have not been out of nappies for that long yet their choice was limited. However, as I mentioned before the songs they chose showed me how important the union of two cultures under the banner of respect and acceptance was. Amongst the tunes Son selected was Los Prisioneros' 'Estrechez de Corazon', featured already on this blog whereas Daughter went Brazilian and chose Tribalistas' 'Passe Em Casa', also included amongst my favourite Autumn Songs.

At some point during the velada (soiree) I could not help thinking what a marvellous phenomenon multiculturalism was. Here we were: Wife, born and bred in Britain, but of British and Gibraltarian ancestry, Mother-in-Law, born and brought up in Blighty but with some Irish blood in her veins and a whole career playing flamenco music behind her (her playing the guitar whilst accompanying Wife's Father was one of the songs we enjoyed that evening). Me, Cuban-born, of Chinese, African and Spanish ascendance and Son and Daughter with all this mix running through their young bodies.

And on the stereo amongst other types of music, rhythms from Spain and Latin America reminding us that we were just tiny particles in the immensity of this global multilingual universe.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Vivace)

For the first and second parts of this series, click here, and here.

Wednesday 6th August, afternoon, summer camp, Dorset.

A group of people holding hands together in a circle.

Middle-aged Man: ‘Link your hands together
Middle-aged Woman: A circle we will make
Dark-haired Girl: This bond of our friendship
Blond Girl: No power can break
Son: We’ll all join together
Daughter: In one mighty throng
Wife: Should any be weary
Me: We’ll help them along
Middle-aged couple: Should any be weary
Everybody in unison: We’ll help them along!’

The circle breaks and a group photo is taken. Out of the corner of my eye I see a diminutive figure scurrying away, getting smaller and smaller as he dashes off. His tail (yes, tail!) is tucked in between his legs and his face is flustered.

I know I will come across Little Englander again, but for this one time he has been defeated.

Living in a Bilingual World 2 – Little Englander 0 (goal forfeited for ugliness)

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Andante)

You can read the first part of this post here.

Monday 4th August, noon, Swanage Beach.

Wife and I are lying down on the sand whilst Son and Daughter are playing with the other children in the water. Nearby there’s a British woman reading. The woman is reading a book. The book is in Spanish. The title of the book is ‘Tiempo de Silencio’ (‘Time for Silence’), a novel by the Spanish writer Luis Martín Santos. The woman searches for something in her bag. She fishes out a dictionary. The dictionary is both in Spanish and English. She looks up a word in the dictionary (apparently) and goes back to reading. This same operation she repeats a few times, at regular intervals, like a dancer performing a well-known piece, which never fails to trigger her passion off. She reads. She stops. She looks up a word in the dictionary. She continues to read. I watch. Little Englander watches from a distance. I watch Little Englander watching the woman reading the book. Little Englander watches me watching him watching the woman. Little Englander wipes the sand of his feet. He puts his socks and sandals on and off he walks.

Living in a Bilingual World 1 – Little Englander 1. Game on!

(to be continued)

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Symphony for Tenor and Orchestra)

- Papi, why is it that not many people in our school speak another language? (this was Daughter) - What do you mean?
- Well, like we speak Spanish but the other children go to Spain for holidays and all they can say is 'Hola'.
- I am sure that they learn other words but they forget them as soon as they step off the plane after they arrive in the UK.
- Other children in my class always ask me what we are talking about when you drop me off at school and we are having a conversation. (this was Son)
- And what do you say?
- I just translate what we've been discussing because it is not like it is a secret or anything, is it?

This is a constant topic of conversation around the table with Wife contributing as much as I do. Many times whilst in Spain I have entered a bar only to find a handful of British expats leaning on the counter and bellowing out:

“Dos cervezas por favor.” (Two beers, please)

You could be forgiven for thinking that those are the only words a British tourist will manage to utter whilst on holiday in Spain or any other Spanish-speaking country. And you could be right.

The UK lies at the bottom of the league of European nations whose citizens can master two or even three other languages. A typical Scandinavian will speak English and French besides Swedish or Norwegian for instance. Go to Germany and most people will speak English as a second language, sometimes as fluent as their own mother tongue. Move over to Spain , and you will find many locals conversing in French effortlessly.

So, are British bad at languages? Al contrario. In defence of my adopted land, I have to mention some factors that have conspired against their taking up the learning of foreign languages more seriously.

The first one is that English is the recognised international lingua franca and this has created a sense of linguistic complacency amongst Anglophones. Travel to Nepal or Brazil and the chances are that you will come across someone who can muster a few words in Shakespeare’s language.

The second reason was the ill-fated decision in 2002 to make the learning of foreign languages optional after age 14.

The third and final explanation could have something to do with Britain ’s national sport: self-deprecation and self-effacement. Speaking a foreign language demands a type of mettle and exposure that could very easily be undermined by self-disparagement.

Still, there is room for hope. Following a study by the National Foundation for Educational Research, which showed that 84% of primary schools now teach children another language, the government is planning to encourage the take-up of languages overall. And as the proud father of two bilingual children I cannot vouch enough for the benefit the learning of a foreign lingo brings to a little one.

And who knows, maybe you will be able to take that conversation further than just two beers.

Copyright 2008

Illustration courtesy of Garrincha

Living in a Bilingual World (Allegretto Grazioso)

- Is there a war in Spain?

I chuckled. It was Daughter who had asked the question. And she could have been forgiven for thinking that a conflict had just broken out in the European nation. I was talking to Son, Wife and Daughter about the recent rivalry between activist groups in support of the Spanish language and a minuscule bevy of regionalists bent on using la lengua as a political weapon.

The issue seems to come from the promotion of autonomous tongues since Franco's death in 1975. Now it appears that what at first looked like a good idea, the proliferation of Spain's other 'official' languages, will end up being a case of Brutus (autonomous lingoes) to Spanish language Caesar, the default lingua franca of roughly 330 million speakers worldwide.

Son was amused at the idea that one day we might go to Spain and not understand what is being said to us (Spanishless Spain anyone?). We usually travel to Granada, Andalucía, and many people there speak Catalán as they travel down from nearby Barcelona. That would not be the first time, though. In 1998 Wife, Son and I (Daughter had not been born yet) went to the Basque Country. We had a lovely stay in a friend's house and I found Basque people ever so warm and friendly (especially on learning I was Cuban) but when it came to some of the street signs, conversations I overheard onthe street and some television channels, I must admit I was floored. The Basque language looks and sounds like no other. And after the repression led by Franco that all but annihilated autonomous tongues in Spain, I guess some people feel it's payback time. The question is, who benefits from the disappearance of Spanish as the language we, Spanish speakers the world over, recognise and communicate in? And will the language evolve to include words from Spanish into these three 'official' languages and viceversa?

In principle I ought to be in agreement with the existence of bilingual schools in the Basque Country, for instance. I insist on speaking Spanish at home, I support bilingualism (or multilingualism), no matter whether the second lengua is a modern language or not, I disagreed vehemently with the elimination of compulsory teaching of foreign languages at secondary level in schools in Britain. Yet, what makes me a little wary of this whole brouhaha is the fact that one or two, or even three languages could attempt to wrest linguistic control from the Spanish education system, thus, alienating not only the natives in the madre patria, but also the Spanish-speaking community abroad.

I hope that neither Son, nor Daughter, nor Wife, nor I have to attend a crash-course on Euskeda or Catalán before we head off to the mountains of Sierra Nevada next time we travel to Spain.

So, a lo cortico, Spanishless Spain anyone?

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Andante)

Me: 'Bueno, ya tú sabes...' (Well, you know...)

Son: ...???

Me: 'Tú sabes como es eso...' (You know how it goes...)

Son: ...???

Me: 'Nene, que la cosa es...' (Baby, the thing is...)

Son: ...???

Well, I can't blame him, can I? Son had just been the victim of Cuban prolepsis.

He is ten, has been speaking in Spanish practically since he was in his Mum's womb (I used to play and sing to him Bola de Nieve's version of 'Drume Negrita' changing 'ita' for 'ito'. Yes, I know it doesn't rhyme, but what can you do? It's such a lovely lullaby and the Guanabacoense's voice is so soothing and mellow. I took good care not to drown the sound of his voice, but you can never be too careful, can you? Oops, I just realised that I am still in brackets), anyway, as I mentioned before, he has been speaking in Spanish for many years, but that doesn't mean that he can speak Cubanish. That's a different monster. And what a monster.

The natives of the largest island of the Antilles, that's us, Cubans, have the habit of stopping short of a word that the sentence seems to be leading to - as in "Well, you know ..." without specifying "it's difficult" or "it couldn't be any easier, mate". This phenomenon is called prolepsis and occurs in all languages. However, I have noticed that we, Cubans, do seem to enjoy this quasi-elliptical, linguistic, fortuitous occurrence more.

In German, in my experience, most people tend to finish their sentences, they don't expect others to do the donkey work for them. That's not what we do in Spanish. But whilst it's not a problem for us, dwellers of the Key to the Gulf, it's a nightmare for others. I am thinking of Wife now. I have lost count of the number of times when she has stood there in the middle of the kitchen, mouth wide open waiting for me to finish the phrase I had just started. Sometimes she even prompts me with: '... know... what exactly?' Now, she is well aware of this phenomenon, so I suspect she's playing me at my own linguistic game, but I have noticed that both Son and Daughter's faces remain blank and expressionless and I am afraid I might be laying the foundations for a future linguistic trauma that will unfold in years to come.

In French, and in English, too, especially in Britain, people tend to stutter (I've noticed these bouts of sudden stammer more amongst the chattering classes in both nations than in working class folk who usually tell it like it is, then again in Britain's case it could be a case of Hugh Grantinitis; he created a template against which most foreigners judge white, middle-class British men by. Oopsie daisy, I went over the top again whilst writing in brackets, sorry!); this stuttering might be conducive to prolepsis, but as in German, the idea being expressed is completed, the other person is satisfied with the reply and everybody goes home happy and with a spring in their step. In Cuba, on the other hand, the omission of parts of a standard syntactical construction is pretty customary and nobody bats an eyelid over it.

Son, then, has a steep, linguistic hill to climb, but one where culture, once again, plays an important role. I know he will appreciate it. In the meantime, I will do my best to finish my sentences off, close them, lock them up and keep the key in my pocket.

Because you know...

Copyright 2008

Illustration courtesy of Garrincha

Living in a Bilingual World (Malaysian symphony)

Tandas. The word snapped me out of my reverie in front of the restrooms Wife and Daughter had just walked into. Tandas. Toilets. But it was more than that. Tandas was a word that had a deeper meaning in my mother tongue, Spanish. Tandas. As in 'tandas infantiles' (children's shows) and with that my memory let out a torrent of images, sounds and smells.

Malaysia had welcomed me with a word in my own language.

After Brother-In-Law picked us up from the airport, my eyes began to devour the greenery that stood up to greet us on either side of the wide motorway. Already from the air when our plane was about to land I started to witness the dominant colour of this Asian nation, a deep, dark, raw green that was almost inviting me to dive in headfirst into its shrubs, bushes and forests. In the meantime, Brother-In-Law explained to us some basic facts about the history, economy and culture of the country we were about to stay in for a fortnight. Son decided to make the trip with me while Wife, Daughter and Brother-In-Law's Wife journeyed in another car. The air-conditioner in the car and the soothing scenery combined together to rock me softly and gently from side to side as if I'd been on a hammock.

So, my first day in Malaysia was full of peace, quiet and calm. And linguistically welcoming.

Over the following the days I was able to glimpse several more 'coincidences' like the one with 'tandas'. At the same time I enjoyed a hospitality that was all the more appreciated because it arrived unbidden. Street vendors, waiters and waitresses, shop attendants and security staff smiled at us, openly. Their features reminded me of that poem by our National Poet, Nicolas Guillen that calls to our Cuban identity so well: Yoruba soy, soy lucumí/mandinga, congo, carabalí/Atiendan, amigos, mi son, que sigue así/Estamos juntos desde muy lejos/jóvenes, viejos,negros y blancos/todo mezclado/uno mandando y otro mandado/todo mezclado/San Berenito y otro mandado/todo mezclado/negros y blancos desde muy lejos/todo mezclado/Santa María y uno mandado/todo mezclado/todo mezclado, Santa María/San Berenito, todo mezclado. They were Chinese, Malay, Indian. They came and went, unconcerned and untroubled. They drove wildly, cutting in at the last moment without signalling and without so much as giving you the international sign of apology (palm of right or left hand facing forward and raised at shoulder level). They stared at me like staring at an oddity, the tropical Caribbean man recently arrived in the tropical Asian land. My five feet, nine inches that normally makes me puny in London, dwarfed most denizens here. My single twists moving hither and thither in blithe abandon elicited compliments from all quartiers. Son was praised on more than one occasion for his lovely curly hair. Daughter was told many times that her hazel eyes were beautiful. Wife was equally appreciated, her long blonde hair leaving behind jealous looks. Apparently most rituals remained the same. A lady failed to make the most of me purchasing one of her kites because it was the time for her to go to pray. Calls from a nearby mosque drew little musical notes in the early evening breeze. Shopping malls erupted here and there and underneath their high ceilings the old and the new mixed in harmony.


A visit to a butterfly garden coloured our jaunt both in soft and strong hues at the same time. These lepidopteran insects fluttered their wings at ease, resting for a few moments, and sometimes for a few hours, allowing visitors to photograph them and thus to make up their own postcards. Inside the main building a myriad scary-looking creatures awaited us to remind us that the jungle is more beautiful seen from above than once you're in it. Another park, this time for birds, gave us the same coloured rainbow that we all were getting used to by now. Flamencos with their majestic long necks seemed to dance in the distance whilst cockatoos, parakeets and parrots formed a welcome committee at the entrance to the park to usher us in. Nearby and whilst sitting down to eat some ice cream, a few peacocks tried to make our acquaintance, though we all divined their real intentions.

The subsequent days were full of more sightseeing trips. To get to an elephants' sanctuary we drove down a motorway wherefrom we took a detour through a real country lane. Small houses with thatched roofs and on stilts sprung on both sides of the road. Suddenly we came across a small lake that was surrounded by the same type of dwellings, only that these ones seemed to be on the water. Brother-in-law explained to us that these were the real indigenous people, the Malays, and though some of them were getting used to modernity, the majority was still using traditional methods to obtain food. That meant agriculture and fishing.

At the end of this journey the sanctuary awaited us with open doors and countless shoes at the threshold. Both Son and Daughter enjoyed caressing these majestic pachyderms and we all donated some money towards the preservation of the building.

Tandas. On account of the stifling heat, toilets were always a prominent feature in our itinerary. The amount of water drunk had to be dispatched somehow and our sweat could hardly cope with the litres we downed in the house and whilst being out and about. A few days later after we arrived we found ourselves inside a tiny four-engine plane bound for Redang island and its four-star hotel the Berjaya Resort. The exuberant vegetation that greeted us from the air was all the more attractive once we landed. A sea, draped in turquoise colour, waved at us from a distance. The sun was at its zenith which meant for Son, Daughter and Wife to avoid the outdoors and to remain in our room. The hotel staff were courteous, polite and gracious. They always smiled and at the sight of my single twists the nickname 'Ronaldinho' was coined by one of the members of the reception team. We all, Son, Daughter, Wife and I practised our bilingual skills with the locals and the appreciation in their eyes said more than a hundred words could express. Excursions to the jungle, turtle-watching and an encounter with a cute little squirrel, whose daily cleaning routine included polishing its gigantic penis and testicles with its tongue, brought a much-deserved rest from the hustle-bustle of modern life. Mornings usually found me standing in the balcony with the rising sun in front of me ignoring the imaginary 'No Tresspassing' sign on the door and strolling into the room. El Yoyo's book 'Havana Graffiti' lay behind me. At that moment I felt like a conduit bridging the greenery in front of my very eyes with the description of eastern Cuba that Carmelo gives in 'Havana Graffiti'. This was not linguistic bilingualism, but geographical.

Back to Kuala Lumpur on the same plane and our last few days were spent in a frenzy of shopping, more sightseeing and chilling out in the evening by Brother-In-Law's swimming pool.

The departure date arrived and as we boarded the Air Malaysia flight that would take us back to London I looked around and from a distance was able to make out the sign that had greeted me a fortnight before: Tandas. And without a second thought I said in a low voice: Terima kasih, Malaysia! Thanks.


Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Moderato)

Son: La maestra se dio a nosotros una tarea difícil (The teacher gave 'herself' a difficult homework to us)

Me: Don't say 'se', just say 'nos dio' and drop the 'nosotros'.

Reflexive verbs are a delicate subject for Spanish speakers, so I can only imagine what a nightmare they are for learners of Cervantes' language. There are countless situations where we say: 'Díceselo' (tell him/her) rather than 'Dícelo'. My favourite one is 'Me comí toda la comida' (I ate all my food) where the reflexive pronoun overwrites the transitive character of the verb 'to eat' in Spanish.

This bad use of grammar, of which I am also a culprit, can only be attributed to an oral language that more and more relies on shortcuts, speed and abbreviations. In the case of the Spanish language, the only analogy I can find is the use of the famous 'Partikeln' in German.

Partikeln are words that do not have a proper function in the same way as a verb or adjective, yet render the speech richer and give the text a more nuanced make-up. You can find anything between five and fourteen Partikeln in a given sentence in German and this is devastating for those of us who have found ourselves dealing with the Teutonic language as we blindly believe that there must be a hidden meaning in these words, otherwise why would anyone go to the trouble of lining them up in a sentence?

In English, although the situation is not as dire as in the two aforementioned languages, there are complications with the use of 'self'. These arise from a desire to sound at times a bit more cultured and learned than usual and the consequences are risible as in 'Myself and two others friends went to the cinema last night. From my grammar lessons in Uni I always thought that the correct way was 'Two friends and I...'.

It is amazing that Son and Daughter have not encountered as many difficulties dealing with the terrifying subjunctive mood as with reflexive verbs. This would probably go some way to explain why Wife and I have such a terrible time reminding Son to wash himself in the mornings...

Copyright 2008

Living in a Bilingual World (Vivo)

There she stood in the bathroom, hands on hips, head held high, eyes coquettishly defiant. Her mouth was closed. Mouth closed. I repeat, m-o-u-t-h c-l-o-s-e-d.

Suddenly I remembered.

- Oh yes! León (Lion)! She opened her mouth wide.

- Tigre (Tiger)! Her teeth were clenched now.

- Jirafa (Giraffe)! It was her tongue's turn to come out.

We had finished our little routine.







For the last two or three months Daughter has developed a system whereby everytime it is my turn to brush her teeth (after she has done it herself) she asks me to use the name of these three animals so that she can perform their actions. Thus, León, means opening her mouth wide so that I can reach into and brush the smaller crevices where remains of food are more likely to lodge and settle down to live happily ever after. Tigre means to clamp her teeth together whilst the toothbrush gladly slides down her molars and canines. The last call-out is Jirafa and in tandem with that mammal, she sticks out her tongue so that I can give it a brush.

Where Daughter came up with this routine from, I haven't the slightest clue, but the truth is I love it. It takes me right back to a time when I was still in Uni and being the inquisitive student I was, the search for new words was of paramount importance to me.

Names of animals and plants in English always eluded me throughout my language degree. There were certain myths around at ISPLE when I was still a pupil there and one of them concerned one of my favourite teachers, Nivaldo. It was said that he could name every single dog breed there was out there in English, besides various species of animals and plants. Impressive, I said at the time, and good luck to you, mate. As for me, all I need to know is how to say German Shepherd, chihuahua, cocker spaniel and pit bull and I'll be fine. Alas, I was caught out recently.

Son was given a new animal toy by Wife. So was Daughter. But Son's was a meerkat. And as I expected it he asked me what the translation was into Spanish. I hesitated for a moment and told him that it was probably some kind of animal related to the lemur, not realising that this tiny creature belongs rather to the primates. He looked at me quizzically as he really knows his animals. I kept quiet about and changed the topic. Later, surreptitiously I went upstairs and fetched his dictionary, which is really Wife's, but we let him have it. Damn! The word 'meerkat' was nowhere to be found. Stealthily I came back downstairs and switched the computer on. Wikipedia provided me with a helpful hint, meerkats are part of the mongoose family. And they live in marshes. So that solved it. Triumphantly I strolled into the kitchen and announced to all and sundry 'Meerkat can be translated as "gato del cenagal o pantano" and it comes from Afrikaans.' I still don't know whether I am right or wrong, all I know is that in between Daughter and her Lion/Tiger/Giraffe teeth-brushing routine and my Son's new exotic animals, I will end up going back to Uni, but this time instead of languages I will do Zoology.

Copyright 2007

Living in a Bilingual World (Moderato)

To swear or not to swear? Esa es la pregunta (That's the question)

And what a question! Especially for someone like me brought up in a family where cursing was frowned upon and my limited childhood vocabulary included the two notions 'palabras feas' (ugly words) and 'malas palabras' (swear words). At age five or six I experienced my late Nana's wrath when I dared say the word 'jodi'ó' as in 'la bicicleta se jodi'ó' (the bike broke down). I cannot remember whether it was a clip round the ear or a 'tapaboca' (a slap in my mouth) but I got smacked pretty hard.

So, with these thoughts in my mind I ventured into unknown waters recently when I explained to Son the meaning behind a particular track he'd been humming to lately. It was 'Ciudad de Pobres Corazones' by the Rosarino musician Fito Páez. Son was already familiar with the Argentinian's music as I play his hits regularly at home, but this particular track has an intoxicating melody and beat that make it stand out from the rest of the songs that appear in the album.

- Do you know what he says in the song? I asked him whilst I was driving.

- No, what is it?

- I think he's talking about Buenos Aires, and the times when the military was in power. He's feeling despondent and angry.

- Uhhh...

- And he's using a word that is actually a four-letter word in that context.

- What do you mean?

- Well, the word 'puta' is used to convey the level of disatisfaction he feels towards the incumbent government.

- What's the equivalent in English?

- The f-word.

- (Gasps).

Did I do right or wrong? My intention was not to become 'Papi Cool', but merely illustrate to him how some of the songs in Spanish he listens to contain 'bad words' (a caveat, though, the Latin pop, rock and salsa I play at home is heavily sanitised). However, Wife and I have yet to have that important 'talk' about the use of certain words, especially as Son is fast moving forward to adolescence. He was nonchalant about the whole 'p' word but I was left restless. Have I opened a can of worms? Have I brought upon myself Claudius curse 'When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions' by opening this Pandora's box? As a Cuban I admit that swearing still stuns me, especially when it is done gratuitously. Some Spanish-speaking cultures are more expletives-prone, not least, the Spanish culture. Many years ago, Juan Echanove, a popular Spanish actor, went on the now defunct live television show 'Contacto' with the then presenter Hilda Rabilero. This was a programme which thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people tuned into at 6pm every Saturday evening. Imagine people's reaction when Echanove innocently uttered the 'c' word (that's 'cojones' by the way and I apologise profusely to anyone who feels offended by the epithet, just writing it makes me squirm) and Hilda went silent. Ten seconds elapsed. And then Juan, realising his error, asked the now famous question: 'Oh, is it because I said 'c...'? Cue embarrassment, shame and Hilda's nervous smile. Other cultures in Latin America are more cautious about their cursing. In Cuba, words even like 'carajo' are scorned and the person uttering them admonished.

Yet, there is another side of me that would like to see Son, and Daughter, too, use these words constructively. I guess it is to do with pride and amor propio. Or just with the desire to see them using words that, although high in the cringe factor, are part of their own linguistic DNA.

And I hope they learn when, where and with whom to use them, too.

Copyright 2007

Living in a Bilingual World (Adagio)

- Papi, you know what? I'm going to sing that song about the little puppy that you and I sing before I go to bed?

- The one about the Chinese dog, nena?

- Yes, and I'm going to sing it to the whole class tomorrow.

- To the whole class? Won't you have to translate it?

- Yes...

- Do you know what it's about?

- Hmmm... well..., yes, it's about a dog.

- It's more than that.

And with that La Señora Nostalgia was off. This used to be one of my favourite children's songs when I was younger and it wasn't until recently that I came across the words again via Google. So, Daughter was sat there in front of me with the piece of paper containing the lyrics in her hand, whilst I was far away, being seven or eight again, about the time when I heard this song for the first time. I did not even know then, nor do I still know whether the child in the story is a boy or a girl.

'Cuando salí de La Habana

de nadie me despedí'

Why didn't 'it' say goodbye to anyone? Who or what was 'it' running from? What terrible danger threatened 'it'? And where was 'it' travelling to?

'solo de un perrito chino

que venía tras de mí'

First mention of the Chinese dog. Daughter came up with the idea that maybe the canine sniffed despair in the child and decided to try its luck with it, or maybe they were both feeling despondent and made up their minds to leave the big city together.

'Como el perrito era chino

un señor me lo compró'

Simplicity pays off in this song. In just two lines we learn that the child, who must have been quite attached to the dog, sold it off without second thoughts. Or maybe 'it' did have second thoughts. You see, the gentleman only buys the dog because it was Chinese, so therefore he must have paid a good price as we find out later in the song, but was the child's situation so desperate that 'it' preferred to sell its friend rather than starve with it to death? Wife interjected at this point that it was a good example of how a friendship is worth more than money, to which I responded quite cynically that it wasn't proved that the dog was the child's friend, only that they were on this jaunt together. Daughter agreed with Wife and the case was closed.

'por un poco de dinero

y unas botas de charol'

So, it wasn't just money the child received for the puppy, but also a pair of shiny boots. And now we can jump to the conclusion that the child had no shoes to wear either, presumably. When I was little my imagination would run wild picturing the look of surprise on the dog's face as the man took it away and the child rushed off. It probably felt betrayed by the minor. Now I am convinced that the child had a long way to go and could not make the whole journey barefoot. But still, selling your friend out?

'Las botas se me rompieron

el dinero se acabó

ay perrito de mi vida

ay perrito de mi amor'

The child's boots broke and the money ran out. Wife was right. The dog was the child's friend and the youngster's lament at the end of the song for its loyal canine friend proves that friendship last longer than money does.

A valuable lesson for Daughter.

Copyright 2007

Living in a Bilingual World (Allegro)

Humour is one of the ways in which children learn a foreign language more easily. It is also one of the elements that make the pupil more conscious of actually 'thinking in the new tongue' without resorting to translation all the time. And it was with this thought in mind that I introduced Son to the wonderful world of Cantinflas, the famous Mexican comedian who crossed borders (literally) with his wisecrack and popular puns.

As with everything in life, I had to start from a very simple English-speaking film as I was aware that Son was not used to the Mexican Spanish norm with its 'changos' and 'cuates'. The film we chose, 'Around the World in 80 Days' was a UK production, winner of five Academy Awards and easy to understand. Well, easy to understand for me, who'd already seen it when I was younger. Son was a little bit floored by the plot and I had to explain certain parts of it to him. However, when I saw the excitement on his face about sharing this piece of Father's life with him, all I could think was: Thank God for foreign languages!

And this was corroborated by a report showing that the French and German languages have almost perished amongst the options for students doing their GCSEs this year. One of the secondary schools Wife and I went recently to have a look at for Son, had just scrapped its Spanish course.

Why? Well, the reason is simple. English remains the lingua franca in the world today, a landscape shaped mainly by the aftermath of the Second World War, when the US took over from the ex-colonial powers as the ultimate economic force. Yet, with 44m Spanish-speakers living on US soil now, el Castellano is fast becoming the language to speak if you want to make inroads in business. Currently most presidential hopefuls have to at least make a third of their speech in Spanish if they're to have a chance at the polls with the fastest growing community in that Northamerican country.

Because the UK hasn't got the same pressing case (although it boasts the largest Columbian community outside Columbia) it can afford to be more complacent. The most commonly used phrase on Spanish shores is 'Quiero dos cervezas, por favor', which explains both the age group that travels to the Iberian nation and the fact that Brits buy everything in pairs.

Son did find the first part of 'Around the World...' amusing and I'm sure that in weeks to come I'll be able to show him the other films, with the same Mexican actor, I was lent in pure and unadulturated Spanish. And that, readers/posters/fellow bloggers, is the beauty of delving into another culture without the need for translation: enjoyment and self-enrichment!

Copyright 2007