RENK, Sudan – “Please, I want English.”
“You will help me English.”
“You teach me English.”
“English very important. You help.”
Every day, I am asked to teach English to someone here in Sudan. Even though I spend at least half of my days speaking passable Arabic, along with a smattering of tribal languages, everyone here, it seems, want to speak, read and write English. Clergy colleagues ask me to help them learn advanced English. The women want to read and write it. And the children … well, all day long, from early morning to late evening, the children yell out at me, “Good morning, teacher!”
Now that the semester is finished at the Renk Theological College, where I teach, among other things, English, I have three new English classes that I am teaching, one for colleagues who actually understand quite a bit of English but are afraid to speak it; one for my advanced English students from college, who want to prepare for TOEFL exams (if they are ever blessed to take one); and one for the women (sorry, no men allowed here) who work for the College, the Cathedral and the Guesthouse and who know very little English.
It’s a fascinating thing to work with these friends, most of whom I have known for three or more years, who during that time have urged me to learn Arabic and their own tribal languages, but who now are desperate to learn my mother tongue.
South Sudan in particular has always wanted to have English as its uniting language. The further south you travel in this, Africa’s largest nation, the more English you hear. But here in Renk, on the border between North and South, only 250 miles south of the capital of Khartoum, Arabic is the lingua franca. It’s not classical Arabic, not even Modern Standard Arabic. Linguists classify most of the Arabic spoken here as “Sudanese Creole.” Until the Comprehensive Peace Agreement was signed three-plus years ago, the entire curriculum in the schools was taught in Arabic.
Now, though, that is beginning to change. Now our curriculum is shifting to English, with Arabic as a second language that is still required, but not the main focus. Our children are learning more and more English. In addition to hearing “Good morning, teacher!” now I hear, “What is your name?” and “How are you?” (with a nice lilt on the final word) more often.
The conversational English class has been the most fun to teach thus far. The other day, the students broke into groups of four with assignments to use several tenses in their conversation. I stepped outside and lingered by the windows to listen.
And what did I hear but a cacophony of voices raised in questions and answers, with corrections quickly interspersed.
“Yesterday, I am going …”
“No, yesterday I was going …”
“Today I will be coming to class.”
“No, today I am in class.
“Tomorrow, I will go to Kosti.”
“Yesterday, I went to a wedding.”
It was a truly delightful sound … 12 adults, all leaders of the Diocese of Renk in the Episcopal Church of Sudan, trying their hardest to make sense of this language they have heard for years but never quite understood and never felt comfortable speaking.
Occasionally, they falter and don’t want to speak. “No,” they say. “I don’t know.”
That’s when I whip out my Arabic and tell them tales of things that have happened to me in Sudan in the last three years. I get them laughing and asking questions and commenting, and then I remind them: If I can speak Arabic with you, and make all the mistakes I do, and still am willing to use this language, you can do the same. I promise not to laugh at you, just as you never laugh at me.”
Sometimes, we sing songs in English. The Church here has many English songs translated into tribal languages as well as Arabic, so they are familiar with them. Learning the songs in a new language, and learning what the words mean, is probably the most fun for the students, especially when we sing something rousing, like I Have Decided to Follow Jesus. They love that song in their own languages; adding the English version is a bonus.
In my TOEFL class, I spend as much time explaining idioms and colloquialisms and American culture as I do teaching English. The students are fascinated to learn about Girl Scout cookies – in our practice book, there really is a question dealing with ordering cookies – and being “short” one class for graduation, and what an area code is, and the difference between “purchased” and “bought” (you have to match the verb used in the conversation). They love to hear about going to restaurants (and what that word means) and “putting an ad in a newspaper,” and struggle to deal with me speaking English at what would be a “normal” American speed, as opposed to what I use to teach their other classes, which is an African-accented, slower version of American and British English.
These students listen closely, staring straight at me, and do their best to answer questions based on the “conversations” I have had to create because we are missing the TOEFL cassette tapes they are supposed to be using. They guess at answers, sometimes ask me to repeat the conversations, ask about subtle differences and grin hugely when they finally understand.
And the women? Well, they have their own special requests about what they want to learn: How to say, “I am going home now.” “I am cooking breakfast.” “I want to go to the market.” They struggle to write the alphabet and giggle when they can recite it from memory, especially when they remember one of the alphabet songs we use here. Some of the women have had to be taught how to hold a pencil before they can begin classes; all of them try so very hard to learn any little thing they can.
South Sudan is changing rapidly. Soon, perhaps sooner than we think, this will be a place where English is the lingua franca.
The Rev. Lauren R. Stanley is an Appointed Missionary of the Episcopal Church serving in the Diocese of Renk, Sudan. She is a lecturer at the Renk Theological College, teaching Theology, Liturgy and English, and serves as chaplain for the students.
