It’s Not Just That My French Sucks

The first time I saw the word, it was on a sign over a toilet in Parakou: S’il vous plait, tirez-moi doucement. “Okay,” I thought, “I’ll flush gently; no problem.” The first time I heard anyone say the word, my reaction was, “Aw, now that’s kind of cute.” I had tripped getting off the back of a zemidjan (taxi moto), and the driver and every male within earshot earnestly muttered it together, creating a little chorus of “Doucement”s. It made enough sense, but diligent student that I am, I looked it up to be sure and then contented myself with a revised understanding that the word meant something more like “Careful!” The next time I heard it, I’d just broken my clothesline, so when a neighbor-of-whom-I-am-not-so-fond-and-vice-versa called out to me, I thought she was rubbing it in. I wanted to yell back, “Doucement yourself, you big jerk…And stop stealing my clothespins and send your daughter to school!” Fortunately, I held back…because the next time was after a young boy, looking the other way as he chased a flat soccer ball, had run smack into me. “Doucement, eh?” he said, looking up at me with big guilty eyes and waiting for my response. Part of me thought, “Were you raised in a barn?!? You don’t hit people and then lecture them about being careful!” The other part of me, though, had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to apologize and that this word was more versatile than I had imagined.

It’s been a problem for me this entire year, in both languages. It’s not just that I’m like David Sedaris trying to explain the Easter Bunny to Eastern Europeans with a 100-word French vocabulary. And it’s not just the “Garbage v. Rubbish” business of non-American English (though Ghanaians do have a funny way of asking if you’d like to “alight” from the tro-tro here so you can “go-come-back-that-place”). It’s that I am accustomed to life expressed through a colorful, if at times inappropriate, vocabulary—one where there’s a one-to-one correspondence between word used and sentiment expressed. My very ability to function on this planet depends on “I’m so sorry”, “Bummer”, “Easy does it”, and “Hey, be careful!” being very clearly distinguished from one another.

But here, so much goes unsaid. Ask for clarification, and you’ll get a verbatim repetition, shrugged shoulders, or folded hands. You’re just supposed to get it, nuances and all. I, normally on the oblivious side even when confronting the blindingly obvious, am completely left behind. The gendarmes don't ever demand money; you're just supposed to know when smoothly bust out your 500CFA handshake. I'm reduced to following the cues of everyone else in the taxi-brousse..."cues" of course being stiff elbows to the ribs and big eyes that seem to be screaming, "get with it, already, stupid anasara!" Trips to customs sound to me like: “Your Excellence, Mr. Junior Rubber-Stamping Secretary of the Application of Tariffs, we are honored to be here to present to Your Most High Benevolence our Association.” Okay, fine, grammatically-speaking, it’s a sentence. But I thought we were here to ask for an exemption?! Where was the question? Did someone ask it while I blinked? On top of it, I know that the letter handed over to Mr. JRSSAT isn’t any clearer than whatever was just said. Somehow, though, at the end of the day, everyone else understands, and the exemption is granted.

I’ve more than once made people uncomfortable because I don’t understand that they are asking me for money or presents: “Do you know about my farm? We grow soy, and right now is when we do the planting and fertilizing.” “That’s great! I love tofu and soy milk! Soy is so nutritious.” Shifting in seat. “Yes, well, harvest time isn’t for a while. Now is when we are finishing preparing the ground.” “Ah yes, I see. How long does it take to grow?” “Well, you see, that’s the thing. I am here to talk to you about fertilizer.” “Oh, well, I don’t know much about the condition of your soil, so I am not sure I am the best person to help you.” “No, I mean, I want to ask you about fertilizer.” “Yes?” Nervous shifting. “That’s to say…” More silence, as I wait. Then the light bulb springs on. I take the lead: “Have you bought the fertilizer?” “No.” “Are you able to buy the fertilizer?” “No.” “How much does the fertilizer cost?” “40.000CFA.” “Do you want me to buy the fertilizer for you?” “No.” What?!? Okay, now I am REALLY confused. In the end, the woman just wants money - for other things - but talking about the cost of fertilizer is supposed to be my cue. Doh!

What's a girl supposed to do? I trust that people here know I am earnest and sincere, if stupid. So I do my best, smile a lot, and try to roll with it. But life has a way of always laughing at you. Just when you think you've gotten the hang of some of this stuff, you buy a 5000CFA ($10) phone card and accidentally scratch the numbers off. As you're kicking yourself for wasting an amount of money that is horrible even at home, nevermind horrifying here, you see the tiny text next the remains of the card number: Grattez doucement.

Merci, I think. Merci beaucoup.