La visite partie “un”

I took my mum on a Saturday afternoon journey to the Cité Francophone in Edmonton. We walked into the quiet building and… here’s the thing: I think I don’t know anyone in the francophone community in Alberta, but I am wrong. I know a lot of francophones from my job. I went to a mostly closed building on a quiet day, encountered a total of about ten people, and I actually knew exactly one!

Diallo is a former student of mine. In class, he found out that I speak French the hard way: by saying something under his breath in French, then having the anguish of not being sure whether I had heard and understood him after I said “attention à ce que vous dites. Je vous comprends”. (For the record, I didn’t hear what he said. And I mostly said it pre-emptively because I didn’t want to hear anything that wasn’t intentionally directed at me). After learning of our (other) common language, Diallo warmed up to me. Having a low tolerance for ambiguity, he would often ask me to translate difficult new vocabulary words. I didn’t mind occasionally. As a result, we got along just fine.

In the upstairs atrium of the Cité, me, my mum and my former student, Diallo, ran into each other and had a little conversation. What a thrill to meet someone outside their usual context! Talk about switching roles… what language to greet each other in? French. We went with French. It was ok. The only problem was my two interlocutors didn’t share a common strong language. Diallo assumed that my mum’s French was as strong as mine. But he soon realized, “vous n’êtes pas francophone, n’est pas?” In fact, my mum speaks quite a bit of French, and she’s a communicator like others in my family so she’ll use whatever language she has to communicate. However, certain things retract from her language ability, including a lack of practice, and a strong British accent. But worst of all, as she stated earlier in the day, she doesn’t share my love of French. To be clear “it’s good to love things, but this isn’t something I love”, she said. Fair enough maman! But thanks for the support! Actually, she did great. Mum, you always impress me.

That was my first experience in the heart of francophone Edmonton: a surprise run in with someone I knew and a triangle conversation between one person more comfortable in French, one person more comfortable in English, and one person happy with both. This conversation was not the first, nor was it the last of its kind for me, I suspect. It was almost fitting to have this kind of conversation in the Cité, where I hope to get more connected someday. This place may be where I can nurture my growing sense of dual identity and bilingualism.

Afterwards, we went to la librairie (as in, bookstore) and the café (as in, Café Bicyclette). More on that in part deux… bonne soirée!