More Words

A boy and his kwas.

So, back to the word list. As hard as I try to get them all down, I know I'm going to miss some. T's been adding some lately, and we're not quite sure if they're really Sidamic words, or if they're Teshale-speak. I'll add those in a later post as an addendum.

Kwas: Ball. How could I not have mentioned kwas in my first posting?! It was one of our first words, and our very first activity with our son. I'm fairly certain it's Amharic, as all the guards, who spoke Amharic, used it when speaking of a ball. After our initial meeting, where he picked Daddy to hug and hold on to, T wasn't very interested in me. Then we found a soccer kwas. I kicked it to him, who kicked it with amazing strength and accuracy right back to me. Back and forth we played, while Sean took pictures. After we connected by playing kwas, Teshale finally allowed me to pick him up and cuddle him for the first time. I wish I could remember the moment with sterling clarity, but it's now a blur. It happened so fast and we were so sleep deprived and travel-weary. I was certain we had a future Wildcat varsity soccer player on our hands, since he played like he'd been kicking a soccer ball around his whole life. It wouldn't have surprised me, because in our travels throughout Ethiopia, we'd seen boys kicking soccer balls everywhere. If they didn't have a real ball, they made one out of cloth and perhaps some dirt or stones inside, looking more like a hackeysack than a soccer ball, but something to play with anyway. But recently I was drawing a picture for him of his home back in Ethiopia. He had me draw him outside, playing. "What are you playing?" I asked. Teshale hesitated, unsure of how to answer the question. "Are you playing soccer?" I asked, thinking that was the most likely option. "No," said Teshale sadly. "No ball." No ball. A family so destitute that the children didn't have as much as a ball to kick around. And he was just one child of millions in Ethiopia facing poverty so severe that there wasn't one single toy to play with. A kwas. What does it take to make sure every family in Ethiopia has at least one kwas for their children? Or clean water, or medical care, or shoes, or enough food to eat?

Ai: No. Pronounced like 'aye' or 'eye.' Amharic, but likely Sidamic also, as our child was quite familiar with this word and used it frequently! It was one of the first words we heard him speak at all. We thought maybe he was mute at first. It seemed like days before we heard him speak. But early on, we did hear him giggling, "Ai, ai, ai," as he chased his punch balloon around the concrete yard. I had no idea what he was saying, but in reading up on Amharic phrases the next morning in my Lonely Planet travel guide, I found out that it meant 'no." It was a breakthrough moment for me. I was able to understand my child for the first time! I felt like we had crossed a magical divide, and were beginning on our path to understanding each other. It was if he were an infant saying "Da-da" or "Ma-ma" for the first time. Our ability to talk to each other and have each other understand the other had begin. Life was full of possibilities! Ow, ow, ow! (our next word)

Ow: Yes. Again, Amharic, but likely Sidamic too. We heard 'ow' a lot less frequently than we did 'ai.' As typical parents, we probably said it a lot less too. Now Teshale recognizes 'ai' and 'ow' as English words that mean the thing you see out of and what you say when you're hurt. When I ask him if he remembers what 'ai' meant in Sidama, he gives me a blank look, then says, "I dunno." Sigh. I don't necessarily want him running around speaking Sidamic to his teachers and friends, but I hate that he's forgetting it entirely. We recently watched a Newshour piece on the shortage of clean water in Ethiopia. When T heard someone speaking in whatever language was spoken in the region the piece was focusing on, he would laugh with delight. He seemed to recognize the sounds of the words and the lilting way people speak. But he had no idea what they were saying. I suppose it would be as if I heard someone speaking German on a crowded Ethiopian street. I would immediately recognize it as not any Ethiopian language, and I would probably recognize it as more similar to my own than Amharic or Sidamic or Oromo. I might even recognize it as German, and perhaps be able to pick out an occasional word or two. But I would have no hope of understanding the substance of the conversation. I wish there were a Rosetta Stone for Sidamic, so at least he could hold on to some basic ability to converse in his first language. The children he's had play dates with so far don't remember their Sidamic either, so they chatter away in English. So much for making connections in order to maintain his cultural identity.

Dentini: probably Sidamic. Teshale added "ini" (eenie) to almost every word, and I have no way of knowing if this was just baby talk, or if some of the words should have ended in 'ini.' When he began speaking English, he added 'ie' to most words initially, such as -- when the water coming from the faucet was too hot -- "Mommy hottie," a phrase my husband particularly delighted in. I've since heard of other children from Sidama doing the same. At any rate, dentini meant "louder!" as in "Turn up the TV volume!" as I worked my way through all the steps necessary to get a recorded program up and running. It didn't matter to him if it was a promotional spot for the umpteenth airing of Celtic Women or My Music, My Memories, or the actual program he wanted to watch -- he wanted the volume maxed out, or as maxed out as I would allow.

Khafadini: Napkin? probably Sidamic. He used it to refer to napkin -- I don't know if that's a literal meaning. He arrived being very good about using a napkin to wipe his mouth when necessary. Lately he's started to use the inside of his arm. He blames Caillou, and I just recently saw a scene where Caillou did just that. So much for PBS shows being a good influence on our children, a theme I pitched hundreds of times in my public broadcasting days.

Gobez: Good/smart boy. Amharic. He no longer remembers this word. But we still think he's a smart boy. And a good boy too.

Aredgana: Dangerous. Amharic. Pronounced with the 'n' sounding like a Spanish 'n' with the tilde. Teshale never liked hearing this, and I would usually get a dirty look or a grumpy face. It usually meant he had to stop doing something he was having fun doing. Like running into the road. Or standing on top of the table. Or attempting to climb up the stove.

Diffidini: probably Sidamic. I never did figure out if it meant underpants or socks or both. Maybe just underwear in general? Or was it fontini that meant underwear, and if so, what did diffidini mean? He can't tell me now. Originally he seemed to be a boxer guy, but now it better be something with a car on it. Batman is ok too, but Spiderman is out, even though he generally loves anything Spiderman. He'll actually wear anything his father gives him to put on, but with me, it's generally a battle. If I pick out briefs with cars on them, they're not the right "Cars" character, or the car isn't big enough, or who knows. Anything other than what I chose. Again, typical four-year-old behavior or adjustment issues? I've been taking a "choose your battles" approach and fishing something else out, but maybe I'm just teaching him that he can push me around. Despite the tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people who have adopted internationally, navigating the murky waters of attachment is still pretty much a guessing game.

Sunki: Kiss. Sidamic. I'm not sure if this was the first word we learned, or if it was shuma. Kiss or pee. Both important words. I remember the nanny telling him "Sunki Mommy and Daddy" when we returned him for dinner after spending our first afternoon together. He turned around and gave us each a kiss. It brings tears to my eyes to remember that moment, even though he was doing it on command. The nanny then explained that 'sunki' was Sidamic for kiss and that he was from Sidama. All the other Sidamic words we had to figure out on our own. We don't have many years before he will be too big for sunkis, so I give them as often as I can. He gives them freely to us now too.

This post is getting really long, so I will save the remainder of the words for another time -- that hopefully will be appearing more quickly than it took for this post.