The Sound of Language (3 page)

“Are you here for the class too?” the man asked, rubbing his hands together.

Gunnar didn't say anything, but the woman didn't seem to care about his lack of response.

“We are so excited. Anders found out about the apiary school and we just had to come. My daughter is married to a beekeeper in America. Do you know much about beekeeping?” she asked.

Gunnar grunted noncommittally.

“Sonia is just crazy about honey,” the man said proudly. “And I thought maybe we should make our own honey—it would be fun, now that we're retired.”

“Making honey is a lot of work,” Gunnar commented sourly. “A
whole lot of work.”

“But we'll do it together,” Sonia said, grabbing her husband's hand. “We're retired; we have all the time in the world.”

Bitterness and envy assailed Gunnar. He and Anna had retired too, he from teaching carpentry at the technical school and she from managing the kindergarten. They retired and were going to do the things they hadn't had the time to do when they were working. They would travel in the late fall and winter; go to the warm places, away from the long Danish cold. They would go south to France, Spain, and Italy, and learn new beekeeping techniques.

“Are you alone here?” the woman asked.

Gunnar stared at her for a moment and anger bubbled inside him. He wanted to snap at this woman who sat so happily beside her cheerful husband that, yes, he was alone. He was the most alone man he knew.

THREE
ENTRY FROM ANNA'S DIARY
A Year of Keeping Bees

16 APRIL 1980

I read something in the paper today and felt that it should be part of this journal. I didn't know this, but bees have been producing honey for at least a hundred million years. Bees produce honey as food storage for the long winter when flowers aren't blooming and no nectar is available to them.

Apis mellifera
, the European honeybee, produces far more honey than the hive can eat and we harvest this honey and sweeten our lives with it.

P
raktik!
The word set panic in Raihana.

“It's to help you integrate better into the Danish society,” Sylvia Hoffmann had told Raihana. “And you're obligated by the Danish government to do a
praktik.
We'll find one suitable for you.”

Layla worked at the grocery store cleaning the floors and picking up after everyone. This was her
praktik
, her apprenticeship. It was a part of the language school curriculum since Danish immigration law required refugees to work in a place where they could pick up day-today Danish as well as become familiar with Danish culture.

Layla didn't mind her
praktik
but she admitted that she wasn't learning any Danish at the supermarket. She worked with Shabana, another Afghan from Kabul who had come to Denmark two years ago. They talked in Dari about life back in Afghanistan, life in Denmark, the latest wedding, this festivity and that, and the Hindi movies they had recently seen.

Raihana thought she would be happy with a
praktik
like Layla's even if she didn't learn any Danish. The work was easy enough and she wouldn't feel stupid when she tried to speak that bee-buzz language. But when the time came to choose a
praktik
, Raihana surprised herself.

Raihana had been relieved on her first day in language school to find that Sylvia Hoffmann was not her language teacher. Raihana had been afraid that she would have to sit in class every day with the stern Sylvia Hoffmann and was happy to see a pleasant-looking woman step into her classroom.

Layla was in a module 4 class while Raihana was in a module 2 class, and for the first time since she had come to Denmark, Raihana had to manage outside of the home without the help of Layla or Kabir. It was daunting, but she was excited to do this all by herself. Sometimes, outside of class, she felt she didn't need Layla's help, especially in the supermarket, but it seemed rude to spurn Layla's protectiveness. Layla was only trying to help, to make things easier for Raihana than they had been when she first came to Denmark. So Raihana let Layla speak for them both. But here in class, Raihana was expected to speak for herself and she enjoyed it.

Just after a week of classes, Raihana decided she liked her teacher, Christina Møllehave, best among all the Danish people she had met. Christina spoke Danish very slowly and very clearly. Raihana could actually understand some of what Christina said because she didn't mumble like so many other Danes did. And she took the time to explain what a Danish word meant each time a student asked.

Once she began school, Raihana's life fell into a routine. Everyone at home woke up early, got ready, ate breakfast, and battled with Shahrukh to eat his slice of bread with butter and jam and a boiled egg.

Kabir dropped Shahrukh at his day care on his way to school. Kabir went to
handelsskole
, a business school where Danes who didn't want to go to university went to after high school. Kabir had finished high school in Afghanistan, but that had been a long time ago. Most of his classmates were almost fifteen years younger than him. He felt awkward, not only because of their age, but also because they were all Danes. After going to language school where everyone was a foreigner, it was strange to go to a class where he was the only foreigner.

Layla and Raihana bicycled to the language school. Usually they went together, but sometimes Layla got a late start. She watched too many Hindi movies at night and couldn't always wake up on time.

It had taken Raihana awhile to get used to bicycling everywhere. She had been scared in the beginning, worried that a car would run her over, but with the passing months she gained confidence.

Language school was tough. The first week, Raihana felt like crying all the time because she felt as if she understood very, very little. She felt she spent as much time looking through the Danish-to-Dari dictionary as she did listening to Christina. She pieced her sentences together with her little knowledge of Danish and translated words from the dictionary.

The language was not easy. The way Danish was written was not how it was spoken. Danes swallowed half their words and letters when they spoke and there were no rules.

“You won't learn Danish by tomorrow,” Christina had warned the class. “I know the pronunciation is difficult. But I promise, you'll learn the language.”

Raihana thought she'd never be able to speak Danish fluently, not the way Layla could, and she said as much to her.

“It took me six months to get to where you are,” Layla told Raihana, sounding a little annoyed. “You've picked up so much in a week, it's astonishing.”

Raihana didn't really believe that, but felt a small surge of satisfaction at having impressed Layla.

“I learned so much from the television,” she said. “And you,” she added to please Layla.

Wahida, who came from Kandahar, sat next to Raihana. There was also a woman from Iran, two from Bosnia, and one from Malaysia.

“How come there are only women here?” Raihana asked Wahida on her first day. “Where do the men learn Danish?”

“There are men,” Wahida said. “Just none in our class. My cousin Asslam is in module 2, but in a module 2 class for immigrants who have no education. He has class on Monday and Tuesday and his
praktik
is at the butcher.”

“What does he do there?” Raihana asked.

“Cuts meat.” Wahida said and then her voice dropped. “Even pig's meat. He hasn't said anything to anyone, but my husband told me. It's an evil world that makes a good Musalman soil his hands so.”

“Why can't he find a
praktik
elsewhere?” Raihana asked.

“These Danes, they force us into such situations,” Wahida said acidly. “They make us do these jobs so that we won't be Muslim anymore. You should wear a
hi jab
and
abaya
, Raihana, walking around like this… it's not right. You have to show them that you are a good Muslim woman.”

“I don't think a Muslim woman is good because she wears a
hi jab
and
abaya,”
Raihana said tightly.

Afghans like Wahida believed that wearing a
hi jab
and
abaya
made them better Muslims and who was Raihana to argue with that? Everyone had their own ideas about religion and whatever Raihana's ideas were, it was between Allah and her. None of Wahida's business.

“You have to cover your hair here, cover your body,” Wahida insisted. “You have to show these white people that you are a good Muslim,” she repeated.

The first few days, Raihana just ignored Wahida's remarks. She didn't want to sit with strangers, people who didn't speak Dari, so she sat with Wahida even though the Muslim talk made her uncomfortable.

But by the end of the week, Raihana had had enough.

“If this is all you're going to talk about, I won't sit with you,” Raihana said.

After Wahida stopped insisting Raihana wear a
hijab
or an
abaya
, they struck up a tentative friendship. They were the only two Afghans in the class and they stuck together, at least in the initial days when everyone else in the class spoke a different and stranger language than theirs.

Raihana was frightened of Sylvia Hoffmann and tried to avoid her. Sylvia Hoffmann would always stop and talk to the students
in Danish.
Sylvia didn't say much, just asked how she was doing, but Raihana was tongue-tied around her and could barely get the words out. She now knew what to say when someone said,
“Har du det godt?”
She only had to say “Fini” to respond, but she was too flustered to say anything. So Raihana just nodded, looking around nervously, feeling like a fool.

It was worse with her caseworker at the Integration Centre. Karina Hansen was young and prone to giggling on the mobile phone when Raihana sat down to talk with her. She used Layla to interpret, and Layla, Allah bless her, always came along to make sure Raihana was not lost.

“No one helped me, so I want to make sure you have help,” Layla would say. “I had Kabir… you have me.”

It was Karina who talked to Raihana about the
praktik.
They were looking for something appropriate, Karina told her, and then answered the singsong tone of her mobile phone, speaking rapidly in Danish.

“Her boyfriend,” Layla whispered to Raihana in Dari. As if whispering made it less likely for Karina to understand Dari. “She is saying something about some dress and … some party.”

Raihana felt embarrassed, as if she were listening into a private conversation, even though she needed Layla to translate what Karina was saying.

Sylvia was stern, Karina was irreverent, and Christina was absolutely wonderful. Raihana felt that Christina cared a lot about her students and worked very hard to teach them Danish.

For some reason, Christina had taken a special interest in Raihana. She came to her during breaks during the day and asked if she had any questions. In the beginning Raihana had been shy and just shook her head, but after a few weeks she had started asking questions.

Raihana thought the toughest part was grammar, which Christina assured her was hard for everyone. On Wednesday afternoons Raihana would meet with Christina for one-on-one class in the computer room. Raihana liked the computer room; it was a big room with many computers, all in black. The screens were large and sleek and the keyboards and mouses were wireless, so you could put the keyboard on your lap and type. Kabir had shown her how to access Afghan newspapers. In her breaks during class, Raihana, like all other students, would bring up newspapers from her homeland on the computer and read a familiar language again.

It was such a delight to find everything on the computer. You could just type a few letters and go back home, even if only for a short while.

Raihana still had to look for the right keys and envied Kabir, whose fingers moved so quickly and easily on the computer's keyboard. He used to use an English typewriter back in Kabul, he told her; that's why it was so easy for him.

All the computers came with headphones so that the students could listen to taped Danish conversations. During her lunch break, Raihana browsed an Afghan music website Kabir had shown her and a Hindi movie website to see pictures of newly released movies and listen to new Hindi movie songs. Everyone in Afghanistan watched Hindi movies, Pakistani teleplays, and television programs from Iran. Raihana especially loved old Hindi movies and the songs in them.

“It is the irregular verbs that are the most problematic,” Christina told her whenever Raihana complained about them. They would have a one-on-one class every Wednesday for three hours, when Christina would go through Raihana's homework.

Uregelmoessig verbum.
Raihana knew that term. These were verbs that didn't follow a set pattern and Raihana always made mistakes when using them.

“You will get used to the verbs,” Christina said.

“Jeg kan ikke
, I cannot,” she said desperately. She didn't think she could ever get used to this language and its rule-less verbs.

Christina laughed. “You will. When you start speaking Danish fluently, you won't even think about the verbs.”

“Nej, nej,”
Raihana said, shaking her head.

Christina nodded. “You're learning Danish very fast,
meget hurtigt.”

Raihana glowed at the praise. When she came home, Raihana felt even better because she realized that she had had a whole conversation with Christina in Danish and had understood almost all of it.

The class started every day with a different song that Christina played on the tape recorder. It was the day Christina played the song about
solskin
, sunshine, in Raihana's fourth week at the language school, that everything changed for Raihana.

The talk of spring, sunshine, the song of the birds, and the buzzing of bees changed everything for Raihana.

“My uncle make honey,” she managed to tell Christina. The language, as difficult as it was, was sinking in, much to Raihana's surprise. “I help him.”

Christina had seemed very interested and the next week, Christina pulled Raihana aside during lunch and asked if she would be interested in working at an apiary.

Raihana barely understood what Christina said, even though she spoke slowly. Finally, Christina got Layla to translate for her.

“There is a man, an old man, his wife has died and he might need help taking care of his bees,” Layla translated with a frown. In Dari, she added, “I don't think you should say yes to this, working for some old man doesn't sound right. You come and work with us in the supermarket.”

Raihana wanted to warn Christina that she really didn't know that much about bees but Layla's insistence that Raihana go to the supermarket with her for her
praktik
gave Raihana pause. She loved Layla, but she also needed to get away from her. And why not work with bees? Maybe she would learn something, maybe she would be able to practice her Danish more, something that wouldn't happen if she worked in the supermarket with Layla.

So with Layla's warning ringing in her ears, Raihana, with confidence that surprised her, said yes. Yes, she would work in a bee farm for some old Danish man. She had no idea what she was getting into but since she had left the refugee camp, it seemed like getting into things that she didn't know much about didn't always turn out badly.