All hail Zarathustra! I am transformed from a paleolithical fossil to an evolved creature within seconds by something black. Coffee. All references to monolyths are purely intentional.
Having done homework and drunk coffee, I finally make it into an introductory session, to be ushered into class soon thereafter. The first object related to the class is a trolley, which returns five minutes later with a stack of Hans Wehrs, collosal when compared to the person pushing the trolley. On her insistance on shoving it into the classroom herself, we move on to the next section of the programme.
The classroom is familiar, I may have spent time in it myself, learning Spanish, in a previous life. A few students are waiting for the clas to begin, for their classmates to arrive. They do, it begins. Repetition and sentences. This is the third level, Intermediate to advanced, these students have spent a minimum of three semesters infusing themselves whith knowledge of Arab culture.
Arab culture is a fragmented and diverse topic, which for the purposes of this diary, will be referred to as a coherent whole most of the time. This is entirely unfair to the separate cultures which make up what has been historically termed as the collective Arab identity, however, this may be the only way to deal with the topic efficiently in this context.
I find myself slightly envious of the enthusiam with which they engage in their learning. Even though their understanding of the language is still not fully developped and their pronunciation still needs a bit of work, it is apparent that these people are enjoying the way the language is taught to them.
I am transported back to a long- gone age, in which we were taught the same things at a slightly younger age than these people are at now. The diacritics, the careful declination of cases, bringing words back to their roots…
صباح الخير!
Having done homework and drunk coffee, I finally make it into an introductory session, to be ushered into class soon thereafter. The first object related to the class is a trolley, which returns five minutes later with a stack of Hans Wehrs, collosal when compared to the person pushing the trolley. On her insistance on shoving it into the classroom herself, we move on to the next section of the programme.
The classroom is familiar, I may have spent time in it myself, learning Spanish, in a previous life. A few students are waiting for the clas to begin, for their classmates to arrive. They do, it begins. Repetition and sentences. This is the third level, Intermediate to advanced, these students have spent a minimum of three semesters infusing themselves whith knowledge of Arab culture.
Arab culture is a fragmented and diverse topic, which for the purposes of this diary, will be referred to as a coherent whole most of the time. This is entirely unfair to the separate cultures which make up what has been historically termed as the collective Arab identity, however, this may be the only way to deal with the topic efficiently in this context.
I find myself slightly envious of the enthusiam with which they engage in their learning. Even though their understanding of the language is still not fully developped and their pronunciation still needs a bit of work, it is apparent that these people are enjoying the way the language is taught to them.
I am transported back to a long- gone age, in which we were taught the same things at a slightly younger age than these people are at now. The diacritics, the careful declination of cases, bringing words back to their roots…
صباح الخير!
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