Beirut and the Prestige Language Affair’s Tale
Once upon our time there dwelt a people in a Middle East city called Beirut. (Also famous as the City of historical SKYBAR, in case you’re confused.)
Their name was the Lebanese, as a group.
At the individual level, some were named à la Française with the letter “r” pronounced à la Libanaise, some carried cool American names catastrophically pronounced by their grandparents, some filed lawsuits to have their Arab names changed into Phoenician names, and the rest are happily carrying their Arab names within the borders of Arab countries.
Rumor has it the Lebanese are born with a dictionary in their mouth.
Sort of a Godsend to a people who will be born in Beirut delivery rooms, where the identity crisis begins.
So the story goes that once upon our time a special baby was going to fall off the baby tree, a different kind of baby who could hear and see from the first cry.
Date: Day One
Time: 10 minutes to birth
Location: Delivery room in Beirut
“Push. Push. Push. Ok, relax now. Again, breathe down into your bottom and push,” the Lebanese obstetrician urged the aching mother.
Thrilled at the possibility that this language could be the first evidence of a western identity, the baby gets ready to slip out of the womb. “My life is going to easier than that of 2.8 billion people! “ The baby cheers up.” I will have fast internet connection. I will benefit from lower calling rates. I will not have to stand in line for hours to apply for a visa. What else would anyone want? I’m out to see the world! “
Date: Day One
Time: 0:03 hour
Location: Delivery room in Beirut
“Smallah, bijanin ya Madame, alf mabrouk!” (Elaborated Lebanese expression for “congratulations”)
There comes the Lebanese nurse and holds up the baby behind a glass partition for the family and grandparents to ogle over. And there the first seed of confusion was planted.
“Excuse me, what was that language she just spoke? But I thought….oh well…I can always turn to mommy for reassurance and truth.” Baby sighed.
But that baby’s mommy was no different than the other Lebanese moms who grew up speaking French and decided to pass that language onto their children because “once you know French, it is easy to pick up another language.”
“Viens te perdre dans mes bras mon amour !” Et voilà! There goes the Frenchy mommy!
Date: Day One
Time: Birth past 15 minutes
Location: Waiting Babel Room
To the joy of about 10 friends, 1,265,326 relatives, Teta and Jeddo (the grandparents) and 5 house servants, baby finally makes his first appearance with the look of confusion planted on the face still to an audience speaking Arabic, English, French, Filipino, and Sinhalese languages.
Date: Day Two
Time: The Hour of Awakening
Location: Beirut
After a long day of bewilderment about the self-identity (or its absence), the Lebanese baby started to realize that the use of languages in Beirut extends beyond a means for merely communicating and expressing ideas.
Mixing different languages in one sentence has indeed become a Lebanese lifestyle – the Lebanese identity.
This whole language mixture and the purpose of its use made me think the other day when I was in a nail shop in Beirut rife with sophisticated Lebanese women.
Some woman walks in and addresses one of the employees to check her appointment. She talked to her in the Arabic language with the pure Lebanese accent and dialect. Then she turns around and runs into another female acquaintance that was getting a manicure treatment. A long conversation takes place and, by the sound of it, (I didn’t need to eavesdrop to hear them, they were loud and liked it that way!) I got the impression I was in the center of the Champs-Elysées. Then that other woman stops the conversation to address the employee in the same Lebanese dialect that the first woman seemed to speak fluently. Then the two ladies resumed their conversation, and this when we fly back to Paris.
And it made me think. Did they have to speak Arabic to the employees out of an assumption that it is unlikely that this category of workers would have been brought up speaking foreign languages and consequently considered them outcast in the Lebanese system? Did they have to communicate friendly with one another in French because they do belong in the same social class? Are languages deemed a sign of class and snob?
This language system is sometimes laughed off as a sort of “artificiality” implying a sense of superiority. Other times, this same system induces admiration and respect in those who contemplate it seeking admission within its ranks.
Whether it comes naturally or artificially, whether it is inherited or simulated, I believe the language system in Beirut gives the city a charm like no other and distinctively sets it apart.
We mix and we don’t really need a fix, but if you can figure out what our problem is I’d be interested to know.:)
If you want to learn more about Lebanon and the Lebanese people, I think no better posts will give you a genuine illustration of the situation in Lebanon than those of Maya Zankoul. http://mayazankoul.com/