Arabic Lessons

One of the significant reasons I came to this far-away land was to learn Arabic. I responded a few weeks ago to an online ad for an English tutor for a 9yo boy. I didn’t particularly want to teach outside of work time, but I thought it would be a good way to get to know a native family. There was an English-speaking native acting as the liaison person between the family, and me. Ultimately they employed a professional teacher, however, the situation worked out very well for me al hamdu lilaa (a very common phrase here meaning ‘All Praise Be to God’). The liaison man, Abdulaziz, phoned me and summarised that I was looking for something to do because I was lonely. Very sweet…..I think, but not exactly(!) the reason. After a mild panic that he was trying to flirt (encouraged by squeals and horror stories from fellow foreigners here), he went on to suggest that I might like to teach his 28yo sister English, and in return, she’ll teach me Arabic (she’s a professional Arabic teacher but can’t work due to a medical condition). I was thrilled to be offered such a wonderful opportunity, so quickly agreed and commenced thrice-weekly lessons last week (yes, I had expected weekly but I guess she’s eager and I’ve got the time). I’m only paying the taxi fare which is approx. $25 per lesson so very cheap for the experience.

My teacher’s name is Norah and she has adorable 5yo son named Mishael who constantly interrupts our classes, but is beginning to say Hello and recite the alphabet in English to me. It’s very exciting for me to observe and witness a traditional national home, behaviour and incredible hospitality. The family have very kindly bought the expensive textbooks we’re each using (mine doesn’t have a word of English in it, so my recognition of Arabic script has improved very quickly!). Abdulaziz (Norah’s brother) like’s to speak English, so phones me on a semi-regular basis to ask how the classes are going, get updates on his sister’s progress and offer me more books/cd-roms. Norah is incredible patient and hospitable. She even laughs when I spit all over the table while attempting to pronounce the sounds accurately. She (well, her maid) provides me with an interesting coffee-based drink (lightly roasted with cardamon) and lovely sweet tea each week, and hasn’t let me go home without some delectable sweet food yet. I made the mistake of trying to pour her coffee once while she was dealing with Mishael. The poor girl was very embarrassed and I had to explain that I wasn’t meaning to insult her, and that it would be considered a kindness in Australia. Oops. I’m still learning to pick up food and cups with my right hand only. Every time I make a mistake now I notice, so I guess it’ll sink in eventually.