30 Words Blog Re-start: Notes from the Road
Feb 17th, 2010 by admin
I want to relaunch 30 Words blog by following up on the first 30 Words language tour blog post; a post from almost seven months ago. This story is about another stop-over on the 30 Days - 30 Languages tour. I have to admit I was never able to finish this dream, I was forced to put my writing and traveling lives on hiatus in the name of starting a small business. Who knew (beside just about everyone but me) that long days, no sleep, and no internet makes communicating with a co-worker a bit difficult. Five days into my tour I had to face the reality that learning 30 Languages would have to wait until a later date.
However, seeing as spring has burst upon California, I wanted to relaunch the blog with a story of adventure. For that reason, I offer you a blast from the past, 30 Words style: A Story From the Road.
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TULE RIVER RENDEZVOUS
Date: National Indian Day, 2009.
Location: Tule River Reservation
30 Words departed early Friday morning from Idyllwild, California, a respite after the intense experience that is visiting Los Angeles. With two language lessons in hand (I had learned Luganda and Hebrew on Hollywood Boulevard two nights before), the 30 Words truck sped towards the Tule River Indian Reservation eager to study another language and continue my tour.

A picture from the Tule Indian Reservation: Please visit http://www.tulerivertribe-nsn.gov/index.php for more information
The Tule River Indian Reservation is tucked in a beautiful corner of California. However, one gets the sense that this land was not ‘chosen’ for its beauty, but rather due to its rugged remoteness. The road leading to the reservation rolls between the foothills of the Sierras, descending next to a river that has cut a steep valley between grass covered hills and stone outcroppings. The base of the valley, where a small river bounds over rounded rocks, supports lush trees and therefore refreshing shade. My first impression (as many would agree) was that I had stumbled upon a paradise in the Sierra foothills.
30 Words arrived at the Tule River Indian Reservation on National Indian Day. I was eager for a lesson in Yokut, one of three Native American languages still spoken by people on the reservation. I drove through town and found the Cultural Center almost immediately (it is one of a handful of buildings in town). With pen and paper in hand, I leapt from my truck - imagining that just inside the doors of the Cultural Center I would be greeted by people all too eager to teach me their language. To my surprise, the Cultural Center was all but abandoned, so I wandered outside and over to the adjacent softball field, to question people as to where I could learn Yokut. After a team conference, I was advised that if I was able to find anybody who could speak Yokut, I should head to the casino. However, they sent me off with a hushed warning - “Barely anyone speaks Yokut anymore.”
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The casino was at the far end of the valley. As I approached, I realized that the casino was roughly the size of all the other buildings in town, … combined. I parked my truck in the shade, just outside the expansive casino parking lot, and set up my 30 Words billboard, offering language guides and half my pile of firewood (picked up somewhere along my journey) to anyone willing to teach me their language for 15 minutes. I thought it was a heck of a deal.
With my billboard on display, I lay back on the warm hood of my vehicle, opened a book, and waited to engage passersby. I was content that the flow of traffic was light. I could not believe how tranquil my location seemed despite being only 200 yards from a sprawling casino. Those who did pass slowed to read my sign, look me over suspiciously, and speed away as though my strange request was too peculiar to trust. By the way, at this point in the game, the 30 Words tour has grown quite accustomed to these quizzical looks. (I have learned to smile broadly or to bury my hide in my book, depending on my emotional state and the presumed attitude of the onlooker.)
After about 15 minutes, I noticed a man on horse back trotting slowly down the road. The rider sat comfortably in his saddle, lilting from side to side. We studied each other. The horseman had large, strong arms exposed by a cut-off shirt. He skinned was decorated with tattoos, and a necklace bounced jauntily off his chest. When he was within hearing distance, I jumped from the hood of the car and waited to introduce myself. He pulled up his horse and turned to me.
“Do you know anyone who can teach me Yokut?” I asked, sparing him a lengthy introduction.
“You want to learn Yokut?” He asked, his eyes drifting to the hill tops. “I speak a little Yokut, but nobody really speaks the language anymore.” The rider began to tell a short and troubling history - of schools where he and others were discouraged from speaking his native language, of mistrust, of anger. He talked in an aggressive manner - I imagined that he likely viewed me as a member of the B.I.A., as someone who must have more in mind than a lesson in the local language. After listening to his story, I decided to push him a bit.
“But you speak some Yokut?” I pressed.
“Sure” He offered. I pressed him again, hoping I could entice him to talk for a while. With a little more prodding he agreed to teach me some of his language. “You want to learn some Yokut? Alright…”
The first Yokut phrase I heard sounded beautiful - a mix of harmonious aspirations and tones.
“What does that mean?” I asked, excited that my lesson was underway. Surely, I had just learned to say ‘Hello’ in Yokut?
“That means ‘Sit down’” At this point he rattled off another short phrase in Yokut.
“And that means …?” I asked, still not catching his drift.
“That means ‘Shut up’. And you can combine those phrases and say ’sit down and shut up.’”
My first Yokut class was off to an auspicious start. Sometimes, you rub someone the wrong way - and at that point, especially when you are a visitor, it is best to, well, ‘Sit down and shut up’. The horseman ended our conversation abruptly, turned his horse, and rode toward the casino to start his Friday night.
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With my first hopes of a language class dashed and the sun dropping behind the hills, I began pressing for a teacher. I went to casino officials, who graciously searched the casino for their bilingual friends before giving me directions to homes where I could find native speakers (I love directions in small towns: “Three driveways past the cultural center.”) With each door I knocked on, my hunt appeared more fruitless. Not one Yokut speaker seemed to be in town. Each time I inquired as to when my potential teacher would return, I was told “Sometime next week”. I often walked away awkwardly, wondering if I was being too presumptuous. (Okay, I knew I was being too presumptuous) However, 30 Words is at least partly based on the idea that in order to get a good quick language lesson, you have to dance near the edge of the absurd.
As darkness crept down the rolling foot hills of the Sierras, I left the Tule River Reservation without a Yokut lesson. However, even learning a few facts about the Yokut language proved exciting. As my fruitless search illustrated, Yokut is an endangered language. Historically, Yokut has been only an oral language, and now the cultural center and a few dedicated volunteers are attempting to transliterate the language into English. However, the few words of Yokut I learned were enough to illustrate that phonetics could never express the intricate tones, rhythm, and aspirations of Yokut.
The 30 Words tour rolled on - heading for Camp 4 at Yosemite. A climbers paradise and a place that usually has visitors from a dozen countries. A mid-day language lesson seemed assured. And who doesn’t drive near Yosemite and stop in for a bit?!





