This morning I bought more minutes for my Internet key. When my Internet service dies, I never immediately know whether it’s due to the typically poor internet in The B.F. or due to the simple fact that my 30-day purchase has expired. Perhaps I should calendar my purchase dates of what we call unité. Today I noticed the calendar on my computer and decided that I’d probably remember today’s unité purchase since it was 11/11. I had the new unité loaded into the key around 11h11. Then it hit me: I should eMail someone and say Happy 11.11/11 at 11h11. Alas, for everyone in the States, it was not even 5:30 a.m. Wake up, people, it’s 11/11/11 11:11 in my world.

I had to wait until 17h11 GMT until it was 11/11/11 11:11 in Dallas. And by that time, naturally, I had no Internet connection. I wondered whether this 11/11/11 11:11 phenomenon was a big event in the U.S. media. I suspect it was, if only in the form of friends eMailing each other with this trivial tid-bit. Of course, while it was a whole bunch of ones for many people, it was just six ones for many others. And for those who observe anything but the Gregorian calendar, it wasn’t even 11/11/11 . . . and don’t kid yourself, friends, that includes a lot of people . . . for whom it’s not 2011 but 1432 or 5772.

Yesterday I gave a presentation to 45 women . . . in French . . . and then in Mooré . . . and then in Kassim. Actually, I said little more than the pleasantries in Mooré. But when it came to Kassim . . . wow! How sad that I did better in Kassim than in French. Anyway, I felt quite honored when, following the presentation, I was asked to write a press release in French to be read on the village radio next week. My second press release [a few weeks ago I was asked to write another for the consideration of the U.S. Embassy]. What fun . . . a communiqué for the radio. Sadly, it took me an hour to write it in French. Three short paragraphs . . . one hour. And then another hour to confirm with my 501 French Verbs book that my conjugations were correct. Finally, another three hours to wait for 12-year-old Martin to return from school to confirm that my grammar was correct, which, surprisingly, it was. A 12-year old. The critic for my communiqué is twelve years old!

Yesterday I friend of mine arrived back in Pô. She’s from Germany and speaks perfect French, Norwegian, English, Italian, Mooré, Kassim, Jula, and, of course, German. I hate people like this. After boring her with my German, sad Italian, and two phrases of Norwegian, Regina said, with all honesty and kindness, that it’s my French accent (or total lack thereof). The accent is why my French sucks, and probably why my comprehension is so low. She kindly suggested that perhaps I’m expecting everyone to sound like I do when speaking. Hmm. Sounds as egocentric as my expectation that it was 11/11/11 11:11 everywhere in the world.

But the good news? My Texas accent evidently works perfectly for Kassim. This must be why I speak and understand so much more Kassim than French. And good thing, because the director of the Maison de la Femme worked with me to translate my French press release into Kassim so that I can read it on the radio on Monday. Me, me, me. He was kidding, right? Not so much. Actually, since Kassim has about 30-something alphabet letters, I won’t actually read it. I’ve merely written it phonetically, will memorize the sounds, and on Monday start talking. This morning we practiced, and indeed, I can do this. It’s a simple process of memorizing sounds. Like learning a song in another language. Heck, if we counted all the songs I can sing in other languages, I could say that I speak Portuguese.

Wonder what happened to the press release for the Embassy? Is it a frightening thing that the students whom I tutor in English will inevitably develop a Texas accent? So what do you think . . . does anyone else lead a sad little egocentric life? Is it really not all about me . . . or you? It is, however, all about Jill, right? We can only speculate.