Another entry on language from Jerome….

The story in the previous entry about my relationship with the family who own the dyqan and our exercises in international communition occurred during my first month in Korca. Since then I have enjoyed some improvement in my ability to hear the language due in part to the clarity of the Korcan tongue and persistence. However, I have much work to do to maintain my survivor’s language skill and – god willing – to become a better speaker of Shqip.

Our language teachers have told me and Mike D. that often we do speak the language, intelligibly, but our Albanian hosts may not be able to switch their brains from amazement that Americans would even attempt speaking Shqip much less actually try to communicate. Thus, the blank stares or repeating exactly what we had said as though we had not said it. If this is confusing to you, imagine my desperation.

Mirella, bless her, may be more right that she knows. It happened again, but the conversation was between me and one of my closest English speaking friends, Egloni.

I had been invited for coffee or drinks at Birra Korca by one of Eglon’s former clients. Because I was not entirely certain that this man understood I was neither a loan officer nor the chief of the operation, I called Eglon to meet with me. It would also be a chance for us to relax and talk; since he took another job at a very fine NGO, the visits have been too few and far between.

Eglon accepted, and we sat in the Birra Korca garden under a brilliant sun in pleasantly cool weather. After our first beer, Eglon being the kind of guy who gets hungry drinking beer, ordered one of Birra Korca’s specialties, kernace, spiced ground meat, rolled into a 3-inch sausage, and grilled.

In Korca, kernace is pronounced like many words in Korca with a diminutive ending that is not in the dictionary. Kernace is pronounced “ka-nas-ka.” Korcans are very pround of kernace, and refuse to use the name qofta (chofta) which is common in Tirana and Elbasan.

When the waiter delivered the kernace, Eglon pointed to the plate and said, “Jerome, what is this?”

Well, I always appreciate Eglon’s efforts to coach me, and I replied, “kernace (ka-nas-ka)”

Eglon said, “No, no, what is this called in Shqip?”

I said, “In Elbasan it is qofta, and in Tirana it is qofta, but in Korca we call this kernace (ka-nas-ka)”

Once more, Eglon asked the question, and I replied, “Eglon, it is kernace.”

Eglon, a self-educated speaker of English and Italian, a wonderfully intelligent and dedicated professional and Albanian patriot, bowed his head, covered his face with his hand, and was, I swear, laughing at me.

I am frustrated; “Eglon, I did say ka-nas-ka, didn’t I?”

Laughing, Eglon looked at me, and said, “Yes, you did. But I heard you say “can I ask ya.”