A loud hiss, the sound of pressurized air being released, made the din of the students temporarily inaudible. The large, yellow, gas-consuming transport behemoth in front of me settled and opened its doors. Not in any hurry, and wearing half my weight in winter gear, I let my schoolmates barge past me to escape the weather. I turned my head acutely to face my three close friends.

“Back of the bus,” I told them. They nodded, shivering. We boarded the steep steps into the bus and made our way through a multitude of loud children to the rear seats. Sheila followed suit, then Joy, then Taylor. Sheila was twelve, naturally a very pale girl, and a lover of dresses, accessories, and fashion (girl things), vampire novels, anime, and dolls. She was tall and thin, had purely dark hair which was neatly separated on tied into little buns on each side of her scalp. Her facial features slightly resembled that of a mouse, pointed and prominent. She wore an incarnadine dress with white buttons and a lace collar which I found adorable, with black buckled shoes and stockings striped black-and-white. These stockings she bore every other day, and they were collecting rips and tears (when I asked her about them, she told me that “threadbare” was her style). I wondered why she wasn’t freezing.

Joy was not tall, just the opposite was she. Stout, and proud were two adjectives that best fit her. She stood straight and as tall as she could, took school seriously, and wore plain clothing. Jeans, a t-shirt, and a thin jacket were all she ever needed. In warm weather, she would shed the jacket and that would be her outfit. She rarely talked about her hobbies, but I knew she played violin and piano. I couldn’t tell if she enjoyed it, perhaps her mother was the reason she played.

Taylor’s long, flowy, hair was dark as night. It went past her shoulders, and almost reached the small of her back. Each week she did new things with it, always growing it and caring for it. She had a feminine, kind face, with long eyelashes and a delicate nose. People were often assumed her soft appearance was matched by a soft personality, and they soon found out they were wrong as they got acquainted with her. She was seen by others as truculent, I saw her as righteous. She had a loud, infectious cackle of a laugh.

Despite our bizarre and differing interests, we had many common traits. We were reticent to those who didn’t know us and we took a long time to get acquainted.

At the moment, Joy, Sheila and I were conversing about boys, and Taylor and a few other kids a few seats ahead were yelling to each other. I heard snippets of their conversation, and at some point I Taylor say this:

“Yo, you are a bitch!” It was followed by clamorous laughter from Taylor and the other kids.

Whatever was funny, I didn’t get it. In my mind, the “b-word” was not something you called someone, and much less something you called a girl. Was it a joke? It sounded like one. I was a little bewildered.

I looked at Taylor. I started to say something, but I stammered, and just made an incoherent mumble.

“Huh?” Taylor queried, turning to see me.

“Um. Nothing,” I said awkwardly. Taylor was about to return to her conversation, when I continued:

“You can say that?” I blurted with sudden clarity.

“Say what? ‘Bitch?’”

“Yeah.”

“Of course!” She stated, almost too kindly, as if trying to not misunderstand what my issue was. “It’s just something girls call each other.”

“I thought it was especially bad when you said that to a girl.”

“Well, maybe if you’re a boy,” I was a boy. “But it ain’t that bad.”

Sheila and Taylor looked at me. I felt funny. Was is just me? I couldn’t call a girl the b-word yet other girls could address each other as such? Wasn’t it a bit unfair? The whole encounter left me confused. Was that double standard justified by gender? I never found the answer.

Jonas Bromley

11/10/13

Journey To Swindon

He left the mansion that morning feeling good, going to visit a town his father was thinking of starting a new mine in. His father was letting him take on more and more responsibility with the different mines his father owned. He asked his manservant, Charles, to bring him his horse. He waited for a couple of minutes and Charles had his horse, “here ya go Sir Robert.”

“Thank you Charles.” He mounted his horse and briskly trotted down the road towards the town of Swindon,where the mine would be, after five hours on horseback he stopped at a roadside tavern, called The Drunken Dragon, and called to a stable boy to put his horse up for the night in the stable. He tossed the boy a pound coin. He walked inside the tavern and asked the barmaid for a room and dinner and a flagon of mead then he sat at one of the tables and waited. It took a while for the food to come, they brought out his food and the barmaid said in her broken speech, “this is pork kilt yesterday ‘round noon and fresh potatoes from me garden.”

“This looks delicious, thank you very much,” he replied.

“s’No problem,” she said.

He ate dinner quickly and went upstairs to go to sleep, he was tired from the long days ride but at the same time he was excited at the prospect of his first real work in his fathers business. He went to sleep quickly.

The next morning he awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing in the yard. He got out of bed changed back into his riding clothes and went downstairs for breakfast. He was served eggs on some slightly stale bread, despite the bread it was still quite good. He thanked the owner payed him and left. The rest of his ride to swindon was very uneventful. He rode into the town and looked for the house of his father’s correspondent, Mr. Smith. He finally gave up and went to ask for directions, he pulled up outside a bakery and asked, “Do you know who David Smith is and if so, would you be so kind as to tell me where he lives?”

The baker replied, “yah I know a’him he live right round the corner o’er there.” he pointed with a flour covered finger. “Thank you very much sir.” He walked down the street leading his horse, and knocked on Mr. Smiths door. The door opened and a maid answered, “you must be Robert, Mr. Smith is right this way sir. He walked into a fairly large living room where the fairly large David Smith was sitting eating a lunch that consisted of a roast beef sandwich and a small flask of ale. “Hello Robert, thank you for coming all this way to see me. How is your father doing?”

“He is doing quite well.”

“So your old man is giving you more control over the company?”

“Yes sir.”

“So lets get down to business,” he said with a more serious tone, “ I want to open the mines in less than a week.”

“How are we going to do plan to hire all the workers needed in less than a week.”

“I own most of the land around here and I can raise the price of the businesses rent so they have no choice but to come work for us.”

“Thats illegal! You can’t do that.”

“It is perfectly legal, just immoral and I will do it.”

Eyes closed and sitting. Thoughts about random things started to run in my head. Slowly, I opened my eyes and I squinted at the large mirror, seeing the reflection of the shower curtains and the tiled walls. I blinked a few times to get used to the extra bright light. Then the door opens, my sister comes in to wash her teeth. A message comes out of my mouth to her. It was spoken through a native language in the United States. I didn’t notice it at first when the words spilled out my mouth. But a few minutes later, I started noticing that I was thinking about things and saying things in my head in English as well. I was surprised, but I felt a little bad about myself. A part of who I am and where I come from was starting to become faint. It never came to my mind that I would have this conflict. I feel as if that actually might be one of the main reason why this is happening to me.

For most of my childhood years I’ve lived in India. However, I am Tibetan. My family comes from a country called Tibet. My family and I lived in India surrounded by two unique cultures. My own, the beautiful Tibetan culture and the beautiful Indian culture.

My life in India can’t even be expressed in words now that I think back about it. Surrounded my friends and families all the time, I was always connected to the environment. I had a strong foundation at which I’d learned about my culture. Even though I didn't lived in India, I went to a tibetan school and I wrote, read and spoke Tibetan. There were many Tibetans living in the village where I lived, so I never forgot my language and cultures.

We’ve lived in India for a long time, so we did have certain words which were always said in hindi. Some of the common words that I thought were in Tibetan, were actually in Hindi. An example of it is the word “shoes.” I’ve always thought it was a tibetan word. My parents and all of my friends said it in hindi all time. However, we never really mixed phases of hindi and tibetan together when we were speaking, unless it was on purpose. My whole family spoke fluent hindi but they never mixed the two language. On a regular basis, my family spoke in tibetan when they were at home and when they were talking to a tibetan person. My friends also talked in tibetan, so I was the same as them. I continuously spoke tibetan unless the person I was talking to didn’t understand the language.               

I’ve learned that the day I left India. The day I left half my family, my grandpa, grandma, aunts, cousins, and friends was the day I was a step further from my culture and language. It’s been about six and half years since I’ve came to America. Life here is so different and its crazy how much I’ve changed with it. Its also crazy how much my family has changed with it.

My sister speaks tibetan but she mixes it a lot with english just like me. As for hindi, both of us have difficulty speaking it, but we’re still able to understand. About thirty percent of the time my mom speaks english at home. She can still speak and understand Hindi very well, but she never uses it at home. My dad does not speak much english at home, he mostly always speaks tibetan. On the other hand, my little brother doesn’t speak tibetan at all. Luckily he can still hear and understand it. In addition to not speaking tibetan, he doesn’t speak or understand hindi.

I became distant to my language. I couldn't speak it anywhere because wherever I went, no one spoke tibetan. The only place I could speak it was at home. When I started school in America, I could only speak english if I wanted to communicate with someone. Thankfully, I was taught a little bit of english in India, so I wasn’t entirely clueless. I was able to build my vocabulary daily, I learned idioms, different ways to say things and I learned slang. I watched and listened to other kids speak to each other. It was one of my main ways that my new friends taught me english. Also, I remember my Esol teacher Ms.Kean. She was always cheerful and very supportive to all the students in Esol. She taught me a lot of new words. She taught me how to get through my first school year in America.

School wasn’t the only place where I learned english. My sister, Ngawang, would also teach me things. My little brother, Dzineon, Ngawang, and I would all bring new things from outside. As time passed, we lived with those new little things. They slowly changed us, day by day. Soon, Dzineon couldn’t speak tibetan anymore. When he spoke, he would say it in english and this somehow automatically made me speak back to him in english. So, I started speaking a lot of english at home and so did my sister.

In 2011, after being in America for four years, the tibetan society in Philadelphia decided to start Tibetan Sunday School for kids like my siblings and I. I learned that I had forgotten the most basic tibetan writing and I had forgotten how to read tibetan. So, I went to sunday school every week. Little by little, I started to be able to read and write in Tibetan again. As for hindi, I remember and understand the language by watching bollywood movies.       

“Through lack of practice and not having others who speak it, I’ve lost most of the Pachuco tongue.” This was written in a passage named From Borderlands/La Frontera by Glona Anzaldía. Just like me, others who speaks more than one language and or had spoken more than one language, experiences situations like this. When you don’t speak a language for a long while, you tend to forget how to speak in it or it gets difficult. People don’t take the time to practice the language they know. We’re lazy, we get lazy. But when you have others who speak it around you, you never forget it. You don’t think of it as practice but we think of it as just talking.

Osman Bangura       10/25/13

Speaking Dilemma

‘’How you de multiple the variables?’’

‘’Hahaha, that’s not how you say it!’’

‘’Na the way how I speak amm.’’

 It was the start of 9th grade and we were having one of our first stream of lessons in math of the school year that involved variables, two-step equations and etc. This was the year I turned 15, but the only difference/new thing here in this year was that I decided to speak in my West African dialect, which is called Krio, for the first half of the entire quarter of the school year. This language is a mixture of a French and African language. I did this to become more fluent in my language in attempts to connect more with the indigenous side of my culture. Although people did not appreciate or like the thought of me speaking in a foreign dialect, I simply did not care.

 I didn’t always sound like this. Originally I always spoke in an english dialect every place I went, even around family members who were full-blood Africans. I was ridiculed by family members and people of my country whom I knew, because of my inability to speak my country’s native dialect fluently. Even when we were asked to share a parcel of our culture in an history project, I didn’t have much to emphasize on about my culture because I knew so little of who I really was. These experience brought me to becoming more critical of myself when it came to language and the way I would communicate with others.

 There were major influences that urged me to begin to speak in Krio; most notably my mother and a devoid feeling of identity brought this urge. I had to eventually find some way to break away from this devoid feeling, so I diverted to speaking my native language to gain a better sense of my culture. One time in the house my mother and I were arguing over me not getting homework done or any of my chores and she decided to speak in Krio so rapidly that I could hardly understand.

 For example, she started off as ‘’Waten yu de do na yah? You de fail because yu fashion fashion this game.’’ I responded in english with a startled expresson, ‘’What do you mean?’’’ She then responded without hesitation and a quick tone, ‘’Na make the reason yu de comot from de school with all these ziro ziro grade!’’ She turned in dismal and marched upstairs while I stared into space, with disbelief. Her accent was heavy and she talked fast, which made it very difficult to comprehend with what she said. However, I found it strange that I had any difficulty with comprehending her dialect whatsoever, because I was born in the same country as her; this was a rude awakening for me.

  This was the event that sparked off my search for an identity as an adolescent. It occurred to me after this event, that how could I possibly be deemed as an African male if I had no capability to even speak in my native language? And I also realized if anyone ever asked me to talk in my African dialect, what would my response be if I had no basic knowledge as to how? I would not only be embarassed but I would be looked at differently socially. It was bad enough as it is not being able to speak in my dialect, but in classes full of ridiculing americans and a few africans I would have any bolster from people of my country in classes at school. They would not accept me if I couldn’t simply communicate with them in my language.

 For example, in American Tongues, people were often criticized for having a different way of speech. If someone speaks in a different foreign dialect they would be laughed at or teased in some form of way. I was going through the same dilemma in my 9th grade classes at my old school, some people saw my language as amusing because of the way I expressed my accent(though I hardly had one, which contributed to the laughter). When I first began generating of the idea of speaking in that dialect for the first half of the entire first quarter, I seen it as ridiculous because I knew it would be socially unacceptable in a predominantly American school. But eventually I cared less and less as time went on, and got into the habit of doing so which produced some stunning results.

 Eventually, I stopped doing this all together in classes as soon as I realized that I was able to now fully comprehend and fluently speak in my native dialect. It was altogether a lot to go through socially because I had a hard time making friends, but people began accepting me for who I was because they respected me for my efforts on wanting to get intimate with my original culture.  Although I dropped this regimen and stopped speaking this way in school, I still continued this habit at home and around family members.  

Overall these experiences helped me to see past the social aspect of it, but the personal aspect as well. With making this plan to speak in my dialect for the first half of the quarter I gradually redeemed myself because I spoke in this dialect always around family members; when we had family occasions or meet ups I wouldn’t face exclusion which boosted my self confidence greatly. This helped me understand my identity and who I really was: Osman Bangura a strong-willed individual from West Africa. Reflecting back, my life is not as confusing as it was nearly a year ago now; therefore, I have no social obstacles because I know who I am and which type of people to associate with. I feel animated about all of this now, and I can even have a laugh now and then about how silly my struggle was to overcome but it was worth all of the effort.

Jamie Turner

Philly Accents

     A Philly accent is an accent you earn.  

I grew up in Philadelphia and have always been told how distinctive our accents are.  The rest of the world says “water” while we say “wooter”. We also say our “Os” from the back of our throat.  We have many other different accents on different letters and words but that is not the point.  My point is that in order to really have an accent you must earn it.

For some odd reason I have heard people I know don’t have a Philly accent try to fake one and it has really been annoying me lately.  

Recently I was at a family event with my mom’s side of the family.  One of my cousins started talking in a Philly/ Italian accent literally in the middle of a sentence.  Since I am close with my family I knew that my cousin had not just magically developed an accent.  But this story does go along side with my argument that People take pride in a Philadelphian accent.   My cousin obviously wanted to have a Philadelphian accent so people would notice that he has strong roots in Philadelphia.  I think it is quite strange that my cousin tried to do this but it is understandable.

You can’t just wake up one day and say “You know what, I want to have a philly accent this morning and maybe a New York accent a little later.  You either are born with a specific accent or you develop one from being in that area or around people with that accent for a long time.  In order to even say you have an accent you have to just say words how you would say and pronounce words however you feel comfortable saying them.

To earn an accent is to learn what is like to be from or represent your city, neighborhood, or country.  I think anyone who has developed any type of accent should be proud of it.  I think Philadelphia accents represent people who are hard workers.  People with a Philly accent come from city filled with places and things that helped make this country what it is today.  In my opinion I believe a lot of people imagine that growing up in the city is cooler or maybe people think you are a strong person because I know many suburban people think that Philadelphia is a horrible place where you can’t even get out of your car to get into your house.  Yes there are certain place in the city of Brotherly Love that some may feel uncomfortable walking around in the public and things of that nature, but there are neighborhoods like that all over the country.  Anyway having a noticeable characteristic that clearly shows that you have been living in the city makes mislead people from rural or suburban areas think you are tougher or maybe more mature in a sense because of growing up in the city.

Though I feel comfortable in my city some people may not and that could because of a Philadelphia accent.  Someone who is not familiar with the area could hear someone with a Philadelphian dialect speak and think “What a trashy accent.”  A lot of people nowadays have the tendency to judge others as soon as they see that person.  People hear or see something that they aren’t used to seeing or have never heard wherever they are from and automatically decide that they would not  want to associate themselves with those things.  I think that is really a shame because most if not all people I know who live in the city of Philadelphia love it.  There is a vast majority of different cultures, people, places to see. and many more likeable details.  I feel as though everybody or everything deserves a chance before it is shut down.  So to any people who have never been to Philadelphia or any other urban area for that matter, you should really give the people and the community a chance.

Now while I have been doing this project I have been wondering “Where and how was our accent developed?’  There is no way to tell how or when an accent was developed.  But I can tell you that from farther research Philadelphians have a similar accent to New York and places like Reading, Pa. Baltimore, Md. and Wilmington, De.  These dialects are referred to as “The Mid- Atlantic Dialect”.  It would only make sense that these places are very close to each other compared to other places in the country or even the world.  My theory is that European immigrants brought their home dialects to America and they got all mixed- matched together.  All of the place I listed are also on the East Coast.  Another thing to note about the East Coast is where the majority of our Country’s pioneers came from.  I think that also explains why there is no particular West Coast dialect or accent.  These accents were thrown into a melting pot and made into their own individual accent.  That is what makes them what they are today.  

The role of the individual in systems is to understand their surrounding how to act accordingly.

The definition of code switching according to Dictionary.com is “ the alternate use of two or more languages or varieties of language, especially within the same discourse“ Code switching is when you change the way you talk based on the atmosphere of people around you. Code switching can be done by anyone without you even knowing. When you introduce yourself to someone the first thing you look at is how they address themselves or how they present themselves to you. For some people code switching is a social thing. Meaning they feel obligated to do so without being judged  based or misunderstood.

Saturday mornings I take a STEM - Program called Urban Youth Naval Engine Program. This is a 22 week program for students from grade 9 -12, encouraging students to pursue a career in the science, technology, engineering and or mathematics field. Within my 22 weeks of attending this program, I met a person by the name of Mr. Chuck. He looked liked a normal man, about 5’7½’’, mid 50’s. He was a laid back, cool guy. When he introduced his self he said “ Hey what’s up my name is Chuck Williams! “ No big fancy title just plain old Mr.Chuck. As he began to talk he told the class about his childhood. He would talk he would use the words “ yo” and “yea”, informal language.

Informal language can be described as abbreviated language,  such as “slang”. Your informal language is spoken around the people you know and are comfortable with. At  times when you code switch you  catch yourself doing it without even knowing it because you are a custom too it. For example when you talk to your friends you greet each other with a “hey”, “wassup” or even “yo”. When you ask for something you “say pass me the...“ or “get me this and that.” Its like you’re asking for something but you’re not really asking, you’re telling.

The definition of language according to Dictionary.com is “ a body of words and the systems for their use common to people who are of the same community or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition.” Language is a form of communication. No matter where you are around the world, there will always be a language you have to adapt to. When you are born one of the first things you are taught is a language. Whether it is formal language or informal language.

Formal language is proper english.  You tend to speak formal language when you are talking to someone of high power, like a teacher or principal.  When you are in school you tend to be accustom to using formal language. Your formal language is a form of politeness. Words such as “please” and “thank you” would be an example.

While listening to Mr. Chuck, he then formally introduced himself as Dr. Charles “Chuck” Williams. Ph.D. I was highly surprised because of how he presented his self. This man dressed with jean shorts, a hoodie, and a fitted hat cocked to the side would be a doctor. He told his how he struggled being in a single parent home.

Is code switching good or bad ?

When you are in a professional setting, you code switch. When you apply for a job you have to go to a interview so they can evaluate you in person. When you introduce yourself as any individual, you say “Hello my name is..”, you wouldn’t say “Wassup my name is ..”. Your goal is to set a good impression on the person who is interviewing you so you show that you are qualified for the job. By a person code switching there are able to change their way of language to have effect one person. Code switching is not a bad thing, because you’re goal is to leave abbreviate impression about your self.

The average teenager I would say code switches like I do. Text message “language” is almost code switching. You abbreviate formal words to make them short and easy to understand.  The way we speak to our friends will never be the way we speak to our parents. If we did it, it would be to a certain point but never go overboard with the way we lead into a conversation.

What is the relationship between language and power?

The relationship between language and power is strong. You could know every language in the word and have to power. You could have all the power and only know one language. The objective is to have your voice be heard and understood through many of languages. It is ideal to learn more than one language in life. Throughout Pennsylvania every high schooler in the Philadelphia School District has to take a mandatory two years of spanish. I think this is encouraged because as you grow older and mature you begin to meet new people from all over. The key lesson that is being too here is communication. As long as you can communicate with someone in some shape or form that is the power to your language between one another.  

What might the language you use say about yourself ?

The language I use would say about me is that I code switch when needed. A conversation between a friend and I would be informal because we are kids we see each other as a equal level of authority. We value each other the same because we are equal. However  if I were to be texting my mom it would be in a different mind state because she is of higher authority than I am. I believe I code switch because in general the way you talk is how people will identify you. If you ever go into a line up room when you under arrest, you are identified by appearance and voice.

In conclusion to this personal essay I would agree that every person sometime in there life has code switched before. You will never know you do so unless someone is telling you that you did it or you have someone record you.

Work Cited

• "Another View - Code Switching."YouTube. YouTube, 1 Oct. 2010. Web. 31 Oct. 2013. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSUMnOVlp1M>.

• "language." Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com, n.d. Web. 21 Oct. 2013. <http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/language>.

• "code switching." Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com, n.d. Web. 1 Nov. 2013. <http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/code+switching+?s=t>.

My friends and I came into our fourth grade class and we couldn’t help but notice a new kid. I asked my friend if she knew who the new kid was but she was just as clueless as I was.

“I dare you to go up to her and say hi,” said one of my friends while laughing.

So I walk up to the girl,  said hi and introduced myself, but she sat at her desk with a blank look and finally responded in Arabic saying, “Ante ba tihikee arabi?” (Do you speak Arabic?)  

At that moment I responded saying, “Ayi, salam.” (Yeah, Hi.)

She asked me what my name was and where I was from, then told me her name was Abeer and she moved here from Iraq. I then went back to my friend, after this little exchange.

“So what did she say?” she asked all excitedly.

I translated the conversation to my friend that was exchanged between me and Abeer. I felt so eager and proud of myself for being able to talk to someone who only spoke Arabic, then being able to translate to my friend.

Eventually, my 4th grade teacher ended up sitting me next to Abeer to help her with her English but I started to notice that her Arabic wasn’t the same as mine. I mean I understood her but the way she worded her sentences and the words she used were different. It felt as though I wasn’t making sense to her. Sometimes I would find myself asking her to repeat things over and over, trying my best to grasp the familiar words I understood. Then one day we got into an argument and she told me that she doesn’t even understand me half the time and that I spoke some other type of Arabic. This was not the first time I came to the realization that not all Arabic I knew, was the same as everybody else’s Arabic.

I felt really bad and it had me thinking in frustration, it took me some time to realize that the type of Arabic she was speaking wasn’t the type of Arabic as I was familiar to. The way she combined words when she spoke and how the words were pronounced with a strong thick accent. After a couple of weeks I went home and asked my mom what kind of arabic we spoke. She told me that all Arabic was the same, but I still didn’t get it. Was the type of Arabic i’ve been speaking all my life fake? My dad came home from work and I paid close attention to how he spoke Arabic. It was no different than how I was speaking to Abeer. I remember asking him why my Arabic sounded so weird. He would tell me that it was no different from his but the dialect. Every Arab country has a different dialect. Yemeni people talk different than people from Iraq or Sudan would.

I remember going to Arabic school since I was three years old. I’ve been to eight different Arabic schools over my lifetime. One day I came to school and I had a bit of a cold and one of my teachers noticed and asked,

“Ya bintee ante ayana?” (Sweetheart are you sick?)

I was a bit startled by what she asked because I thought the teacher said, “iryan,” which means naked because I’ve never heard of the word “ayan” so I quickly responded saying

“La.” (No.)

Then shaking my head in disbelief and shock.

At the end of the day my teacher was talking to my mom telling her how I was doing in class, then mentioned that I might have a little cold. When we got in the car to go home I told my mom, “Hakee moo alima sal atnee lo ana iryana.” (My teacher asked me if I was naked.) I was a bit confused so she explained that my teacher thought I was coming down with a little cold  and that she didn’t ask if I was “iryna” but if I was “ayana” which meant sick in the Sudanese Arabic dialect. Ever since, I started to notice the different types of words that people around me would use compared to the ones I used. Little things like pronunciation and words that have different meanings in different cultures.

As the oldest child my mom relied on me a lot when it came to translating because my dad would be at work for most of the day. Everywhere she went, I went. I would be that little girl who would stand by my mom translating and explaining every word that was said to her. I was her mini personal translator. I remember once when I was around the age of ten, I went to the hospital and had badly injured my arm after being pushed in a soccer game. My mom’s english was slowly improving over time but her accent was a bit of a problem because it was pretty thick and broken. Then when it came time to give your information and answer questions, it took awhile for the nurses to gather the information needed, but they later on found a translator. Me. It’s these little scenarios that got me thinking about how much language was important in society. Without it, going about daily tasks in our everyday lives would become a bit more challenging.

There are different scenarios and situations where dialects are found and can cause some confusions like in “All American Tongues,” the people in the movie all spoke english but each and every person had some sort of different dialect and pronunciation. Some of the accents were so deep that it was a bit of a struggle to understand what the person was saying. Our brains play a role in this by catching different speech patterns we're familiar to at a young age. For me that meant learning different dialects over time because as a child I was accustomed to one type of Arabic. Slowly over time I began to recognize them more and more.  In the Arabic language there are many many different types of dialects, just like the English language, and every other language out there. Today I can fluently speak and understand almost every type of dialect the arabic language has to offer.