Over the last four years, I have been learning how to speak Irish. Although I spent a long time at school between the ages of four and eighteen, learning Irish and my mother and father could speak Irish and many of my ancestors on both sides of my family, maternal and paternal could speak Irish, in truth I never had any degree of fluency speaking our language.
a great adventure
Then, like so many others, I emigrated just after my Leaving Certificate, chasing dreams that took me to London to study, in my case, to become a classical ballet dancer.
When I finally returned to Ireland in my mid-thirties, I had forgotten most if not all of all of my Irish.
Eventually, as I approached fifty, my partner, our two children and I moved to live in the West Kerry Gaeltacht. I wanted to learn Irish, I wanted my children to have an easier relationship with our native language .
It was to be a great adventure.
When I started learning Irish again, going to weekly classes I would consistently get emotional either before, during or after most classes. And if I was to try to loosely describe that emotion, I would say it was primarily sadness. But why sadness? Surely relearning a language that had been lost would give one a reason to celebrate and although there was some of those jubilant feelings, it was mostly sadness or strong feelings of grief that I experienced. But there were also these other more complex, deeper feelings that were not necessarily so easy to analyse. How can we use our minds to analyse a sensation generated by that mind? Can we really see are true real selves when we look at our own reflection in the mirror?
I think when we are moved to re-learn Irish we are often doing it because we are looking for a part of ourselves, a part of our being that we had decided to or were forced to, at some point in our development, throw away.
I wondered, if, when we go back to Irish, in our adult years, do we quickly arrive at a place in our unconscious transgenerational memory, a place that connects to the moment that our forbearers decided to jettison our native tongue. Imagine having to decide to no longer speak your mother tongue, your own native tongue, spoken by your grandparents? Imagine what that moment must have felt like?
I think when we are moved to re-learn Irish we are often doing it because we are looking for a part of ourselves, a part of our being that we had decided to or were forced to, at some point in our development, throw away. And like anything we throw away, we must therefore have deemed it, worthless, or meaningless. Imagine attributing a quality of worthlessness to the language of your own people? Imagine what that means?
forgotten memories
When you are confronted by this memory or a memory like it, it can be very uncomfortable. It can make you want to run away which quickly can manifest as giving up on the process of relearning the language, and not returning to your Irish class, not carrying on.
Coupled with this discomfort resurfacing of forgotten memories, there is also the accompanying feeling of being like a little child again, in that you are back, right at the beginning with the language, struggling to form the most basic sentences, and this can be challenging and awkward especially when you are fifty and egotistical. As well as this, there also, can be a flooding into the consciousness of the memory of a teacher, a priest or a nun who used the language as a weapon, to humiliate or shame you.
Sometimes, when I speak Irish I want to run outside into the mountains, onto the beaches and into the ocean all at the same time and celebrate the returning to who I am, who I was and who or what I might yet become.
But, if we can somehow find a way through all of these layers of darkness, feeling of inadequacy, shame, guilt, humiliation and loss, the rewards on the other side can be considerable. And potentially worth all of the pain.
When I speak Irish now, sometimes it makes me feel that I could be a thousand years old, and that I am somehow closer to the land of the ancient family that supported me, who were prepared to die so I and others like me, might live. This brings with it huge feelings of love and compassion.
Sometimes, when I speak Irish I want to run outside into the mountains, onto the beaches and into the ocean all at the same time and celebrate the returning to who I am, who I was and who or what I might yet become.
We must not underestimate what it means to have lost the language of your own people, especially if it was caused or accelerated by starvation, deprivation or violent intervention.
It is my strong opinion, that for adults in Ireland to reclaim their language there should be an element of therapy provided in association with the educational elements. As not only sadness comes up, but also anger and sometimes even hatred and any well-meaning mature student will need guidance in the management and comprehension of such powerful emotional forces. Without this kind of support, giving up becomes a too attractive option for many.
By bringing things back together instead of ripping them apart, when their tongues make the shape of words their ancestors spoke in joy, fear or love, something returns, something comes back together, something comes home and there is great energy there. Energy that can be harnessed in all sorts of constructive and healing ways.
Táim ag fohlaim Gaolainne aríst, mo theanga ducháis agus is bréa liom é.
Michael Keegan Dolan, 2022
Le ceithre bliana anois, tá mé ag foghlaim conas Gaolainn a labhairt. Cé gur chaitheas tamall fada ar scoil ó aois a ceathair go dtí a hocht déag ag foghlaim na teanga, agus cé gur labhair mo mháthair agus m’athair maraon lena lán de mo shinsear ar dhá thaobh mo chlainne an Ghaolainn, is é firinne an scéil, nach raibh líofacht ar bith agam inár dteanga féin.
eachtra mhór
Ansin, ar nós go leor eile, chuaigh mé ar imirce tar éis na hardteiste. I mo chás féin, chuaigh mé go Londain sa tóir ar m’aisling chun stáidéar a dhéanamh le bheith i mo rinceoir ballet clasaiceach.
Nuair a dh’fhilleas ar Éirinn agus mé i lár na dtríochaidí, bhí dearmad déanta agam ar an gcuid is mó de mo chuid Gaolainne , nó í go léir b’fhéidir.
Faoi dheireadh, agus mé ag tarraingt ar an leath-chéad, bhog mé féin, mo pháirtí, agus ár mbeirt leanaí go hIarthar Dhuibhneach. Theastaigh uaim Gaolainn a fhoghlaim agus go mbeadh caidreamh níos éasca ag mo leanaí lenár dteanga dhúchais.
B’eachtra mhór a bheadh san aistriú seo.
Nuair a thosaigh mé ag foghlaim na Gaolainne arís ag ranganna seachtainiúla, bhuaileadh maoithneachas go seasta mé, roimh, tar éis nó le linn beagnach gach aon rang. Agus dá mbeinn le cuntas a thabhairt ar an mothú a bhuaileadh mé, déarfainn gur brón den chuid is mó a bhí ann. Ach cad ba chúis leis an mbrón? Cheapfá gur ábhar ceiliúrtha agus áthais a bheadh ann, teanga a bhí caillte agat a fhoghlaim arís. Ach cé go raibh beagán den áthas i gceist, ba bhrón agus cumha is mó a mhothaigh mé.
Ach bhí mothúcháin eile i gceist chomh maith a bhí níos níos casta, agus ní raibh sé chomh héasca sin anailís a dhéanamh orthu. Conas is féidir linn ár n-intinn a úsáid chun anailís a dhéanamh ar a bhraistint a ghineann an intinn féin? An féidir linn ár bhfíor-féin a fheiscint nuair a fhéachaimid ar ár scáil sa scathán?
Is dóigh liom nuair a spreagtar sinn le Gaolainn a athfhoghlaim, gur minic linn thabhairt fé toisc go bhfuilmid ag iarraidh teacht ar chuid dínn féin — an chuid sin ar bheartaíomar scaoileadh léi, nó gur tugadh orainn scaoileadh léi, ag pointe éigin in ár bhforbairt phearsanta.
Nuair a fhillimid ar an nGaolainn mar dhaoine fásta, rith sé liom b’fhéidir, go bhfillimid go luath ar an áit sa chuimhne neamhchomhfhiosach a síneadh ó ghlúin go glúin, inar bheartaigh ár sinsear a dteanga dhúchais a chaitheamh uathu. Samhlaigh go mbeadh ort an cinneadh a dhéanamh, gan do theanga dhúchais a labhairt feasta, do mháthairtheanga féin, teanga do mhuintire.
Is dóigh liom nuair a spreagtar sinn le Gaolainn a athfhoghlaim, gur minic linn thabhairt fé toisc go bhfuilmid ag iarraidh teacht ar chuid dínn féin — an chuid sin ar bheartaíomar scaoileadh léi, nó gur tugadh orainn scaoileadh léi, ag pointe éigin in ár bhforbairt phearsanta. Agus ar aon dul le gach rud eile a chaithimid uainn, ní foláir nó gur mheasmar gur rud gan tábhacht, nó gur bheag ab fhiú an teanga sin. Ach nach ait mar smaoineamh é a cheapadh gur rud gan mhaith a bhí i dteanga do mhuintire? Samhlaigh na himpleachtaí atá ag a leithéid de smaoineamh.
Cuimhní Dearmadta
Nuair a théann tú i ngleic le cuimhne dá leithéid seo [faoin teanga] is féidir leis bheith an-mhíchompordach. Is féidir leis fonn teitheadh a chur ort, agus is furasta feidhmiú ar an bhfonn sin trí phróiséas athfhoghlaim na teanga a chaitheamh in aer agus éirí as na ranganna Gaolainne .
I dteannta leis an míchompord a thagann as athmhúscailt á dhéanamh ar chuimhní dearmadta, tá an mothú ann gur leanbh beag arís tú, go bhfuil tú ar ais ag an tús leis an teanga, ag strachailt leis an abairt is bunúsaí a chur le chéile. Is féidir leis seo a bheith dúshlánach agus tú a chur de do bhuille, go háirithe má tá tú caoga agus mórchúiseach ionat féin. Chomh maith leis sin, d’fhéadfadh go rithfeadh chugat freisin cuimhne ar mhúinteoir, ar shagart nó beanrialta a bhain leas as an teanga mar arm chun tú a mhaslú nó a náiriú.
Uaireanta, nuair a labhraím Gaolainn, teastaíónn uaim rith amach fé na cnoic, síos ar an dtráigh agus isteach sa bhfarraige d’aon ráig amháin, agus ceiliúradh a dhéanamh ar an bhfilleadh seo orm féin — ar an té is mé agus a bhí, nó an sort duine a bheidh ionam san am atá le teacht.
Ach más féidir linn, ar chuma éigin, ár slí a dhéanamh trí na póirsí dorcha seo — mothúcháin neamhfhiúntais, náire, ciontacht agus cumha — is maith is fiú é, mar d’fhéadfadh gur fiú an tairbhe an phian.
Anois, nuair a labhraím Gaolainn, mothaím go bhféadfainn a bheith na mílte bliain d’aois mar go bhfuilim ar shlí éigin níos gaire do thalamh na muintire ársa sin a chothaigh mé, agus a bhí toilteanach bás a fháil ionas go mairfinnse agus daoine eile mar mé. Tuiscint í seo a spreagann mothúcháin mhóra grá agus comhbhá ionam.
Uaireanta, nuair a labhraím Gaolainn, teastaíónn uaim rith amach fé na cnoic, síos ar an dtráigh agus isteach sa bhfarraige d’aon ráig amháin, agus ceiliúradh a dhéanamh ar an bhfilleadh seo orm féin — ar an té is mé agus a bhí, nó an sort duine a bheidh ionam san am atá le teacht.
Ní ceart dúinn beag is fiú a dhéanamh de chailliúnt teanga ár muintire féin, go háirithe más gorta, ganntanas nó foréigean ba chúis leis, nó a chuir dlús leis.
Is í mo thuairim láidir, má tá daoine fásta in Éirinn lena dteanga a athshealbhú, gur cheart go mbeadh áiseanna teiripe ar fáil dóibh mar aon leis na háiseanna oideachasúla. Deirim é seo toisc nach é amháin go dtagann brón chun cinn le hathfhoghlaim na teanga, ach tagann eagla freisin agus uaireanta fiú gráin. Bheadh gá ag aon scoláire aosach macánta atá ag strachailt leis na fórsaí corraitheacha láidre sin, le treoir chun iad a bhainistiú agus tuiscint a fháil orthu.
Gan an tacaíocht den sórt seo, tá sé i bhfad ró- tharraingteach do mhórán foghlaimeoirí éirí as.
Baineann slánú le rudaí a thabhairt ar ais le chéile seachas iad a stracadh ó cheile. Nuair a chumann foghlaimeoirí lena dteanga féin focail a labhair a sinsir le háthas, eagla nó grá, tá siad ag filleadh ar a ndúchas agus leanann fuinneamh mór é sin. Is fuinneamh é seo is féidir a chur ag obair chun maitheasa ina lán slite fiúntacha.
Táim ag foghlaim Gaolainne aríst, mo theanga dhúchais agus is bréa liom é.
Aistriúchán ag Áine Ní hÉalaí
