Learning Arabic as a first language

Since I am a Princetonian studying in Cairo, part of my mission here is to improve my Arabic. Arabic is one of Princeton’s most popular foreign languages, studied by Arab Americans, Wilson School students aspiring to be State Department officials and those who simply want to learn more about Arabic culture and history.

Arabic is a surprisingly diverse language spoken in hundreds of dialects, from the one made famous by Egyptian cinema to the Lebanese dialect used in many of today’s pop songs to the Moroccan dialect that sometimes resembles French more closely than Arabic. There is a “standard” Arabic used in news programming and formal settings — known as “fusHa,” or the “most eloquent” form of Arabic, which is derived from the Qur’an as well as from pre-Islamic literature. On the streets in Cairo, colloquial Egyptian Arabic is the spoken language, while standard Arabic is used in formal settings, in books and on TV.

Within the last 30 years, however, significant changes have taken place. Egypt, once the champion of Pan-Arabism and the unofficial protector of Arabic culture, has shifted toward a more globalized identity. On the streets of Cairo, most billboards carry transliterated English phrases (e.g. “Bebsi Cola” — there’s no equivalent to the letter “p” in Arabic) and the average upper-middle class college student can understand text-message “3araby” (transliterated Arabic) better than the local newspaper’s standard Arabic.

Perhaps the most worrying aspect of these changes is their impact on these students. To varying degrees, Egyptian youth have taken a greater interest in text-message lingo and “cafe-hipster” Aranglish than in learning their own language. It’s hard to truly blame them, to an extent — in a country where jobs with big companies require fluency in English and American burger franchises dot the streets, it seems natural that such a transition would take place. The problem is that it’s diluting the currency of Egypt’s language among the new generations. And if you consider language the basis of any country, culture or civilization, this is a trend worth paying attention to.

Take my experience with Arabic class at the American University (AUC) in Cairo. During my first week of classes at the AUC, I signed up for an upper-level Arabic course for native speakers (I’m familiar with Egyptian colloquial Arabic). The course focuses on the finer points of standard Arabic grammar, listening and writing to encourage those with a solid background in the Egyptian dialect — the vast majority of AUC students — to master standard Arabic as well.

During the first lecture, I was the only student to show up. By the next class, two other girls were present. Now, a few weeks into the semester, we’re averaging a steady five to six students each session. In a university the same size as Princeton, these are the only students dedicated to mastering their own language.

At any rate, the class went on and we embarked on the journey that is learning Arabic as your first language. Little idiosyncrasies began to surface. Each morning, instead of saying “Sabah el kheir” (“Good morning”), students would saunter in and say “What’s up?” During our writing exercises, some averaged four or five mistakes in a three-sentence paragraph. At one point, one student even had trouble identifying the difference between the “shadda” and “kasra” accent marks, the rough equivalent of mistaking an apostrophe for a comma.

Moreover, as class went on I realized that the professor would explain phrases and define words in English for the students. Imagine learning your own language through an auxiliary language, absorbed through MTV and Pepsi-Cola billboards. Though it is, on the one hand, laudable that the individuals in the classroom function from a bilingual base, on the other hand it is unfortunate that their Arabic base has suffered in return.

From a global perspective, this change is not so surprising. Even from the Princetonian perspective, where investment banking and consulting rule the world, it’s clear that English is the international language of business, commerce and trade. And Egypt, with its strong economic ties to the United States and vibrant tourist economy, is bound to benefit from keeping up with this new international culture.

Of course, there are thousands of very well-educated Egyptian youth who know the ins and outs of standard Arabic. But here’s the catch: the AUC is considered Egypt’s top university, with a student body composed of the elite of the country, whether they be the children of ministers or successors to business empires. And few of them can read a newspaper in their own language.

Sarah Dajani is a Wilson School major from Seminole, Fla. She is studying abroad in Cairo this semester and can be reached at sdajani@princeton.edu.