Why Nahuatl?

When I tell people about our upcoming Nahuadventure , I tend to hear one of two replies:

a) A one-part confused, one-part disgusted "Oh . . . no showers . . .,"

or

b) A one-part condescending, one-part sarcastic, "Well, that'll be real useful . . ."

That's irritating. An honest-to-goodness, curiosity-driven question is fine by me. A boldfaced disagreement, okay. But those answers aren't any good.

Come on, how many of the world's occupants don't have every day access to running water? A whopping seventy-four percent. I think we can survive a measly six weeks.

I made that statistic up. But the real answer is, I'm sure, that a lot of people don't bathe before or after work or school, each day of their lives. Wikipedia it if you must.

The second response has to do with the price-tagging of experience and knowledge. If a tangible economic gain is not foreseeable, the experience--in this case, my learning Nahuatl--is worthless. A consumerism-driven mindset that, in my opinion, is unfortunate and incorrect. (This same price-tagging system has allowed us to destroy a seemingly bargain-priced environment in the name of economic gain, without much heed of our role as stewards or consideration of the generations to follow.)

I'm opposed to the price-tagging of Nahuatl, like I'm opposed to the price-tagging of a lot of things. The experience will be valuable--we'll learn a new cultural and linguistic system of communication, with a vast corpus of artistic, environmental, musical, literary, scholarly, and other varieties of knowledge. It'll be fun.

I understand that I am in a privileged position, that the residents of Oapan are unable, for the most part, to do what I am doing; I am grateful.


So, why Nahuatl?

Because I've wanted to decipher the syllables of Popocatepetl and Xochimilco since boyhood. Because I love the literature, the poetry. Because it will be an interesting experience to learn an endangered minority language, a valuable lesson in the extravagances of my Oklahoman lifestyle (I'll be responsible for my own trash . . .), an opportunity to better understand others, and a good time.

We'll spend our two-year anniversary in a one-room hut, on straw mats, with an Aztec family sleeping feet away. I'm excited. I hope they don't snore.


P.S. Chihuahua , a Nahuatl loanword, comes from the verb 'to bark.'

Fortunately, OkieDoke, our two-pound beast, doesn't bark much. (In fact, she only barks when others are present, which means that any of you who know OkieDoke don't believe me.) Fun to imagine her dog-cestors scouting scraps in Aztec villages.