The world is my home. I am 21 years old and my move to the United States was my 20th. It was the 20th time in my life that I took everything I could, saved some of the valuables that are somewhat closer to my heart and then said goodbye to another place I once built up to be, by the purest meaning of the word, a home.
In order to lead such a lifestyle, even if it is, by God, involuntary, I needed to understand and accept the fact that, no matter where I go in this world, I have a right to be there and I belong. Having read Gloria Anzaldua’s “How To Tame a Wild Tongue”, however, added a great new value to this idea for me.
Hungarian is my native tongue, I know I speak Standard Hungarian quite well, given I lived in the capital for 11 years, as well as the Southern Hungarian dialect of Somogy county, where I was born and most of my family still lives. On top of this, I have been bilingual for 10 years by speaking English. After reading the Anzaldua essay, however, I have been feeling like a completely new library of knowledge opened up for me, that has always been there, but I never acknowledged.
Now, I speak the language of Budapest’s ghettos, the language of my “elite” high school, Hungarian slang, and that interesting mixture of Hungarian and Boyash my grandmother uses now and then. They all bring me a sense of belonging, while perfectly representing the many colors of my identity. Yes, I am a pedant, occasionally snobbish big city gal who can easily mend with government officials, academics, and members of the Hungarian upper ten and yes, I am a Gypsy woman whose immediate ancestors come from poverty and have a history of poor education. And I belong. I am home in either of these environments because I speak their language and I can communicate with them like I am one of them. Because I am.
Still, there is that special kind of belonging, the type that is almost like a shared secret between my community and me, the one Gloria Anzaldua explores, when she writes about reading a novel written in her language for the first time, which I only have one of. It ties me to my very roots, my beginning, much like Anzaldua’s case (40). It manifests in an easy and yet strange word that only people of Somogy county understand, one that leaves all other Hungarians baffled and confused. This word is ‘akadál’. It is a verb, meaning “it is in the way”. For example, “Az asztal akadál” means “The table is in the way”.
Somogy county is nothing special to be honest. It is just part of the countryside just like every part of Hungary that falls outside of Budapest. Most people know where it is only because it lays on the Southern shore of Lake Balaton. Besides that, it is as insignificant as it gets, it does not have its own culture, no big historical moments took place in Somogy, the county does not have any famous sights and it produced only one famous Hungarian poet who then later on moved to and died in the capital. It is irrelevant and rather ordinary. Nothing makes it stand out as much ‘akadál’.
As I said, it is a simple word with no special meaning behind it. Yet, if I was to use this word in any academic paper, or even better, in my Matura Exam, which is basically the European version of the SAT, I would surely lose points because “it is an inexistent expression”. It is rather ironic how this word that I once used without thinking twice every day suddenly became an obstacle in my way towards success by the time I turned 11, much befitting its meaning, as using this word can easily subject me to judgement much like in Gloria Anzaldua’s case (34).
This is a word that whenever I hear from someone, I cannot help but chuckle to myself because I know the experience that comes with it. I know all the confused, blank, sometimes mean looks it attracts, the laughs it can give you after explaining the word to a stranger, and the sense of siblinghood it awakens when you get to meet someone from your county in a strange environment, far from home. Suddenly, when you talk about your almost meaninglessly small village or town, it is not a polite but indifferent hum you receive as a reaction but bright eyes and enthusiastic stories.
I strongly believe words are beyond powerful but no matter where I go, I have yet to come across something quite like “akadál”. With hardly anything special about it, it has the power to unite an entire county. Language has a way of giving ground for individuals to feel represented and valid, just as it can be seen in” How To Tame a Wild Tongue”, and that is exactly what “akadál” does to the people of Somogy county, be it rich or poor, gypsy or non-Gypsy. Because, surely, linguists say Somogy-ians pronounce ‘sh’ as if it was ‘zs’ and the rhythm of our speech resembles Croatian influence due to the proximity of the country, but the truth is, my county’s dialect is rather hard to distinguish, and it can warry by region. There is simply nothing else like ‘akadál’ for us.
Therefore, while the world is my home and I know I have a right to stay, no matter where I go, ‘akadál’ now represents the beginning of my story and my life better than anything. It is something I can carry with myself everywhere, now part of those few valuables I always keep by my side, because it is within, and it is here to enrichen, pamper and remind me.
Works Cited:
Anzaldua, Gloria. “How To Tame a Wild Tongue.” “They say / I say”: the Moves that Matter in Academic Writing, edited by Gerald Graff, Cathy Birkenstein, W. W. Norton & Company, 2014, pp. 40.
I think it’s an incredible and valuable skill to be able to blend fluidly with different communities in the way that you describe. Even though you called your town “nothing special,” I still get the sense that even in these sleepy towns there’s still a vibrant community full of people who have their own stories.