Don’t be late for work!!

Enough coffee, Cookie? Gasp!

It felt like I was dropped from the big blue skies. True enough that I landed on my two feet but the strange noises, they were everywhere. Swishing over my head in all directions, making me dizzy and all confused.

It was my first long stay in Norway. The previous trips were rather short and I did not feel the need to delve into the language too much. I felt that I had a lot of time for that. As they say here: i morgen…i morgen, men ikke i dag! (tomorrow…tomorrow, but not today!)

I stayed with my parents in law. Armed with a few basic expressions, I thought it was going to be smooth sailing. The first few days passed by with Ja, Nei, Takk and such sweet and simple exchanges. I placed a small dictionary on top of the fridge in the kitchen for quick reference, I memorized basic everyday words and I taught myself basic expressions. Very, very diligent, indeed! But wait, read on…

I was not a coffee drinker but that summer I drank coffee profusely just to blend in. Norwegian coffee is of the kaw kaw type. Drink a cup and you risk getting hyperactive the rest of the day. Well, at least that was what it did to me. Coffee for breakfast, coffee for tea(!) and coffee in between meals. So you can imagine me ecstatically hopping around in the manner of Tigger, Pooh’s bouncing companion. God help me if we were visiting relatives…more coffee!

Of course, I could have asked for tea or something else but I was thick with Asian adat and did not want to be a burden to my hosts. So I drank coffee…cups after cups!

When one day I started realising how often my MIL asked people around her whether they have enough coffee, I began to wonder whether it is oil or coffee that keeps this nation going.

*…Kaffenoka? Kaffenoka?* – that was what I heard. My direct translation at the time was *enough coffee? enough coffee?*. Over and over again, throughout the day. It struck me to be rather strange since I sometimes heard her asking it over the phone too. I thought it was perhaps one Norwegian mannerism. While the Dowayos ask *Is the sky blue for you?*, the Malays ask *Dah makan?* or *Nak kemana?*, the Norwegians ask *enough coffee?*. Highly possible. So I did not think more about it.

My late FIL was a very kind man who smiled, thanked and praised for every single thing that I did. He made me feel welcome and accepted me from the very first day I met him. During my stay that summer, he started referring to me as cookie. It baffled me a bit when I served him coffee, he smiled, nodded and said *kjekk* (my translation at the time: cookie). For the next couple of days I felt like the walking happy cookie. It was by pure accident that I learnt via a tv program what he actually said. He did say *kjekk* – which means ‘nice’ - and not *kjeks* (cookie).

Days passed by with me gesticulating wildly to make myself understood for the simplest of things. For a human popcorn, not making myself understood is equivalent to hell. I resorted to various things to enrich my vocabulary. I had been poring into magazines and consciously reading the Norsk subtitles while watching English programmes on tv, but active cross-referencing were not enough. In the end I signed up for a formal class although I was going to be in Norway for just a couple of months more.

The day came and DH drove me to a nearby town, H. I thought it was going to be a new beginning, coming face to face with many people in the same shoes and getting to really drill myself in a classroom situation again. Networking possibilities too! When we arrived, the building looked closed. The door suddenly opened and out came a thin, tall middle aged man. Let’s just call him Harek. Had he been alive during the Viking time, my language teacher would have been called Harek the long-legged!

We waited for 10 minutes and along came two ladies from Sri Lanka with a small boy, walking at a speed that suggested they had all the time in the world despite already being late. That was the class and that was my whole chance of networking! Poof!

By the time I joined the class, I was already able to converse in basic Norsk. So I spent 40 minutes twice a week yawning. The ladies insisted on having the boy with them. He was a fourth grader who spoke Norsk and therefore assumed the position of a translator and sometimes a teacher to all of us too. It was cute once or twice when he assumed the role of the clown but after that, I could sense myself turning green and muscular with the sudden need to let out a loud roar.

During one of the lessons, Harek wanted us to say:

Jeg liker brunost (tr. *I like brown cheese*) – Brown cheese is, by the way, fed to all immigrants at the airport in Oslo. It is claimed that brown cheese is what makes Norwegians Norwegian. Failure to enjoy the taste would mean sitting on the next flight back to where you came from. If you show deep appreciation for this Norwegian specialty, get ready to receive a residential permit on the spot! ;)

Harek: Jeg – liker – brunost

Lady: nldfjshff?

Boy: hhejfhngngkdjdgkklllll

Lady: oooooooooo (nodded her head) urhhjehgoodmsws!

The boy laughed

Harek: Hvorfor ler du? (tr. Why are you laughing?)

Boy: She said she cannot say that.

Harek: Jeeeeegggggg liiiiiiiikkkkkeeeerrrrr brunnnnn ost

Boy: No, she cannot say it because she does not like brown cheese.

And we all laughed.

So we started to drill on some basic vocabs instead.

Harek: Bibliotek - Biblioteket (tr. Library - The library)

Lady: bibiokekek

I almost choked and had a tough time keeping a straight face as both of them were taking each their turn to pronounce the word.

Harek: Bib – lio – tek

Lady: Tekekek

Harek: Bib – lio – tek

Lady: Bib – lio – tekekek

Realising she had been asked for far too many times to pronounce a word, she rolled her eyes and said:

Ja…ja…ja…Bibliotekekek…bibliotekekek! (widening her eyes and looking straight at Harek and her son who was short of rolling on the floor laughing)

I quit the class because I spent a lot of time waiting for the two ladies instead of actually learning the language. I returned to resorting to the family network and teaching myself again. Family gatherings were frequent in this big family. It used to be frustrating when I had so much to say and yet I did not have a sufficient vocabulary to express myself with. It did not help much that things were swishing above my head at more than a bullet train’s speed. At times like that, it was good to have a huge slice of MIL’s bløtkake (a plain vanilla cake layered with homemade apricot fillings, covered with freshly whipped cream and topped with big juicy strawberries) to dig into. During my early days of acquiring Norsk, I laughed when others laughed, and ate when others talked. A survival strategy that has the magical power of turning you into a pear in a few sittings!

Upon knowing that I have joined a class, many gasped. It puzzled me that when I informed them about something, they would make that noise. The same noise that we would make when we are shocked about something. The gasp. In time, I learnt that that is the affirmative gasp and I have been gasping my way through conversations ever since.

During that small get together too, I somehow put two and two together and realised that that ongoing coffee offer from my MIL was actually something completely different.

*Kaffenoke* in Nynorsk (with Vestlandsk dialect) means *What is it?* and is also a laid back way of saying *I beg your pardon*. Said quick enough combined with a twisted daughter in law, there you have it! So that day I confirmed (to myself) the fact that oil was still pretty much the driving force of this nation. Not coffee!

Learning a foreign language is great fun as long as you don’t take yourself too seriously and you don’t mind being the clown nor being made the clown at times. It is all part and parcel of language acquisition. The higher your guard is, the slower is your pace of succeeding. That was at least my personal experience.

I have a lot more to write about my encounter with the Norsk language but let’s save them for rainy days OK.

Perhaps with coffee and ubi rebus :)

So you say you are bored, huh?

A few days ago, rather late in the evening, our door bell rang. It was a boy from EJ’s class delivering an invitation for a Halloween party. It is not a Norwegian celebration and Norwegians do have something quite similar called Julebukk, celebrated in the period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.  Somehow Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine’s day and the likes appeal to many across geographical and cultural borders. Both DH and I are not big fans of such celebrations but we went along sometimes for the sake of the kids.

*Oh! mom … invitation for a Halloween party! Thanks, S. Don’t worry, I will be there. You are my best-est friend in the whole world!* said a very excited EJ.

*Helllooooooo! S! Can I come too?* Missy tried her luck as S hurried back to his parent’s car.

*Mommy……* Missy tried everything from the lost puppy look, down-turned quivering lips to looking totally crushed.

*Only second graders, you are preschool* I said while attaching the invitation card onto the fridge.

In the spirit of Halloween, everything had to be scary this weekend and that includes brushing teeth:

That night, Missy developed high fever and voluntarily asked for some medicine, any kind of medicine. Because of the high fever, we asked her to sleep with us upstairs while the boys remained in their rooms downstairs. In the middle of the night as I crept into bed, she woke up and smiled.

*I love you, sweetie pie*

*I love you too, Mama*

*I love you much much more!* I said as I claimed a bit more space on the bed.

*I love you elephant elephant…* she said in her sleep. I placed my head on the pillow, ready to slip into dreamland when suddenly the thought hit me. Did Missy say *I love you elephant elephant* or  *I love you elephant, elephant* or was it simply *I love you, Elephant*? Hmmph! :D

The next evening, EJ went for the Halloween party at S’s house. Donning a black monk robe and a skeleton mask, he disappeared into S’s house, to join the rest of the ghosts and the ghoulies.  Missy who had gotten better started hinting that she too would like to be either a ghost or a witch. Since trick or treating is not a Norwegian tradition, I suggested we go knocking on the supermarket’s door instead.

*Girls’ night out!* she said and off we went. With one knock on their door, we came home with a whole lot of goodies, both healthy and unhealthy. (Guilty! Guilty!)

Emil was picked up two hours later, sweating like he had been running a marathon. He updated us on what fantastic time he had. Judging from the sweat, I think they did! Half an hour later, he complained of tummy ache. Agh! overdose of sweets and goodies.

*I’m not going to eat sweets again for the rest of my life* he rolled over and went straight to sleep.

*****

We spent Saturday sorting out the kids’ artwork and toys. Spike who finished sorting out his file first decided to relax and channel surf as usual but DH had cunningly disconnected the cable and hid it somewhere earlier in the morning.

*It’s so boring! There’s nothing to do* a typical teenage kling klang.

*Boring? Nothing to do? Come let me show you something to do!* I said and I asked Spike to follow me downstairs. I handed him two rubber gloves and switched on the toilet light. If there is one thing that he would consider a nightmare, it would be dirty toilets. So today, I taught him to clean their toilet downstairs carefully.

Spray, spray, spray…

Brush, brush, brush …

FLUSHHHHH!

Wipe, wipe, wipe until the whole thing is squeaky clean.

Just when he thought he was done, I told him to take the bucket upstairs to the main floor. There I stood and let him do it himself.  I could not help making a scene,

*Papa, come and see….our son is washing – the - toilet! our son CAN wash toilet! Can you believe this?*

DH responded with an equal amount of enthusiasm and amazement. Spike kept on cleaning, shaking his head and smiling,  saying *yeah! right…*

Then EJ started:

*If he gets to wash the toilet, I want to wash the toilet too*

Just as Spike was about to close the toilet door:

*Mama, I need to go …* said Missy.

*NOT HERE! I’ve just cleaned it!* said Spike. One look from me and Missy was let in but with a whispered message that sounded rather strict! :D

*EJ, you want to wash the toilet too?! OK today is Mama’s lucky day. Let’s go upstairs* I said, grabbing the bucket of water and head upstairs with the two small ones tailing me. At their age, anything to do with the toilets is very yukkish in a funny kind of way. They giggled all the time.

*Spike! come and teach your brother to wash the toilet*. With the intensity of a headmaster, the knowledge was handed down. My eyes caught a little girl in the corner, shoulder hunched and head bent down looking at the floor.

*Do YOU want to have a go too?*

The face lit up and she proudly put on the rubber gloves that swallowed her arms with no trouble at all. By the time she finished, the already sparkling clean toilet was shining like the Northern star.

We went downstairs to see the boys just about to make themselves comfortable on the sofa.

*Spike, jom masak dengan Mama!*. He must have thought *’ere we go again!*

Haha!

Oh! We also managed to fit in a walk along the mountain trail this weekend.

Little Missy Poppin running around with her tiny Barbie umbrella, convinced that given the right gush of wind, she would begin to fly and float down to our house again.

Father and son sharing a story or two. In the distance is the Hornelen Mountain. At 860m above sea level, it is Northern Europe’s highest sea cliff. Hornelen is also known as the meeting point for witches. I can vividly imagine scores of witches taking off from the tip of that mountain, hovering all over western Norway on their broomsticks.

The bridge that connects us to the mainland.

And a little bumble-bee from summer, crawling around on his own, wondering where everybody has gone…