Jump to content
    quokka
  • Author
  • 1,888 Words
  • 1,563 Views
  • 11 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Consulate Boy - 1. Consulate Chapter 1

Life for me and my two siblings was constantly changing, only because both of our parents work for the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. My sister - Helena Sue is four years older, and my brother – Kerwin Darius is four years younger than me and I was the only one born in a different country.

Helena was born in Fremantle - Western Australia, as Mum took six months off work, I was born in Auckland - New Zealand, where Mum had one month of light duties leading up to when I was born, and one month off after I was born, while Kerwin was born in Canberra – Australia, where Mum took three months off work, and Helena and I stayed with our maternal grandparents, while Dad moved to his new posting in Mauritius.

After my first year in Auckland New Zealand, our family was posted to Noumea, New Caledonia for three years, and this is where my interest in languages began, as French is the main language in that country, and although I was very young, I picked up the language very quickly, as we lived in a secure apartment complex in the suburb of Nouville, with spectacular views of Anse Lallemand Bay and a café and supermarket close by, but it was an 8 km drive for our parents to get to work each day.

After the end of our term there, the family was posted to Port Louis, Mauritius, where French is also widely spoken, and I soon became very fluent in the language, as I started to attend school at Hampton School, a private school for Preschool and Primary students, which is located 15 kilometres south of the city, but only one kilometre from the apartment complex where we lived.

Thanks to our three years of living in New Caledonia, I had no problem with the Bi-Lingual school in Mauritius, and I got along well with my classmates. Next, we were posted for two years to Harare - Zimbabwe and this was quite a challenge for me, with English and Ndebele being the main languages spoken there. At this posting, we lived on the grounds of the Embassy complex, because of the stricter security required, and we were driven 3.5 kilometres to our school at St John’s Preparatory School each day in an armoured car, because of the risk of shootings and muggings.

Our parent’s next posting had us being moved to the mountainous country of Nepal, which was such an amazing experience, and I managed to learn the Nepalese language, fairly easily, during our three years there. My younger brother was now attending primary school, so I was responsible for keeping a close eye out for him during school hours, at the Trungram International Academy, which is just 2 kilometres from the Embassy.

Although I enjoyed living in Nepal, I was pleased when we were told that we were heading home to Australia for a year, and this would mean we would get to see our grandparents again, which I was happy about, as the only contact we have had with them since Kerwin was born has been via email.

When we moved back to our home country, it was the first time in my life that I would not be escorted to and from school by security, and we will have more freedom with what we can do after school and on weekends. Helena would be attending a different campus of Canberra Grammar than me and Kerwin. The house that we would be living in was awesome, with 4 bedrooms, and 2 ½ bathrooms, and it also has a large backyard with lots of trees, plus a swimming pool located in the village of Hall, on the northern edge of the ACT.

This meant that we would be commuting 16 kilometres into the city, and a further 5 and 6 kilometres to our schools, going past Capital Hill each time, but I didn’t care, as our new home was so great and we had so much space. Two days after we had arrived back in Australia, we went to explore our new schools, and I liked the feel of the school and its facilities, even though I would be wearing a strict school uniform.

Now aged 12 years and entering Year 7 at my new school, I was a little nervous on my first day there, with it being my first schooling in my home country. It is also the first grade where other languages are an option to take, and I chose French since I wanted to keep up with my language skills.

It was just my third day at the new school, and I had a language class just before lunch, and I was beginning to wonder if this was a good decision or not since I am already a fluent speaker of the French language. As we do with each class, we stood when the teacher entered the classroom, and she immediately spoke in French, wishing us a good morning, and to please sit down.

I cringed when I heard her speaking, as she was making so many errors with her grammar and I put my hands over my ears, as I sat down. “You there, why are you not listening to me?” she said in English, and I knew immediately that she was speaking to me. I decided to test her language skills, to see if my hunch that she only knew basic French was correct, as I stood up.

In fluent French, I said “I am sorry, but it hurts my ears to hear you speak that way, as your French Grammar is full of mistakes. I do not intend to offend you Miss, but since I have been speaking French fluently for many years, I can see that I made a mistake enrolling in this class, and I request permission to leave and go to the library until lunch,” I replied.

I saw immediately that she was totally surprised that I spoke so fluently, and that she was having trouble understanding me fully. What made things worse, was when all of my classmates started laughing at the teacher. “What is your name young man?” she demanded in English, “I am Mateo T Edwards, Miss,” I replied in French, “I see, and do you speak English?” she asked me.

“Yes, Miss, but since this is a French language class, I thought it best to speak in French,” I replied this time in English. “Get out, and report to the headmaster this instant. I will be checking to make sure that you did go to see her,” the teacher informed me, as I packed up my books, and headed out of the classroom, and towards the admin building. “Name?” the receptionist asked me bluntly when I entered the reception area of the admin building.

“My name is Mateo Edwards, I was told to see the headmaster,” I replied. “I see, and what was your teacher's reason to send you here?” the lady at reception demanded. I was about to answer, when a gentleman appeared from a hallway behind the lady, “What is the problem?’ he asked in a calm manner, which made me relax a little. “I do apologise, sir. I was sent here by my French Language teacher. I did not intend to offend her, she asked why I had covered my ears when she spoke in very poor French, and I told her the truth, that it hurt my ears to hear her speak like that,” I replied.

“I see, well that is good of you for speaking honestly, but it also creates a problem. Firstly, what is your name?” the gentleman responded, “Mateo sir,” I answered, “Ah yes, of course, I remember now. Come this way and let's chat about this in my office. My name is Mr Kingston, by the way,” the Gentleman said, and a moment later we entered the Deputy Headmaster’s office, and I was directed to take a seat.

“Now, Mateo Edwards, correct? I believe your parents are DFAT employees, and that this is your first school in Australia?” Mr Kingston said to me, “That is correct sir. My first school was in Mauritius, but I spent my first few years before that in Auckland, where I was born, and in Noumea, New Caledonia, which is where I first started learning French, while Mauritius, is also a French-speaking country,” I replied.

“Yes, of course. So how bad is the teacher's French?” Mr Kingston asked me, which I was a little surprised by, “Very bad sir, her Grammar is all over the place,” I replied. “I see, well, unfortunately, she is just a temporary substitute until we get a more permanent French-speaking teacher. Our last one resigned at short notice, and we have been having difficulties getting a proper replacement,” Mr Kingston informed me.

“I am sorry for causing all of these problems sir,” I said to the deputy headmaster. “Come with me, and let's see if we can come up with a temporary solution,” he responded, and I followed him out of his office, and we headed back to the classroom, where the French class was been taught. We listened for a few minutes from outside the door, “You are correct she is terrible, but you didn’t hear me say that,” Mr Kingston said smiling, as he knocked on the door and opened the door.

Cautiously, I followed him in and stopped by the door, while Mr Kingston went to the front desk, to speak to the teacher in a whisper, and I saw her nod her head and glance in my direction, and nod her head again. “I will leave you to try and come up with a solution, bye for now,” Mr Kingston said in his normal voice, as he turned and headed to the door, giving me a smile and nod of the head as he passed me.

“Class, it appears that I miss understood the situation earlier with Mr Edwards here. I have been made aware, that this is Mateo’s first time attending a school in Australia, as he was born in Auckland, New Zealand, and due to his parent's work, he has travelled to some very interesting places, of which two of them are French-speaking countries.

Mateo, would you like to come up here and maybe tell the class, some of the places you have been, and translate for everyone, what you say in French,” the teacher asked me. I smiled and nodded my head, as I stepped up to the side of the front deck and turned to face the class, and for the next half an hour, I explained that my parents work for the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and that due to that, our family has moved every two or three years.

I mentioned that I grew up speaking English and French as my first languages, and we moved around from place to place, starting from New Zealand, before we went to New Caledonia, and then on to Mauritius, which is where I started attending school. I did not say anything about learning Nepalese while in Nepal and Ndebele, while in Zimbabwe. “Once I had finished translating to English, there was total silence in the classroom.

Copyright April 2023... All Rights are Reserved, Preston Wigglesworth
  • Like 17
  • Love 23
  • Haha 4
  • Sad 2
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
You are not currently following this author. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new stories they post.

Recommended Comments

Chapter Comments

Hi Quokka,  I have read many of your stories and find them interesting. On reading this new story, there is an error, which I hope you do not take offense at. I was born and raised in Zimbabwe, and the main tribe (80%) are Shona, so that is considered the main language after English. The Ndebele are in the minority with 20%. I had friends who were Ndebele, and I love the language, so musical, but could never master it. Ndebele's are an offshoot of the Xhosa Zulu tribe from S. Africa, and settled in the south western region of what is now Zimbabwe. The two tribes do not get along.

  • Like 2
  • Wow 3
Link to comment

Update - apologies. Xhosa is a nguni language. Zulus are the nation.  Ndebele language is close to the Xhosa language

  • Like 3
  • Wow 2
Link to comment
5 minutes ago, brykerr said:

Update - apologies. Xhosa is a nguni language. Zulus are the nation.  Ndebele language is close to the Xhosa language

You'll find that Quokka always researches for his stories and asks for help if he isn't sure about something, to make sure the facts are accurate in them.

  • Like 4
Link to comment

Your story is off to an interesting start, and I look forward to following it.

I had a few years in Indonesia, teaching English, and learning the local language as best I could.

On a recent holiday in Bali, I amazed myself that I still remembered so much.  Keep up your interesting writing.

  • Like 1
  • Love 4
Link to comment

“You are correct she is terrible, but you didn’t hear me say that,” - Genuinely made me laugh!

Good start!… of to chapter 2 now :) 

  • Like 3
  • Love 1
Link to comment
View Guidelines

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Newsletter

    Sign Up and get an occasional Newsletter.  Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.

    Sign Up
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

Our Privacy Policy can be found here: Privacy Policy. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..