Cover Letter
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This heartfelt narrative about my efforts to learn Nahuatl and connect with my Aztec heritage is for the people who’ve experienced a similar journey of rediscovering their roots, those curious about preserving less-known languages and cultures, and anyone who likes personal stories about keeping traditions alive. By sharing my story, it’s helpful for people to understand why it’s important to protect languages and the cultures they belong to while also inspiring others to embark on their journeys to learn about their roots and languages.
Throughout the narrative, I alluded to John Leguizamo’s “Latin History for Morons” to add depth and context to my quest for cultural connection. Also, an emotional appeal is used to express my deep desire to preserve Nahuatl, having readers empathize with their journey of self-discovery and cultural revival.
I am proud of emphasizing the importance of cherishing and learning such linguistic treasures, especially in a world where dominant languages often overshadow smaller ones. I’m also proud to know that there are people out there who can relate because I’m sharing my voice with them and shedding light on preserving native tongues.
In the end, this essay provides valuable insights into language politics, revealing the intricate relationship between language, cultural identity, and preservation. The reluctance to teach a language and the assertion that it was too complicated reflects the difficulties that indigenous languages often face when people try to suppress them. However, the determination to learn showcases the desire to keep it alive and honor the culture. This narrative also touches on linguistic barriers, such as the limited availability of resources to learn less common languages, and how many societies have lots of different languages, illustrating the complexity of language politics when it comes to family and heritage.
Written LL Narrative
Poloa
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My father, a man of incredible linguistic talent, could switch between three languages. His grasp of English might have been shaky but he makes an effort. His fluency in Spanish was undeniable, and then there was Nahuatl, the ancient Aztec language that left me spellbound.
I can vividly recall the first time I witnessed him seamlessly transition from Spanish to Nahuatl during a conversation with his family in Mexico. My dad and I were seated on the couch while my mother was cooking in the kitchen, the aroma of chilaquiles filling the room. I was just mindlessly scrolling through my phone until I heard a stream of unfamiliar sounds, syllables that seemed like gibberish to my untrained ears. I couldn’t help but exchange puzzled glances with my mother, who, like me, seemed to also be lost in this linguistic maze. It was as though my father had entered a secret world that he could only decipher. However, my mother knew what the language was but she wasn’t entirely fluent, revealing to me that my father was speaking Nahuatl.
With this revelation, I was deeply intrigued. Aztec history had always been a distant whisper in the background of my education. History classes casually mentioned their society and the ominous arrival of the Conquistadores. Yet, my father was conversing effortlessly in a language that felt like a forgotten treasure. Here’s what I knew about the Aztecs:
They were a remarkable Mesoamerican civilization that flourished in central Mexico and they established a grandy city called Tenochtitlan. They were known for their advanced understanding of agriculture, complex social structure, and their architecture.
And that was about it.
It was during this time that John Leguizamo’s Latin History for Morons enlightened me on various aspects. It’s a one-man show where he talks about the important contributions of Latin Americans in history, things that often don’t get enough attention. He shares stories about indigenous cultures, colonialism, and the challenges Hispanic people face in the U.S. He also talks about having to teach his kids about their heritage. He says, “I’m embarrassed that I did not know enough about my ancestry to pass on to my kids.” John reflects the sentiment of many individuals attempting to revive their connection with their indigenous heritage. My father might’ve denied teaching me Nahuatl, but he never denied the fact that we are of Aztec descent, yet it still felt as if something were missing.
So I started to research the language, wanting to speak it myself to learn more about my identity. “But why don’t you ask your father to help?” I’ve tried. He’d always say “Es muy complicado, no lo entenderás.” (It’s too complicated, you won’t understand it.) and that was the end of the conversation. Well, he didn’t lie.
My initial attempts to learn Nahuatl were futile; Duolingo didn’t offer Nahuatl courses. Until I stumbled upon a website, made my account, and got ready to learn the ancient tongue. It was a struggle to speak it, having to click my tongue now and then.
A week in and the only word I knew was “Amo nimitzcuamachilia.” (I don’t understand you.) “Piyali”(Hello) or “Quieniuhqui motocah?”(What’s your name?) were the basics and I struggled to memorize them.
I found that hilarious.
While I may struggle to comprehend my father’s Nahuatl speech, I can, at the very least, express “I don’t understand you” in that language. But even then, that doesn’t stop me from continuing to learn the language. As much as I despised clicking my tongue so much, I desperately wanted to keep the native tongue alive.
When a language becomes rare or is close to disappearing, we lose a special piece of human history and diversity that can never be recovered. We lose not only words but also the wisdom and rich tradition it carries. My father’s ability to speak Nahuatl is a testament to the resilience of indigenous languages that have faced centuries of suppression and marginalization. With this, I’m determined to reclaim a piece of my identity because I want to help bring generations closer together and make sure my heritage and different ways of seeing the world can be passed on to the future.
