ConGen has somewhat of a cult following among FSOs. Why? It’s probably some combination of learning stuff that’s both interesting and applicable, and also the ridiculousness of the process. The training team has made up a whole fake country for the purpose of our learning. Within the context of this fake country, we complete case studies and do role plays on real sets, including a jail cell with an infamous rubber rat. At the end of the course there’s a graduation ceremony with awards given for things such as most convincing acting. So… it’s hard core, in a nerdy sort of a way.

So far our training has focused on nationality, who is and isn’t an American citizen. What it really comes down to is this: how does citizenship transfer from parent to child? For those born outside of the U.S., it’s more complicated than you might think. It depends on when you were born (the regulations have changed through the years), whether your parents are married, which of your parents is the U.S. citizen, how much time your U.S. citizen parent spent in the U.S., and so on.

One weird but interesting tidbit: citizenship is tied to blood, which can cause a host of problems concerning assisted reproductive technology. For instance, if a baby is born to U.S. citizens abroad using donor eggs and sperm from non U.S. citizens, that child is not a U.S. citizen. (Of course, if the baby’s born in the U.S., none of this is an issue.)

We’ve also talked about losing U.S. citizenship, which is much harder than I would have imagined. There are certain things you can do called “potentially expatriating acts,” things like becoming a citizen in another country, serving in a foreign military or working for a foreign government. However, committing one of these acts in and of itself doesn’t cost you your citizenship. You have to both do it voluntarily and with the intent of giving up your U.S. citizenship. That intent thing is key: basically, as long as you want to keep your U.S. citizenship, you get to.

How would these things come into play in our work in Benin? Well, maybe two U.S. citizen missionaries have a baby while living overseas; they would come to us to get a Consular Report of Birth Abroad in order to document the baby as a U.S. citizen. Maybe a Peace Corps volunteer has a baby with a Beninois national; is that baby a U.S. citizen and hence eligible for a passport? We would figure that out. Maybe an American-Beninois dual citizen wants to renounce his American citizenship so he has a better shot of getting a key job with Benin’s government; we would counsel him and walk him through that process. These scenarios are all, of course, hypothetical. For some insight into what Benin’s current sole consular officer is up to, check out several of his blog.

Next up in ConGen: immigrant visas.

(Security note — All the information discussed above is publicly available at www.travel.state.gov.)

Other Foreign Service-related gifts?

This cool picture from my aunt:

And this bizarre novel my mom found; it might very well be the only English-language book set in Benin:

The year is 1896. Legendary leopard hunter Brendan Donivan battles to protect his adopted homeland’s sacred civilization from the colonial expansion of the British. All the while, New York anthropologist Elle Bowie arrives to study clitoridectomy and — you guessed it — ends up falling in love. “To a guy who wears a skirt, no less,” explains the back cover.

Fine literature, I’m sure. =)

Those three were really it, which I think means we’ve finally reached a point in our Foreign Service lives where not everything revolves around this crazy lifestyle we’ve signed up for and the anticipation of what it’s bringing next. It’s about time. I got quite a bit of winter gear even though this might be my last winter in a while. Andy also got the new iPhone, even though I’m still not convinced he’s going to be able to use it in Benin.

As for Abbey, well, she’s pretty bummed that the yet-to-be-born baby is already scoring more presents than she is.

I took my French exam today. The results: 2+/3.

What this means is that I scored a 2+ on the oral section and a 3 on the reading section. Since my goal was a 3/3, it seems like I passed one section, but barely missed out on the other.

But alas, it’s not so simple.

You see, in order to get bonus points on the management register, I needed a 3 in the oral section. The reading section doesn’t matter for bonus points. I could have eaten the articles instead of reading them, but as long as I scored a 3 on the oral section, I’d have gotten my bonus.

So what now? Well, since I’m an EFM and not an FSO, my French days at FSI are over until I’m actually hired. I can still take the phone test to get points on the management register in the traditional route, but right now I’m a little too burnt out on French to really think about that. What I will need to do, however, is find a way to maintain my French skills (or lack thereof – signed, The French Department) until we go to Benin. That seems like a good activity for after the holidays.

Alex wanted me to add two more things. Despite not quite achieving my goal, I’m proud of how far I’ve come in just six months. And French isn’t really just for jerks.

What makes this even more surprising is that I performed horrendously during my exam today. I totally forgot all the complicated tricks I had up my sleeve to try to seem more advanced than I really am. Worse yet, I made dumb mistakes I never make in class. I don’t know why this happened. Nerves, perhaps? It certainly didn’t help that my examiner just so happened to be the one person in the whole French Department who intimidates me, with her perfect accent and seeming disdain for every word that comes out of my mouth. (She subbed for my class a few months ago for one very, very long day.) Although, to be fair, she was perfectly nice during my test this morning, even during my exit interview while stressing several times that despite passing, I still really, really need to work on my accent.

In any case, I got my 3/3. This is good news because:

• I’m ready to say au revoir to French at FSI. It’s tiring. I need a break.
• I’m really proud of myself for passing. Even without the pregnancy, it was unlikely. With the pregnancy, I really thought it was impossible.
• I get the rest of the week off. Helllllo, Christmas shopping!
• Passing and moving on to other training will result in a longer Christmas break than if I’d remained in French. Sweet!

However, this isn’t all good, because:

• Since I can’t go to post until after giving birth, I’ll have to do something work-related in DC until May. Frankly, as much as I’m ready for a break from French, more class would have been a lot easier than what I’ll likely end up doing when my other training ends in February: a bridge assignment at Main State.
• French class has no dress code. Main State does. Have you seen maternity business suits? Yeah, me too. They’re horrible. And expensive.

In the long run, I’ll probably kick myself for getting my 3/3 on the first go — not just to avoid a potentially exhausting bridge assignment during my third trimester, but also because my French still definitely needs work. The idea of having intelligent conversions in French as a representative of the American government, well, that terrifies me. Trust me, no matter what FSI says, I’m not ready. For that reason, more training wouldn’t have been so bad.

But oh well. For now, at least, passing feels pretty good. As does all the lounging around I have planned for the rest of the week!

Good: Successfully arriving at our first hotel in Nice, and explaining that we were early but asking if we could leave our bags behind the front desk until check-in time.

Bad: Successfully arriving at our hotel in Marseille and having no idea what the staff was saying to us. I blame the Marseille accent.

Good: Reading and completely understanding the service disruptions posted at the tram station in Marseille.

Bad: Struggling with the Marseille public transportation website which was only in French. I’m going to blame the accent again with this one.

Good: Negotiating, in French of course, some extra conversation classes at our school in Nice.

Bad: Failing to negotiate, even in English, a discounted rate on our breakfast in Marseille.

Good: Ordering dinner in French every night and always getting what we asked for.

Bad: Somehow accidentally ordering a coffee at a bakery when we’re pretty sure we didn’t ask for one.

Good: Realizing that everything we’re being taught at FSI is real. The words and phrases we learn aren’t just theory like imaginary numbers in math. They have real uses outside of the classroom. They are part of a real language that millions of people use every day. Learning French is not just some futile exercise designed to demoralize students at FSI. Understanding this gives us a great deal of motivation to keep going despite the difficulty.

Bad: At the same time realizing just how far we still have to go to be remotely conversational in real world situations. It’s great that we know two words for “car.” Unfortunately there are probably six more that we’ve never heard. We found that we could ask questions and usually understand the answers. But when we were in situations where we had no idea what to expect, and people were speaking at a normal rate without dumbing it down, things got real tough real fast.

Our trip was a good one and we walk away feeling motivated as we head down the final stretch (maybe) of our French lessons.

The fact that we could be sitting in Turkish class two years from now trying desperately to avoid using French is not something we allow ourselves to think about.

• Synonyms. Just when I was starting to think I finally had a big enough vocabulary to communicate somewhat effectively in French, I read an article in class today and understood pretty close to nothing. Why? Synonyms. So far I’ve avoided them. My thinking: if I already know a word for something, why waste brain space on another? I’m better off learning something new. Unfortunately, Francophone writers aren’t cooperating and using only the words I’ve chosen to memorize… Darn them.
• Idioms. These are actually worse than synonyms because I can usually translate them, but then I find myself confused and frustrated when my translations make no sense. What do I mean? Well, this isn’t the best example but it’s the only one coming to mind. My professor was talking about a classmate who had to go home early because she was “sick in her heart.” My classmates and I looked at one another, worried. She had heart problems? Oh my God; that’s serious stuff. But, no. Apparently in French, heart sickness really just means nausea. Okay, not the same thing at all.
• FSI microwaves. Every kitchenette microwave I’ve encountered at FSI lately has seemed to have the magical ability to retain the smell of the last 27 things it cooked. And, I know FSI is a multicultural place and all, and that’s great, but what in the world are you people heating up in there anyway?
• French writing style. Perhaps a little-known fact for those of you who didn’t know me before my Foreign Service life: I have a Masters of Fine Arts in Writing and have published quite a bit of memoir, personal essay and travel writing. And I still teach writing classes on the side. So, I like to think I’m qualified to spot bad writing. Let me tell you, French writers are either universally bad or (more likely) have a completely different style. In almost every article I read I come across at least one ridiculous thing that I’d never let my students get away with. For instance, today: an article started by describing a giant outdoor art installation promoting nuclear energy, which cost something like 3 million dollars. A bird flew in and broke it. Now, cut to the next paragraph. We’re talking about famine and how many people are suffering worldwide and how there’s nothing anyone can do. One bird can ruin a 3 million dollar art installation, and yet people can’t figure out how to eradicate famine. Um, no. That’s just not a strong enough connection. Sorry.
• A new TV show called Bridalplasty. A commercial for this just came on. Apparently brides-to-be compete to win plastic surgery in time for their wedding. What? When I see ridiculous things like this I can’t help but imagining what foreigners visiting America must think it says about us, like when we’re in Japan and shake our heads in wonderment at their bizarre game shows. Except this is way worse. (On a related note, now seems like a good time to go on the record as officially supporting Sister Wives, a reality show chronicling a real-life polygamous family. It’s actually surprising great, and not even in a voyeuristic, I-can’t-believe-this-baloney-is-on-the-air sort of way.)
• My looming end-of-training exam. This test is the only thing French department students talk about these days. At least once a day in class or at lunchtime conversation tables there’s a new report about how many more people failed, what’s wrong with the test, how we’re all doomed too, etc. I’m as guilty as anyone of the gossip, but it’s still annoying. We’re all type-A people; we’re not used to failing. I don’t want to think or talk about it anymore.

So, yes, I guess I’ve been a little perturbed lately. But you know what? I’m still getting paid to learn French. That’s pretty freaking cool if I do say so myself, and definitely worth the annoyances.

Except Bridalplasty. There’s just no justifying that.

That turned out not to be the case. There was actually plenty of room for me. In fact, for the past week, I’ve been in a class with only two other people, and one of those is the professor.

The way language classes work at FSI (at least French, and probably all the other languages with more than just two or three students enrolled) is that you are put on one month rotations. At the end of every rotation, you switch teachers and maybe some reshuffling is done with the students. This is so you get used to hearing different teachers speak (different accents, different vocabulary, different styles) and so you are always with students who are at the same level of language learning.

Somehow, my current rotation only has two students. Part of me feels like I won the lottery. I get four hours per day of one-on-two tutoring. Another part of me can’t wait for them to add more students to my class on Monday. Having only one other classmate is exhausting. I walk out of class each day feeling even more drained than usual. And on Friday, when I also had a one-on-one session with my language counselor, I’d had enough. I hardly touched my books during our lunch break.

I can’t really complain too much because I’m getting the opportunity to learn French – something that might come in handy once I’m finally placed on the Management Register. But I’m hoping on Monday a new student or two will make class a little more interesting. Or at least make it slightly less exhausting.

The good news is that I had my second semi-official progress evaluation today, and despite some admitted slacking off as of late, I’m still trucking along just fine.  I’m “a solid 2/2.” Here’s a video that shows what that means (through the progress of an English learner):

The important thing about reaching the 2/2 level, is — you guessed it — I’m cleared to apply for an immersion trip! Expect to read much more about that later.

Allegedly I’m ahead of schedule, but I’m not totally sure I believe that since the next 12 weeks will be spent getting up to this level, and I don’t feel halfway there at all:

Even if I am able to pass my end-of-training exam, I’m still not so sure that I’ll be proficient enough to, say, give speeches and tough interviews in French, which as the Public Diplomacy Officer, could very well be required of me. I’m banking on the fact that the Beninois are a kind, patient and forgiving people… especially when it comes to the French ability of a certain new diplomat at the American Embassy.

2.  Since the reason you’re being taught French is to perform official diplomatic duties, you’re taught only to speak formally. In French, like Spanish (and probably other romance languages too), there are two ways to say “you.” One of them, “tu,” is for family and friends, while the other, “vous,” is formal. You’re only allowed to use “vous” in class, so, naturally, it’s what your instincts are trained to say. This results in some awkward interactions when you go to French-speaking meet-up groups outside of the FSI bubble. Apparently addressing people formally makes them quite uncomfortable.

3. Also because of the job for which you’re being trained, your vocularly is a little… bizarre. You might, for instance, have a great deal of trouble doing a class exercise that asks you to pretend to be a waitress at a seafood restaurant, because you don’t know the words for any types of fish, or even any other restaurant-related things, like utensils, or drinks, or desserts. But when your class switches to discussing the recent Al-Qaeda kidnappings in Niger, then you’re golden. Of course you know the words for hostage and to kidnap and terrorism and uranium and mining industry and ransom and diplomatic negotions, etc. That stuff comes up all the time!

4. While you of course want to learn to speak French well, your immediate goal is to pass your end-of-training exam. So as you begin to learn what does and doesn’t matter for said exam, your game plan changes. For instance, you might find yourself in the language lab one particular teacher-less Thursday morning studying the subjunctive tense not because you actually want to know it, but because you’ve heard that you don’t need to know it, so you want to know how it’s used well enough that you’ll be able to avoid actually using it.

5. You share a language lab with students learning a handful of Asian languages, so there are strange unidentifiable utterances coming from every which way. This makes you feel bad for ever complaining that French is hard.

Andy and I have been driving one another increasingly nuts, so… we’ve decided to split up.

Did I get you?

No, not split up like that. Here’s what I mean: we’ve decided that being in the same French class is no longer benefitting either one of us (yes, in terms of learning French, we are driving one another nuts), so on Tuesday I’m moving to a different class. And because I’m moving out, some new people will be moving in, so Andy will have a different class dynamic too.

Patience, my friends

This should be the motto of the Foreign Service.

It seems we won’t have any information about what the tandem couplehood gods plan to bestow upon us for quite some time. My Career Development Officer wants to wait until Andy’s actually on the Register before we explore the possibilities. That could happen as soon as two months from now or as long as two years from now; you just never know for sure with security clearances. Mine took four months, so we’re banking on revisiting this topic in early January…

SOS!

Help! Somebody! Please! This is Abbey, by the way. First, a warning for all you diplo-pets out there: don’t believe it for a second when your owners tell you not to worry, that you’re not going to be boarded this time. (Boarding=jail, in case you haven’t learned that one yet.) Don’t believe it when they say that you’re just going on a little vacation and it’s actually going to be a ton of fun. Let me assure you, it’s not.

For reasons I simply cannot comprehend (wedding, airplane, out of town… I don’t know or care what any of that means), my owners have abandoned me in a house that, yes, is much bigger and nicer than my house. And yes, it has two very nice people who seem to like me a lot, inexplicably, since I am being a pretty big jerk to them. And yes, there is a deck and a yard. And lots of toys. But before you start thinking this place couldn’t possibly be so bad, let me cut to the chase.

I’m living with dogs! Two dogs. Beagles. Who bark. And want to play with me. And want to sniff me. And who can’t take a hint that I don’t like other dogs and just want to be left alone to sleep. And who also steal attention from those two very nice people, who I’d prefer to have all to myself.

Just because boy owner won some big test, he thinks he can do whatever he wants now, abandoning me like this. Well, I’ve got news for him: if I ever see him again, I’m chewing three socks as punishment. Maybe four. That’ll teach him.

But in the meantime, I’m serious: can someone come get me? Someone without any dogs? And no cats either. Please?!