Test

and shared joy

I’ve wanted to write about Luz Maria since March, which is when this encounter happened. It’s now four months later and everything feels so far away, like looking down the wrong end of a telescope. I want to bring this moment of joy closer; needing it more than ever.

I was at the Rosenhof Skole in Oslo, an enormous multi-entrance building dedicated to adult education for people new to Norway who want to learn Norwegian. At the Rosenhof Skole they offer language classes, meeting spaces, social and family support and other services for people who have come to Oslo to start a new life, whether temporarily or for the long term.

I was there to take the Norskprøve Muntlig test again. This is an oral language exam that people take who want to apply for residency, or support job appllications, or to continue their education. For my purposes, I needed to get my oral test up from A1 level to A2 level. The previous fall, I had taken a four hour exam and passed writing and listening tests at A2 level and, to my surprise, the reading test at B1 level. But my speaking skills didn’t cut it.

Then, in January I took the Samfunnskunnskapsprøve in Norwegian. That is the social studies test, in which you are asked a lot of questions about the structure of Norwegian culture, its history, educational policies, governmental practices, and other specifics related to integration into Norwegian society. I really cannot say how, but I passed that test too.

I had arrived early to the Rosenhof Skole. The walls a bland beige, the staircase wide elegant stone winding up to the second floor. Rows and rows of classroom doors. Posted outside each door, a list of times and names of the people there to take the test. People waiting in the hallways, people from all over the world. Most sitting quietly, either talking in low voices to each other or hunched over their phones, maybe cramming a little bit of extra grammar.

The speaking test in Norwegian follows a specific structure and takes between 20 and 45 minutes. There are two examiners in the classroom. Two test-takers, strangers to each other, are paired up and take the test together. Entering the classroom, the pair sits down at school desks in front of one of the examiners. The second examiner sits at a desk towards the back of the classroom and takes notes by hand in a notebook. Both examiners are permitted to ask questions.

The first question they ask is for you to introduce yourself and tell something about yourself. In the many YouTube videos I had watched and online lessons I had taken, I learned how to do this, the main rule being to talk without stopping until the examiner tells you to stop.

The second part is the most confusing. The examiner places a very large laminated image in front of you. The picture is full of objects, people, and activities. In this part of the test you are asked to describe what you see. This tests vocabulary, verb conjugation, colors, adjectives, directions, and in some subtle and not-so-subtle ways, specific comprehension about integration into Norwegian culture. I had bombed this the first time I took it in September, unable to decipher what the picture portrayed, what the location was, or even what time it was on the clock in the image.

Example image from the language test. There is a robot in there offering a young child an ice cream, a goldfish in a bowl on the picnic table, and two tiny children playing with a mini basketball. The caption (not mine) says “Above the bus stop, an airplane is flying in the sky.”

Since then, I had done a lot of online practice, following detailed and patiently delivered video instructions of how to say on the left side of the picture, in the background, foreground, etc. but here too I was flummoxed by the image, which appeared to be an industrial kitchen rendered in medieval perspective in which too many people were present. A child standing on a stool leaned precariously over a hot stove, wielding a spatula like a battle-ax, eggs sizzling in a cast-iron or non-stick pan far below; elderly people stooping over bags of groceries while children ran towards them, arms outstretched; two blond-haired youth coloring in a picture book at a table in the foreground.

My limited vocabulary was showing. I began to sweat. The examiners tried to tease a little more out of me, asking about the calendar on the wall and the old people with the groceries. Once they heard my desperation as I begin describing the color of each piece of fruit in the fruit basket, I see a red apple, I see a green apple, I see a pear, they told me I could stop. I found myself grinning widely, as I do when embarrassed.

The third part is for the two people taking the test to have a conversation between them about a topic given by the examiners. The prompt can be about food you like to cook, or things you like about Norway, or if it is easy or not to make friends in a new country, or about a place you’d like to travel to, or your favorite season in Norway, or something. The two strangers paired up are required to talk back and forth, being mindful that a conversation is an exchange and not just one person talking the whole time. The ability to listen, understand, and respond in a way specific to the idea of Norwegian cultural assimilation is as important as the information and vocabulary.

In this and all sections, you get more points if you use adjectives, complex sentence structures, and it’s even better if you use idioms. Over the past year I had listened to a million language podcasts in slow Norwegian about subjects from Vikings to winter hiking preparations to the history of regional knitting patterns to primary schooling to the importance of ice cream and hot dogs on Constitution Day. Many of these facts went in one ear and out the other. Some things got wedged in between.

I had been paired for this test with a man from Ankara who was working in construction in Oslo and had been living there for some time. He was married and had a young daughter. We talked about his daughter and about Ankara and food. I found this part of the test easier because I’ve been teaching for so long. So much of my job is to listen and talk with students about whatever they are working on and to try to respond coherently in the moment. So the conversation I had with the man from Ankara was marked as much by my enthusiasm for his efforts as by whatever bumbling, mispronounced phrases that were emerging from my mouth.

The final part of the exam is a series of individual questions which can be about anything at all. As you answer, the examiner in the back continues to write and take notes. If you are doing well, they may keep you in the room for further questions, to see if they might bump you up a level in the grading. After we were both asked individual questions, they excused the man from Ankara and kept me in the room. I saw this as a good sign and continued stumbling along until they said I could go.

All this happened after I had met Luz Maria in the hallway outside the classroom.

I had arrived early for the test and sat down on a gray upholstered couch in the beige hallway of the Rosenhof Skole. The couch was constructed so the back went up high and curved overhead, a cocoon couch offering an idea of privacy, deflecting interruptions or entrances from the outside. What I thought I needed.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the test. That morning, someone had given me last-minute advice, telling me that in order to do well, I needed to “think Norwegian,” by which they meant to not try to translate from English but to conjure the grammar and sentence structure and vocabulary from a different wellspring, one flowing with the new language.

A door closed with a bang. I opened my eyes to see a small, dark-haired woman bounding down the hallway in my direction. She put her shopping bag down in front of the couch and began to take out a bright red winter parka. Usually people wear gray, blue, or black coats. And unlike most of my encounters in Norway, in which I often surprised people by initiating conversation, I could sense she was bursting with something to tell me. And I was the one surprised.

I can’t believe it! I did it! I was so lucky, the other person didn’t show up, so it was just me and the examiners! I feel so lucky. I did it! I never thought I could do it, I can’t believe it! Her dark eyes flashed with pride.

Tell me, how was it for you? What did you do? What was it like? I asked.

I meant to do this for years, she said. I finally did it. I come from the Philippines. I was married to a Norwegian man. I studied Norwegian and took care of him. He died of cancer last year. After he died, I didn’t know what to do. My kids are in the Philippines. They told me, mom, come home! You are getting older. We are here!

She looked at me directly: You know, here in Norway when you get old, it’s lonely. You are all alone, your family doesn’t take care of you. In the Philippines you have everyone around when you get older, people take care differently.

My kids kept calling to tell me to come home. But I thought, what if I want to stay? I think I want to stay here. So I got a job as a housekeeper at the Thon Hotel. It’s really hard work. All I do is work housekeeping at the hotel and then go home to my apartment. It’s been very lonely. So I decided to study more and take this test again. I had taken it a long time ago. But I was too scared, and my husband told me I didn’t need to take it. But then he died and I wanted to try to stay.

I took the classes here, months of classes. I was so nervous when I came in. And they were so nice and they told me I did well. And I did it!

I felt so proud for her and congratulated her again and again.

She bent closer: Also, I have a new boyfriend. He’s from the Netherlands and he is coming to visit next month! I am so excited! It’s the first time we will meet in person!

I am overjoyed for this exuberant woman. Her energy feels magical and totally out of place in the neutral halls of the Rosenhof Skole.

I am so happy for you! My test is in 10 minutes, do you think it will be ok?

Of course! Don’t worry, it will be fine. If I can do it, then you can do it!

During this time, she is putting on her long red parka.

I ask her name.

My name is Luz Maria. What’s yours?

My name is Jenny.

Luz Maria finishes zipping up her red parka. She is beaming. I stand up, congratulate her with fullness of feeling, and we hug.

Luz Maria picks up her shopping bag and sails down the hallway. Soon after, I am called into the classroom for my test. I pass at the A2 level, which is what I need, though for what I am still not sure.

I think about Luz Maria often. The being far away, the wanting to try something new, deciding to do the unexpected, the hardship of the decision, the determination and bravery and the exuberance of her bright red parka. The enthusiasm with which she greeted and encouraged me, a stranger in a hallway of the Rosenhof Skole in Oslo; the gift of her shared joy.

Thanks for reading.