The first thing Deborah Ní Ghibne notices when students arrive at her Connemara home is the silence.

Suitcases are carried through the door, beds are chosen and nervous teenagers gather around the kitchen table, many of them too shy to say very much at all. For the first few days, she says, getting conversation out of them can feel “like being a performing monkey”. A few weeks later though, it is a different story entirely.

“They’re sitting around here on the couches,” Deborah says. “You finish supper and they’re chatting to you for an hour, and they’re chatting in Irish. It’s that recognition that they’ve learned something and enjoyed it that really resonates with me.”

For Deborah, a bean an tí with Coláiste Lurgan in Inverin, Connemara, those moments are what make the long days, full house and constant cooking worthwhile.

“I cannot believe I’m a bean an tí,” she says. “I know it sounds cheesy but I’m really proud of it.”

Every summer, homes across the Gaeltacht open their doors to students attending Irish colleges. Bedrooms are cleared out, wardrobes emptied and family routines are reshaped for weeks at a time. In Deborah’s case, the preparations are already underway ahead of the arrival of the first students.

It is a busy house at the best of times as Deborah and her husband Brian have five children: Naoise (31), Con (26), Aifric (23), Sadbh (18) and Iseult (15). There is also great excitement for the first grandchild as Naoise and his partner Dearbhla are expecting their first baby.

The arrival of students is a family effort and Iseult will be working as a cúntóir áitiúil (assistant) with Lurgan this year – all of the kids worked there in their early teens.

“We’ve been scrubbing and cleaning,” she says. “We all [her family] sleep downstairs, so we have to move upstairs when they come.”

The role of a bean an tí stretches far beyond providing a bed for the night. Meals must be prepared, teenagers looked after and homesick students reassured, all while ensuring Irish remains at the centre of daily life.

My proudest achievement is all my kids are native Irish speakers

“I always say to them, ‘I’m your mammy now. If you need anything’,” Deborah says.

While students are encouraged to speak Irish as much as possible, she also knows when reassurance matters more than grammar.

“I say to them, ‘if you’re upset, talk to me in English. I’m not going to tell anybody.’”

Originally from Limerick, Deborah did not grow up in a Gaeltacht household In fact, she says there was “no Irish at home”. Instead, her connection to the language began with a teacher who inspired her to pursue Irish more seriously.

Because of that influence, she attended an all-Irish secondary school in Limerick before later studying the language in college, where she met her husband.

“We always said that when we had kids we’d try and raise them through Irish,” she says. The family eventually moved to Connemara more than two decades ago, determined to immerse themselves fully in the language and culture of the Gaeltacht.

“My proudest achievement is all my kids are native Irish speakers,” she says. “And they’re so much better than me, which is brilliant.”

That journey is part of why Deborah believes the language belongs to everyone willing to embrace it. “I love when they hear that I didn’t have Irish at home,” she says of the students staying with her. “I was where you are now.”

Rather than focusing on perfect grammar or textbook Irish, she believes confidence is the key. “Forget about the grammar. Just speak it,” she advises.

For Deborah, that approach reflects a broader shift in attitudes towards the language. After years of Irish often being associated primarily with classrooms and exams, she believes more people are beginning to see it as something alive, social and tied to identity.

“There was this attitude of, ‘Oh, I wish I had it, but it’s too late now’,” she says, making the point that things have changed.

From TG4 and Cúla4 to Irish-language festivals and younger presenters online, she believes the language feels more accessible now than it once did.

“There’s a whole world to it,” she says. “It’s not just being able to speak the words.”

Living in the Gaeltacht opened up that wider world for her family too. Traditional music, sean nós dancing, singing and storytelling became part of everyday life.

She believes younger generations are increasingly reconnecting with Irish not simply as a subject, but as a way of expressing identity and connection.“I think it’s the pride in your nation,” she says.

That sense of inclusion extends beyond native Irish speakers too. Alongside her work as a bean an tí and a scriptwriter for Ros na Rún, Deborah also teaches conversational Irish classes locally. Among her students have been refugees from Nigeria living in the area.

“You’re giving them a sense of place,” she says. “You’re welcoming them in.”

For her, the language is not something exclusive or closed off. Instead, she sees it as a bridge into community life.

“Make them part of the community,” she says.

More than accommodation

At the same time, however, Gaeltacht summer colleges are facing challenges of their own. Deborah says there is an increasing need for more mná tí, with many older women stepping away from the role following the COVID-19 pandemic.

The role also comes with significant work and expense. Prospective bean an tí households must meet strict safety and accommodation requirements, including fire regulations, inspections and engineering reports.

Before taking on the role, Deborah and her family had to install new windows and make significant changes to the house.

“We spent about €20,000,” she says.

Still, she speaks warmly about the support she received from the local community, including former mná tí who passed on bedding, plates, cups and practical advice to help her get started.

“People still look out for one another here,” she says.

A living language

Deborah believes the heart of the entire Gaeltacht experience is not necessarily the classroom, but the home itself.

It is there, gathered around dinner tables and kitchen counters, that students see Irish being spoken naturally between parents, children and neighbours. It is where confidence grows and where many begin to look at the language differently – realising that it exists beyond schoolbooks.

Listening to Deborah’s children chatting across the kitchen shows Irish as something lived every day rather than something confined to classrooms.

“They see, ‘Oh my God, this is what they do. These people speak it every day,’” she says.

As another summer begins in Connemara, Deborah is preparing once again for the arrival of 10 more students into her home. There will be nerves, noise and long days ahead. There will also, inevitably, be another group of quiet teenagers finding their confidence.

Watching that transformation never gets old. She concludes, “To see those teenagers going home not, only being able to speak Irish, but also having an appreciation for, ‘This is alive’ – that’s my proudest moment.”