A couple of years ago, Don and I had
a short layover in Paris on our way to Hungary.
We had some difficulty at the Charles de Gaulle Airport. It just wasn’t
organized in the way American minds work. When we finally found our way to the Immigration
booth, the officer said something in French. Don answered, "English only"
and the following ensued:
Officer in the booth: Je ne comprends pas.
Don (smiling but getting
uncomfortable): Don't speak French. English only.
Officer: Non, non. Parlez-vous le français?
Me (trying to salvage situation and
"charm" the man. We've heard of mean French people at CDG airport): Un peu.
Man: Ah, ah, Comment allez- vous?
Me (Now, I'm really in trouble!
Think, think back to +50 years ago when you took college French!): Ah, ah . . .
Man (eyes beginning to widen and
glare at me): How are you? I say "how are you?"
Me: I know, I know. I just can't remember how to answer that!
Man: Ah, ah (meaning, I got you!)
Me (suddenly remembering my French
teacher in college): Trés bien! Trés bien!
Man : Aha, mademoiselle. (grinning from ear to ear, turning to Don with a
big thumbs up. I was so happy I made him glad. He hands our stamped passports
to Don.)
Me: (Trying to be even more
charming.) Merci beaucoup!
Don: Where do we go from here?
Man waves us off to a direction
behind him to the left.
And thus, started about 30 minutes of
getting lost looking for F1, where supposedly we could find Gate 31 for our
flight to Budapest. I'm glad we did not have to go back through Paris on our
way home. The Dutch were a little more merciful.
“Kelapa” or “Kepala”
There aren’t too many experiences
that humble one more than trying to learn a foreign language. On our first few months in Indonesia so many
years ago, while still learning the language, I was subjected to some strange
reactions as I tried to communicate with the new words I learned from our
language teachers. I remember being
stared at as I pointed to my head and told someone, “Kelapa saya” when I meant,
“Kepala saya.” The “Kelapa” meant
“coconut” and “Kepala” meant “head.”
Then I went to a little store looking for matches. I asked for “kereta api” which meant “train”
rather than “Koret api.” A favorite
story that went the rounds of our missionary circle was about a very dignified
senior missionary lady who was one day talking to the young man who helped with
the chores in her home. One morning she
told the young man to “Buka yang chelana” to the great shock of the young
man. What she meant was “Buka yang
chendela,” which meant “Open the window.”
Instead, she had said, “Open the trousers!”
My own
favorite story was about the first time I taught a group of about 30 Indonesian
kids. I had my flannelgraph board and
was skillfully putting the figures on. I
was teaching in Indonesian for the first time as I animatedly told the creation
story from the book of Genesis. The
children were all so very attentive and I thought, hanging onto every word I
said. The more attention I was given,
the more animated I became. After the
class and everyone but our neighbor Ambarwati was left, I asked her how the
lesson went. “Kami tidak memahami kata-kata apa yang Anda katakan! She plainly
told me as only an 8-year old could, “Ibu, we did not understand a word of what
you said.” After a whole year of
reading, memorizing and practicing, this was the judgment on my language
skills.
The Heart of a Language
But the more
difficult thing about communication is it really is not just a matter of reading,
memorizing and practicing. Language has
to be learned in its context. It cannot
be learned well unless it is learned in its culture. I call this learning the heart of the
language. Language may be part of a
people’s culture, but the people’s culture is also part of the language.
I often hear
a new language from my young friends, the millenials. I am learning their language
through social media. It is taking me
awhile to get used to their language as there is a part of me that is resistant
to it. I am still enamored with English
the way I learned it – complete words and sentences, expressive and always
takes time to say what it wants to say.
It does not say BFF when it means “Best Friends Forever.” It uses all 18 letters to say it. My millenial friends don’t have the time to
say all these letters. Then there is
“peeps.” They shorten the 6-letter
“people” to 4. “Husband” becomes
“Huz.” I’m still trying to learn the
heart of this language. I want to be
able to communicate with my young friends effectively. My “Huz” tells me that it comes from their
texting and twittering that require them to say more with less. I’m trying to find the heart of this language.
I have come to the conclusion that this new language requires that things be
said as quickly as possible with as little as possible. It seems to be a language of the hurried,
hurrying and would be hurried.
I’m probably just an old stick in the
mud. I remember my discussions with my
children when they were still in school and writing papers. I’d read them over and where I saw
contractions, I’d tell them to use complete words. They would tell me nobody wrote like that
anymore.
I wonder what this millennial
language would grow to. Will it ever
produce literary masterpieces such as Psalm 23 of King David, or Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, or the poetry of Robert
Frost’s “Walking Through the Woods on a Snowy Evening” and those of Robert
Browning, Emily Dickinson, etc. Let me try
my hand in a FB version of those famous lines from Frost.
D wds r lvly, drk n dp,
Bt I hv prmses 2 kp,
N myls 2 go b4 I slp.
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