Friday, July 18, 2008

Lost in Lack of Translation

I can't tell you the number of times I've had deep, meaningful conversations of which I've understood next to nothing. Curse the lapsement of my French studies! Curse my knee jerk listening response of smiling and nodding leaving the speaker no clue that I have no idea what he's saying! Curse my (yes I'll say it) excellent French accent which makes people think I understand as well as I pronounce! The language problem is a problem. There are so many people I want to get to know better, who no doubt have incredible stories to tell- should they chose to tell them- but we're stuck with only broken pieces of language between us.

Today, for instance, I heard Adonis and Theo (or maybe Deo I'm never really sure about the names I just make guesses based on how they sound and sometimes I'm wrong for days. Pink shirt Confise for example is actually Clovis, I think and tomorrow I could find out that's wrong too. I'm starting to see the appeal of name tags.) singing a song together as they worked so I moved closer to listen. Adonis explained to me (en francais and this part I believe I understood correctly) that the song was an old Protestant hymn from America, translated into Kirundi. Then there was something about spirituals sung by slaves in America. He said he likes very much to listen to Theo because he knows many proverbs. He also liked to listen to his grandfather. And here, where it gets interesting, is where I fall further and further down into the spaces between the words I know and can only just get the gist of things.

My sense is that he was talking about how much of his country's history is lost because there are so few people who live to be old. That stories don't get passed down. That even the number of people who remember the time before independence, the days of the Belgians (which was only 40 years ago remember) is small and getting smaller. He has an idea for a project to talk to older people, ask them questions about not just what they remember but what perhaps their parents and grandparent might have told them. And I'm sure there was more and I wanted to ask so questions but didn't remotely know the words and was pretty sure I wouldn't understand the answers.

It's hardest with the masons and other workmen who only speak Kirundi. Study hard as I may in the 4 weeks I'm here I can't possible get to the point of having a conversation. I'll be lucky if I get much past being able to tell them that the woman and her daughters are hoeing in their small field. I can say good morning and see you tomorrow. I can say "I give you bricks" and "I bring small stones over there?" and "I am not tired." But I can't participate in or even understand their long and jovial conversations with each other. My kingdom for a Babel Fish.

But there was also this at the end which Adonis said in his halting English: "To see mzungu here in Kamenge, to see John who is a professor working like we do, to see you working here with us is a good thing. Our country is poor. We need help and you come. We are happy to see you in our country."

It has happened several times walking down the street, and today even on the bus, we are drawn into conversations with people, usually in French, about the state of Burundi. Everyone knows and everyone says, "Our country is poor, can America help our country?" What can we do but say, "Nous essayerons. We will try."

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