Most people have cringed at one time or another at the following scene in Anywhere, USA. Someone from another country, with limited or no English is trying to communicate with a store clerk, waitress, taxi driver, policeman, etc, etc. The foreigner is obviously trying, but struggling, and as the American responds, you can practically read their thought process broadcasted above their exasperated heads: “Overly loud, painfully slow English = whatever language this person speaks.”
It is an often used, and, often failed formula.
Take comfort, though, in the knowledge that Americans are not the only ones who use the translation method of “my language spoken really loudly and really slowly equals your language.” My experience at the butt-end of this method here in Sicily is not cringe-worthy, however. More often, I’m trying so hard not to giggle that I forget to concentrate and try to understand what she’s saying. Because the person who uses this method most liberally is a young girl who is my 11-year old neighbor.
I’ve mentioned in a previous entry (“A Dinosaur in Sicily,” Sept 4, 2011) that our neighbors are a group of wonderful, incredibly friendly people. The one that is the most outgoing and full of smiles, P, has a bold and vivacious young daughter, Jessica. Dinosaur and I often return home in the evenings to find a group of the neighbor women and Jessica outside chatting, sitting on chairs spilling out into the street. They always greet us and invite us into their circle. Dinosaur and I are generally able to exchange pleasantries and perhaps tell our neighbors a little bit about what we’ve done that day (in first-person, present tense as opposed to past tense – don’t give our Italian that much credit. Generally speaking in the present tense while using the Italian gesture of a hand wave over your shoulder to mean “in the past” seems to get our point across). I’m better at being able to speak audible Italian than understand what’s being said to me. Sometimes I understand, but I’m slow to comprehend. I’m also in the habit, when in a group of Italians, of the following: being spoken to, not understanding, and then glancing around the group, hoping someone knows a little bit of English and can say a key word or two of the phrase that was spoken to me. Often children, especially, are helpful because sometimes they study English in school. Far too often, P will say something to me, I will immediately become a deer in headlights and I automatically look pleadingly to Jessica. Jessica, without fail, will repeat exactly what her mother just said, in Italian, three times louder than her mother said it, and in an adorable adolescent voice that is six octaves higher. If I still don’t comprehend right away, Jessica will repeat it again, this time shouting it, accompanied with flailing hand gestures. She’s a petite little thing, literally half my size, and when she’s at the point of shouting and flailing her hands at me, I lose all hope of understanding and I just crack up. Jessica, however, never seems daunted by this, and without fail the exact scenario will repeat itself next time.
I’m not saying it’s ok, America, to speak to a foreigner at the pace of a dying robot turned up to full volume. Let your adorable children do it instead.
 |
| Our outdoor table, set for a lasagna dinner (overlooking the street where our neighborly interactions go down). |
I wish you knew how much better my days are when I get to read your blog. I can hear your voice in my head, telling the stories, as if you're sitting right next to me, having a drink out of overly large wine glasses, on my porch in the fort :)
ReplyDeleteLike.
ReplyDeleteAw. that's cute. I mean, TOO FUN-NY!
ReplyDeleteAlso, I would like to make a reservation the next time that alfresco lasagna dinner is served.