I can't understand Portuguese, but I love to listen to the conversation, the flow of sounds, the feelings. It's like listening to music. When I really want to know what's happening, though, I strain to recognize any Spanish syllables. When I want to be understood I try out my few Spanish words and I elicit gentle Portuguese corrections and sympathetic smiles.
I might do better without saying anything.
Larry and I had been here at Central University of Sao Paolo for only two days when we ran out of toilet paper. I marched down to the main desk of the girls dorm where we're staying, certain that TOY-let had a universal ring to it and pah-PEL or anything similar would finish off the conversation.
The round-faced, dark-eyed college girl behind the counter looked at me blankly.
I made a tube in the air and tore off an imaginary piece
of...toilet paper, of course.
She tipped her head and lowered her eyebrows. I shrugged. She didn't move. Surely there's a better way to understand each other.
No pens on the counter. No paper in my pockets. I scratched my fingernail on the palm of my hand. Several girls nearby nodded knowingly, clued her in and she went into action, shuffling through the clutter on the counter in front of her and producing a stub of a pencil. Someone slid a piece of paper toward me that they'd torn off of something less important than my need.
Our conversation had become a social activity in true Brazilian style--get a group and get involved!
I went into speed-artist mode: A fat ribbon of flowing tissue coming off an equally chubby cylinder. A commode base like I remember cleaning all my life. (Do you really know what a toilet looks like below the seat?!) Then a loop for a lid. A back to lean against. It resembled those five-stroke sketches in the first edition of the Living Bible. With a flourish, I handed it to her.
Her response was electric; her face exploded with delight! "VAL-lee GAH-ood!" she declared as she held the little paper up for better inspection. Those nearby laughed, sighed, approved. She twirled around the end of the receptionist's desk and motioned me to follow her down a long hall to a locked cupboard. Obviously delighted with herself, she ceremoniously placed a package of four rolls in my outstretched hands. Our eyes met. I don't know what language we had just spoken, but we both knew it and were satisfied. I laughed all the way back to our room, not because I'd been awarded a week's worth of toilet paper in one grand windfall but because I had been understood!
I've been searching for that electric smile on some round-faced, brown-eyed college girl ever since. We have ten more days here. I would love to share that moment again. With the hundreds of guests who've asked her for help over the last few days, she may have forgotten. I'd like her to know how thankful I was she could understand and how satisfying it was to be understood.
We had crossed the sturdy bridge that makes friends of strangers.
I might do better without saying anything.
Larry and I had been here at Central University of Sao Paolo for only two days when we ran out of toilet paper. I marched down to the main desk of the girls dorm where we're staying, certain that TOY-let had a universal ring to it and pah-PEL or anything similar would finish off the conversation.
 |
| One of four wings of the girls' dorm at UNASP. Our room is on the 2nd floor, third and fourth large window from right. |
I made a tube in the air and tore off an imaginary piece
of...toilet paper, of course.
She tipped her head and lowered her eyebrows. I shrugged. She didn't move. Surely there's a better way to understand each other.
No pens on the counter. No paper in my pockets. I scratched my fingernail on the palm of my hand. Several girls nearby nodded knowingly, clued her in and she went into action, shuffling through the clutter on the counter in front of her and producing a stub of a pencil. Someone slid a piece of paper toward me that they'd torn off of something less important than my need.
Our conversation had become a social activity in true Brazilian style--get a group and get involved!
I went into speed-artist mode: A fat ribbon of flowing tissue coming off an equally chubby cylinder. A commode base like I remember cleaning all my life. (Do you really know what a toilet looks like below the seat?!) Then a loop for a lid. A back to lean against. It resembled those five-stroke sketches in the first edition of the Living Bible. With a flourish, I handed it to her.
Her response was electric; her face exploded with delight! "VAL-lee GAH-ood!" she declared as she held the little paper up for better inspection. Those nearby laughed, sighed, approved. She twirled around the end of the receptionist's desk and motioned me to follow her down a long hall to a locked cupboard. Obviously delighted with herself, she ceremoniously placed a package of four rolls in my outstretched hands. Our eyes met. I don't know what language we had just spoken, but we both knew it and were satisfied. I laughed all the way back to our room, not because I'd been awarded a week's worth of toilet paper in one grand windfall but because I had been understood!
I've been searching for that electric smile on some round-faced, brown-eyed college girl ever since. We have ten more days here. I would love to share that moment again. With the hundreds of guests who've asked her for help over the last few days, she may have forgotten. I'd like her to know how thankful I was she could understand and how satisfying it was to be understood.
We had crossed the sturdy bridge that makes friends of strangers.
1 comment:
Language confusion is hilarious. We laugh in the process. Faces light up when it becomes obvious we don't understand one another. Some of our happiest moments when human beings acknowledge differences and try hard to bridge them. Mostly because they want to connect and be of help. I'm sure the Lord smiles often at the confusion but knows without doubt that His gospel and the hope it brings is truly translatable.
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