Language has the power to connect and inspire or draw a wedge between us. A conversation with someone in their mother tongue gives you the most complete perspective on who they are and their world view. In another language, they may not possess the nuance and adequate vocabulary to explain what they need and what they are passionate about. They may practice this language like crazy but still struggle with basic communication. We don’t know until we get to know their story. This is my language story.
I met my partner back in 2010, when I was visiting the country I now call home on a week-long trip. On the same night my dad wins an award for medical education research, I also go to a swing dance evening. I ask my partner to dance because I see him dancing a style of swing dance called Balboa. During our conversation off the dance floor I proclaim,
“This city feels so much like home. I could see myself living here someday.”
A few notes exchanged on Facebook later, fast forward a few years, and we start dating via Skype in September 2014. He finds out I am researching new countries to move to, having recently come back from living abroad for a year. So, around December he sends me a video all about the city he lives in. As I watch, this magician does card tricks while telling all the best facts. As he makes a cup of clean water and little people appear from out of the card deck, I find the message of a high quality of life and a good place to raise kids very appealing. Good selling points to me who is desperately hoping to become a mom soon. I take the video as a hint that my partner would like it if I chose to move and I decide to start learning his language.
I get an audio course with promises of being conversational after 30 days of daily sessions. New and unfamiliar in my ear, this language I have never heard before beckons me. My car trips going to and from work become an audio classroom. I get out of my car to teach music lessons and the one phrase that sticks in my head from talking to the guy on the CD is,
“How many cars are there in this country?”
The basic phrases I actually need, seem harder for me to remember. Things like
“May I have a glass of water?” I got the water part, but the “I would like” vs. the “May I have” all get squished together and if I try to say it out loud, the words turn out as a jumbled mess.
“Blah blah blah blah water?”
I get good at using google translate when searching for jobs that fit my qualifications. With excitement one day, I find an orchestra and private violin lesson job, the exact thing I am highly qualified for and would really enjoy. I get my hopes up on the day I apply, but all I ever get in return is the form letter saying “We received your application”. If I spoke the right language, an interview would be easy to come by. Instead, I come to the sad conclusion that I need to stop searching for music jobs except those posted in my mother tongue. I keep seeing ads for one organization with multiple bilingual schools. Since I speak the second language that the school promises to make the kids fluent in, native speakers are highly valued. At least I speak the right language. On a Skype call that week with my partner I tell him of my excitement to find a general music job with one of these schools near him. I say the name of the neighborhood it is located in. He looks at me blankly.
“Say that again?”
So I do. “Can you spell that for me?”
As I type the letters into the chat box he starts to laugh.
“That’s not the right pronunciation.”
And he explains how I am supposed to say it, those certain letters that have multiple ways to pronounce them — I had it all wrong. Good thing they don’t require me to know both languages for this job. I do an interview in February and keep applying for other things in the meantime, but nothing else shows up.
For me turning 40 and not yet being a mother, compels me to do a lot of things that I wouldn’t otherwise think of or wish to do. I know that I do my best teaching in one-to-one settings or with small groups of kids that get to know me and create great performances over time. This job would be none of that. I would have more than 450 students the first year, only seeing each class for one hour, one time a week and the classes would switch halfway through the year. But, I will be free to use my creativity to decide what things I want to teach as long as the students get through the grading criteria. I find it excitingly open-ended and also daunting because there is no suggestion for which direction to go in. However, I try to focus on the positive things I would gain and when I get offered the job in May, I take it. I have no other options.
Once offered the job, the processing of visa paperwork is handled by the school fairly quickly and by the end of July, I pack up and head abroad. I end up with horrible jet-lag when I arrive, finding myself dizzy and disoriented for nearly a week.
This is partly from the sudden shock that I just moved to a new partner, new country, a less than perfect job, and a language still evading my grasp.
If I get nothing else from my 6 months of talking to the friendly guy on the CD in my car, I at least manage to remember a few basic hellos and goodbyes and thank you. I make the big plunge and start into my job 2 weeks after arriving. Mostly recovered from the jet-lag by then, but I am far from settled in. Basic things like bank accounts and government paperwork make those two weeks fly by.
Now, a month or so has past and as I’m commuting through the city on the train, I start to pay attention to people talking, to see if I understand them. Most of the time, I get nothing. It’s like a big jumble of noise around me. I look up and wonder,
“Are they talking to me?”
“Should I tell them I don’t understand?”
I develop a bit of social anxiety because of the stress caused by trying to make it through my day to day routine. Most of the time when out and about, I retreat into my own thoughts and hope that people aren’t directing conversation at me. I struggle with the anxiety gnawing at me when in my home country I usually find myself excited to be around people. But, it’s isolating and frustrating when you don’t know what’s going on due to language barriers.
One day the train is obviously delayed and the instructions for what to do are buzzing around me. I strain to try and comprehend, but it’s no good. I suddenly notice that a lot of people all start to walk up the stairs in response to the announcement I don’t understand. I finally ask a lady near me if she can translate.
“Yes! I can help you. They announced that the train is departing from a different platform upstairs. It’s a bit strange because it’s a track that normally goes in the opposite direction. But, apparently, something is obstructing the tracks over here. My husband and I are going the same way and we can show you where to go.”
We end up having a lovely chat and I renew my faith in strangers. I remind myself that if I truly need help, someone will find a way to communicate with me.
In the grocery or other stores, I start to notice there is a standard question for check out. So, I decided instead of looking confused or asking if someone could translate, I would anticipate this as a question to be asked. Sometimes the question is worded,
“Do you need a bag?”
Sometimes “Would you like a sack?”
Not really knowing the actual words in the sentence, I just wait for a bunch of indistinguishable words to come out and then I respond with a “Yes” or “No”.
One day, I am waiting for the grocery checker to scan my items and I hear the seemingly familiar jumble of words. I answer confidently with a
“Yes.”
The checker keeps staring at me, waiting for me to say something else. We both stand there blinking and the checker repeats the question that sounds to me like
“blah, blah, blah, blah, blahah?”
She finally realizes I don’t understand and with an annoyed tone, translates into my mother tongue
“Do you need anything else?”
I mutter in reply, “Yes. I need a bag.”
I go away red in the face and thinking to myself I better just admit defeat and ask people at the store if they speak my mother tongue. Or I keep quiet and don’t say anything.
Then came December, stressed by my job and trying to get pregnant, I find myself at a party with my partner’s friends. I suffered through 4 years of infertility and a miscarriage with a previous partner, and now some of that pain and anguish is coming back to haunt me. Always coming home exhausted from work, I find the idea of language learning overwhelming. We walk into the party and while sitting to take off our shoes, someone I have never met before asks me,
“Are you taking language classes?”
I plan to start language classes as soon as things with culture shock and the newness of my job settle down, but I start with the simple answer.
“No”.
Without asking for any clarification about my future plans, she launches into a lecture -
“You immigrants! You never bother to learn our language. You think because so many people are bilingual here that you can just get by with your mother tongue. You know you NEED to learn our language too? When are you going to try?”
I bite my lip and mutter something about taking classes later. The dinner conversation buzzes incomprehensible around me, despite the fact that this whole group also speaks my mother tongue. After some time, I go to the toilet hoping for an escape from this mental loneliness, only to realize the blood of my menstruation showed up in all its glory. I turned 43 a few weeks ago and still am not any closer to being a mother.
My mind becomes flooded with emotion from being shamed about not speaking this language fluently after 4 months, and then left out of the conversation, and now my body decides to betray me as well.
I wipe back my tears and make my way back to the table. Out of the sea of words I can’t decipher, I comprehend
“Can you pass the ginger?”
I instinctively reach for the pickled ginger and pass it over without even really registering that I did comprehend this one thing of the night. I continue to retreat into my thoughts and completely tune out what anyone is saying. I wish fervently for the dinner to be eaten and gone from the table so I can escape the downward spiral of my thoughts.
As we finally say goodbye to our friends, one of them says something quickly to me. I am so emotional and wanting to bolt out the door that I can’t get through the mental mud to find the meaning in her words. I have no brain power left to try. She repeats herself and when I still blankly stare back, she translates,
“I just said farewell and good night!” Followed by, “Wow! You really DO need to work on your language skills. That’s such a basic phrase you should know by now.”
I spin through my mental notes of greetings and goodbyes I have learned and am sure the ones I know are different. Yet, I am still feeling like I have learned nothing after nearly a year has passed since I started my course with the guy on the CD. I spend the rest of the night crying when we get home. I want to swallow a magic language pill where I will instantly understand everyone and also be understood. But, I know the real secret lies in trying and failing and learning some more.
A month passes and things start to look up. On our first visit to the fertility clinic, I get a positive pregnancy test. And, I start to process and understand more of my new language.
As my belly begins to swell and I get preferential seating on the train and bus, I also get more conversational inquiries from strangers. I learn my numbers so that when the little old lady sitting next to me on the bus says something warm and bubbly to me, I can at least reply with
“I am 7 months now.”
She says something else I’m unsure of. I do a lot of smiling and nodding and enjoy the moments of comprehension when they come.
When birth is imminent, my water breaks early, but contractions are not forthcoming, so they use medication to induce labor. With a shift change of doctors brings a swirl of incomprehensible words; I am in brain and physical overload. My partner relays to me.
“They want to give you another dose to keep the contractions going.”
I look at the doctors and declare,
“No more medication! My mind is foggy enough already. Besides the monitors and my body clearly show signs of significant labor.”
As the doctors continue to confer about me and translate my statements to each other, I speak quietly to my partner,
“I have to change something or I’m going to need an epidural. I feel like my thoughts are going through molasses. Please ask for acupuncture. Maybe that will help turn the tide.”
I need peace. Soon after, I get a few needles placed in my head and the midwife comes bearing good news.
“The room with the bathtub is free now. You can move there.”
Moving from the language buzzing in my ears and the annoying monitor strapped to my belly, to the quiet room at the end of the hall causes a big shift. I get in that water and my troubles of being new in the country and trying to communicate all melt away. I center in and focus on getting this baby coaxed out of my body. Left in peace and quiet, things move quickly and only a few hours later I hear the midwife telling me,
“Reach down and pick up your baby.”
I feel this surge of happy hormones and they help me to lie down and place him on my chest, only to be poked a little and then we are told,
“He is having trouble breathing. We have to take him. Now!”
The 2nd midwife motions to my partner to follow so that our son has some comforting voice near him.
I am suddenly left alone with the older midwife who is in charge of stitching me up. I feel the pain ripping through me as she is working and finally after some time I ask,
“Are you finished yet?”
She pauses to look up briefly and says,
“Haven’t started yet, just checking to see where you tore first.”
She has a military efficiency about her that speaks of her years in practice, but I am greatly missing the warmth of the midwives from a previous shift. Efficiency is more important to her than connection and I can also guess that she isn’t comfortable speaking my mother tongue so it’s easier not to talk. I feel so alone without someone to really see me, my heart, and my pain. I need someone to talk me through this, especially when my baby has been ripped from my arms and my partner is no longer at my side. But, she stays mostly silent with me floating in waves of shock and physical pain and constantly asking
“Are we done yet?”
Eventually, we come home from the hospital after a week of intensive care and extra checkups and light therapy. My husband is off work for another 2 weeks so he can help me get things established with breastfeeding and settled into our home with our new addition. I am in an altered state for a while, cocooning in at home and not wanting to go anywhere.
When my son is 3 months old, I finally start 4-hour language classes on Saturdays. We have a half hour break in the middle of class for lunch, during which I use the breast pump and attempt to eat something at the same time. Always the last one back in the classroom, often the teacher has already resumed the lesson before I sit back down. One day, I am in the bathroom to change into my breast pump top when I look in my bag and realize I forgot an essential part of the breast pump. Thinking about making it through the rest of the class without my baby or a breast pump makes me start to panic. I know other moms hand express their milk. I try to remember what I read in a book on this and I break a sweat trying to figure out how to squeeze my breast in just the right way to make milk come out. It’s no use. I can’t get a single drop out. And now, my lunch break is nearly over and not only do I have no relief from my surging milk supply, but I also haven’t eaten anything. I call my partner,
“Can you bring the parts I’m missing for the breast pump?”
I sit back in class after the break with my breasts so full, I can’t concentrate on the learning at all. I chew snacks and vegetables and fruit that I was supposed to have eaten during the break and try not to disrupt the teacher too much with all my crunching. A half hour later, my partner pops his head in the room and motions to me. I excitedly step outside the door, thinking I will be able to breastfeed for relief and my partner drops his voice low, points at our son and tells me
“He fell asleep on the way here. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”
Sitting back down in the classroom, all I can think of is
“Wake up baby, wake up!”
After a while I get the signal, and I bring my son back into the classroom and sit feeding while we continue. Finally, some breastfeeding relief allows me to focus my thoughts! But, by that point, the class is nearly over. As we go to put our stuff away, another classmate says to me,
“I am impressed that you are taking classes with your son being so young. I never left the house for that long when my children were that age. I’ve been in this country several years and I’m just now getting around to taking classes. What you are doing takes a lot of courage.”
I think to myself, “Yes. I am courageous.”
And I learn that others also struggle with juggling family and work and language learning. I am not alone.
A few months later, I find myself in the health food store that I frequent often since it is near where my son has nurse checkups. I realize the cashier who is working doesn’t know my mother tongue but is also not a native speaker here. And this is not a normal purchase day where I can just deal with the
“Do you want a bag?” or the “Do you want anything else?” questions.
This is a day where I have to return something. I need to communicate in more than nods and gestures.
I start with a smile, hand her my supplement I want to return and start with
“Work not.”
She looks at me confused
“Why? You need help for use?”
“No.”
I don’t think she understands the returning part. I stop and rack my brain for vocabulary that fits with what I want to say. What words do I know?
“Husband my bought.”
She is wondering if I used it already or not
“You try to use?” she says
“Allergic me”
I stumble awkwardly on.
“Allergic?” She says back to me “No good.”
“Take back you?” I manage.
Now she understands that I need to return and nods in agreement.
I show her my receipt from the purchase. As she is about to ring up my return, I realize I still need to buy something else behind the counter.
“Need also...um”
And I search in my brain for what the word for that supplement is
“Wait a minute.”
I look at my google translate on my phone and then give her the name of the herb.
“What you saying?” I show her my phone.
“Ah. Yes — we have” she says.
We finally realize with lots of pauses and hesitation, we have reached an understanding and she rings up my new purchases and takes off money for the return. I feel proud to be communicating in my new language. As I am going out the door, another employee who had been standing off to the side says to me in my mother tongue,
“I could have helped you out, but it was more amusing watching you two figure it out.”
At first, I think he is teasing me about my poor language skills, but he goes on.
“You did well. Keep trying, that’s how you get better.”
I am starting to process and communicate in the language of my new home and I realize it doesn’t have to be grammatically perfect. We just need to understand each other. I came to this country for the promise of a family and I stay because of the promise of a better life. Someday I will be bilingual, but for now, I am happy for the chance to communicate and sometimes be understood.
— — — — — — — — —
I am an American living in Sweden with my partner, Mattias who is now my husband and our son, Emanuel.
