Tweenage boys in the back of a truck by the rugby field shout, “teach me your language!” as I walk by doing my visits in the village.
I throw them a bone. “Hello!”
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello!” Look, what have you done*.
*From a favorite terrible cookie fortune, not my own words but they have entered my repertoire easily.
In trying to express my American thoughts I get tangled in Spanish verb tenses and hung up on vocabulary. When people explain to me what a phrase means, though, I suddenly remember that language is not just made of words but captures a culture’s way of thinking.
I need to get in people’s heads.
Last night after seeing a play at the local “cultural space,” we went to the director’s house for an after-party of sorts. It’s an artist’s house, my roommate and I were reassured, so you don’t need permission to sit anywhere. Make yourselves at home.
“Look at the salamander!” I shouted, pointing at the flicker of orange moving along the kitchen wall. “How do you say salamander?” Some fellow party-goers taught me the word, then made it clear that the salamander was no big deal. What would really surprise me were the tatus in the backyard. The what? Gestures followed. “You know, tatus, this size (hands spread), kind of round… come see.”
They lead me out to the spacious back patio, adorned with painted birdcages. Two armadillos scurried between the heavy wooden benches and tables. Their names were Cristal and Daniel.
It’s easy to convince yourself that your Spanish is getting better, that you understand more and more each day. That is, it’s easy until you unknowingly consume empanadas filled with vegetables and alligator meat. As far as I could understand, the plan for my co-worker’s birthday midday meal went like this: her boyfriend holds a number of odd jobs. One of them, over the summer, was working on a farm that sells meat. His boss gifted him some food, and he passed it on to his girlfriend. She stuck it in our freezer, and took it out to thaw last night, saying how excited she was to finally eat it. I glanced at the frozen hunk while washing dishes. Sure, there were some unfamiliar words on the package, but what else is new? It turned out that caiman is not just another word for carne, meat. But guess what else? Alligator tastes just like chicken. Except it makes you feel way more awesome.
Though my sentences are rusty and my vocabulary stale, I know Spanish. What I haven’t yet learned is how the language falls apart lazily in people’s mouths here.
mucho monisia 