It's All Greek to Me.... the language learning curve

His face was clearly distressed. His brow was furled and his eyes narrow as he paced back and forth in front of his home, dust flying. When I saw him, I knew I was in trouble. He had been expecting me. and I was late.

Joel was fiery, energetic, and (usually) patient. We could do anything together: read, play ball, or tell stories about life and the way things were. He could tell the same story a thousand times, and maintain the same excitement and passion as the first. Whenever I had a bad day, I just needed to think about his smile and unending optimism, and I knew I would feel better. He was my lifeline. He was also four years old. And today, he was not feeling so understanding.

As soon as he saw me, he maintained his look of displeasure long enough for me to understand what I’d done, and then instantly broke into a toothless grin. Before I knew it, he was running into my arms, pointing inside, and jabbering on about his latest conquest, involving a bug and a stick. I was actually here today to tutor his older sister, who was currently failing my class. Originally, when I had imagined myself tutoring, I had hoped it would be with teenagers or adults, looking to practice their already-decent English and willing to pay for it. I mean, I am a volunteer and a little extra spending money would have been lovely. And the company of an older crowd couldn’t hurt either. However, when Joel’s mother had asked me how much I charged, I couldn’t utter anything besides “nada.” How could I possibly charge a family who had cooked me lunch and taken me to the beach without a thought of cost? And who, I should also add, did not have a functioning toilet. I couldn’t. obviously.

So here I sat, Joel in my lap, trying to explain the use of the sentence “I am wearing…” to a smiling 5^th grade girl without a clue. The whole affair made me really think about language, perspective, and choices. If you had told me a year ago that I would be here, in Colombia, in a house where no one spoke English, I would probably have laughed. I came to Colombia without a word of Spanish, and no overwhelming talent for picking up languages on the fly. To this day I understand maybe 30% of what people say to me. Still, against my better judgment, I continue to go to lunches at students’ homes. I still try to talk to families and spend time with my students after school. This is all because I’ve come to learn in my 4 months here so far, that language is not just a barrier. It’s an opportunity. A chance to learn and a chance to connect with someone using whatever tools you have available. It’s not about how quickly you can form your sentences or whether you use the perfect vocabulary or idioms. It’s about effort. It’s the time you take to sit down and listen. It’s the message. The smiles you witness when an understanding has been found. For me, Spanish is a source of immense frustration, pleasure, challenge, and accomplishment. Compared to the other volunteers here in Barranquilla, my skills are terribly lacking and I am constantly confused and embarrassed on a regular basis. But I'm also learning. I'm making friends. and I'm getting there. and that's what counts.

The same is true with for my English students. When we started, they knew absolutely nothing. Now they are actually learning vocabulary and trying to use it. They are making sentences (sometimes half in English and half in Spanish) but they are learning. When visitors come, they are eager to use their warm up questions on the new faces. "Where are you from?" "What is your name?" "How old are you?" The amount that they still don't know is certainly overwhelming, but it doesn't stop them from trying. The truth is, I learn a lot from their enthusiasm. From teaching them English, I have not only picked up new Spanish vocabulary, but I have watched their eagerness to learn and to try and it has really been a source of motivation for me.

So here I sit, trying to channel my inner Spanish to help Isabel understand how English is similar. Neighborhood kids are waving from outside, visitors are constantly passing by, and joel is jammering away. It's probably a billion degrees and bugs are everywhere. But this is my life. Language acquisition is certainly a difficult process, marked by a great deal of trial and error. But if my kids are willing to listen to me and try to learn, then I owe them the same patience, both with them and with myself. So, with dictionary in tow, we trudge on. Me with my Spanish and Isabel with her English. Learning from each other and growing together. And with Joel giggling by my side (as an ant crawls up my arm), I now know that some things are the same in every language.