Once, in a country far from my home, I sat in a mosque feeling grateful it was salah time, as it was the only time tourists were barred from entering. Although a tourist myself, being Muslim allowed me to step out of that tourist sphere and be, momentarily, at home in a mosque. As I
was there, a woman approached my sister sitting further away from me and spoke to her in very broken English. From my distance, I noticed the language barrier between the two wasn’t allowing the woman to be understood so I sent up a quick prayer, hoping I knew the language the woman spoke, and threw in my shot. I caught my sister’s attention and mouthed to her to ask the woman what language she spoke.
“She speaks Arabic,” my sister mouthed back after having asked her.
Perfect.
I introduced myself to the woman and offered my help. And my help she desperately needed. She had lost her young son and was unsure of where to go and who to notify to help her. I helped her talk to the police (as I also speak the language of the country I was in, Albania) and played a part in reuniting a mother with her child.
Another time, as I was doing my weekly shopping–this time right here at home–a man was communicating with the cashier using more hand signals than actual words. I discreetly approached the two, noticing there was a language barrier, and listened in, attempting to catch words that would help me decipher the man’s language. After hearing a few Albanian words come out of his mouth, I fully approached the two and stepped in to help the man who was foreign to the store as he was to the land and wasn’t sure where to find many of the things he was searching for. I (hope) was able to play a part in making him feel less alien.
In this winter which we just overcame, one of the coldest of my life, my car once got stuck in ice and began to drift in place. My neighbor noticed and came over and attempted to instruct me on what to do and how he’d help. This time, though, I didn’t speak his language. So, in a sorry attempt to talk to him through unclear hand gestures and enunciating the words I knew he wouldn’t understand weirdly loud, we got my car out of the ice. In the end, all I was able to say to him was a gracias I still remembered from middle school Spanish classes. A gracias in a crappy accent and unsure tongue. I wished I was able to say more to him in his tongue and truly express my gratitude.
When I first moved to the United States, six year-old me felt the greatest joy, a joy brighter than the sun, when I would meet people who spoke my languages. Therefore, I have found an immense importance in learning languages, not only for the knowledge they give me, but for the hopes that I can bring joy and relief to others that find themselves in the position of communication being barred because of their tongue.
