COLUMN: Kids in Any Language
Children in any language
Here in Morocco, my imperfect French and my cave-man Arabic sometimes lead to miscommunication. It can be frustrating when the mispronunciation of an ‘H’ sound stands between me and buying milk. It can be embarrassing when I accidentally don’t germinate an ‘L’ and curse someone instead of thanking them. It can be humiliating when I mispronounce the name of the country and say ‘garbage’ instead. However, there is one audience with whom I have no difficulty communicating: kids.
Not only do most children speak entirely in the present tense and have a vocabulary equivalent to mine which greatly facilitates my aural comprehension, they are also still in the process of learning their own cultures norms and politesse and therefore are quick to excuse my faux-pas if they recognize them at all. But most of all the beauty of communicating with kids is that you don’t need words at all.
When I’m in a particularly awkward situation (generally when I don’t understand anything going on around me) I seek out the children. There is always one hiding just outside the salon where I’m being received for tea, a few seats over on public transportation, or just in front of me in line. My bag of tricks for wordless communication includes a piece of gum, working knowledge of ‘peek-a-boo’, a coin, and no sense of propriety when it comes to energetic bursts of movement.
It amazes me that no matter where I go in the world, people play some version of rock paper scissors. I dueled a four year old in Japan with the same fervor as my five year olds at Camp Nassau (though the words were different). Morocco is no exception, “zim bom bah” can pass hours of time here.
Counting can also be very useful. Teaching children how to count to three in different languages, followed by a jump, swing, or tickle can be an amazing way to make friends. One-Two-Three, throw them in the air. Wahed-Zhoozh-Teleta, tickle them in the stomach. Un-Deux-Trois jump to try to touch the clothes line. Ichi-Ni-San slap their hands before they can pull away. Eins-Szwei-Dri race around the yard.
Public transportation is one arena where I am always interacting with children. A gracious mother recently thanked me in rapid fire Arabic (about a quarter of which I understood) for having provided her children with the two tools he needed to stop fidgeting and crying on the train, pen and paper. All it took on my part was a universally understood ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in reaction to his pictures and the child was quiet and happy for the rest of the three hour ride.
I recently had a terrible day when I decided to take a bus instead of my normal taxi home. I asked for direction and managed to board a bus and then sat patiently for over an hour. Suddenly there was no one on the bus but me and we were no where near my neighborhood. A confusing exchange with the driver revealed that I had been riding in the wrong direction and arrived at the end of the line. After charging me a second fare to return I was in a dejected mood. As more passengers boarded the bus I found myself sitting behind a crying infant propped over his mother’s shoulder. I ventured that there might be a universal dislike for sun in one’s eyes so with one hand as a sun shield, and the other offered to give him something to squeeze, I rode the bus for one more hour as my steam dissipated and his tears dried. While the driver was cursing me for my mistake at least the rest of the bus was praising me for calming the screaming child.
Which hand is the (insert local currency) in? How high can you jump? I declare a thumb war. The possibilities for non-verbal games are endless. No matter what language a child speaks, entertainment is appreciated with or without perfect aural comprehension. So while I have yet to understand the news programs in their entirety and my trips to the grocer still involve a lot of frantic pointing, there are at least moments in my day when a kid and I just ‘get’ each other.
Here in Morocco, my imperfect French and my cave-man Arabic sometimes lead to miscommunication. It can be frustrating when the mispronunciation of an ‘H’ sound stands between me and buying milk. It can be embarrassing when I accidentally don’t germinate an ‘L’ and curse someone instead of thanking them. It can be humiliating when I mispronounce the name of the country and say ‘garbage’ instead. However, there is one audience with whom I have no difficulty communicating: kids.
Not only do most children speak entirely in the present tense and have a vocabulary equivalent to mine which greatly facilitates my aural comprehension, they are also still in the process of learning their own cultures norms and politesse and therefore are quick to excuse my faux-pas if they recognize them at all. But most of all the beauty of communicating with kids is that you don’t need words at all.
When I’m in a particularly awkward situation (generally when I don’t understand anything going on around me) I seek out the children. There is always one hiding just outside the salon where I’m being received for tea, a few seats over on public transportation, or just in front of me in line. My bag of tricks for wordless communication includes a piece of gum, working knowledge of ‘peek-a-boo’, a coin, and no sense of propriety when it comes to energetic bursts of movement.
It amazes me that no matter where I go in the world, people play some version of rock paper scissors. I dueled a four year old in Japan with the same fervor as my five year olds at Camp Nassau (though the words were different). Morocco is no exception, “zim bom bah” can pass hours of time here.
Counting can also be very useful. Teaching children how to count to three in different languages, followed by a jump, swing, or tickle can be an amazing way to make friends. One-Two-Three, throw them in the air. Wahed-Zhoozh-Teleta, tickle them in the stomach. Un-Deux-Trois jump to try to touch the clothes line. Ichi-Ni-San slap their hands before they can pull away. Eins-Szwei-Dri race around the yard.
Public transportation is one arena where I am always interacting with children. A gracious mother recently thanked me in rapid fire Arabic (about a quarter of which I understood) for having provided her children with the two tools he needed to stop fidgeting and crying on the train, pen and paper. All it took on my part was a universally understood ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in reaction to his pictures and the child was quiet and happy for the rest of the three hour ride.
I recently had a terrible day when I decided to take a bus instead of my normal taxi home. I asked for direction and managed to board a bus and then sat patiently for over an hour. Suddenly there was no one on the bus but me and we were no where near my neighborhood. A confusing exchange with the driver revealed that I had been riding in the wrong direction and arrived at the end of the line. After charging me a second fare to return I was in a dejected mood. As more passengers boarded the bus I found myself sitting behind a crying infant propped over his mother’s shoulder. I ventured that there might be a universal dislike for sun in one’s eyes so with one hand as a sun shield, and the other offered to give him something to squeeze, I rode the bus for one more hour as my steam dissipated and his tears dried. While the driver was cursing me for my mistake at least the rest of the bus was praising me for calming the screaming child.
Which hand is the (insert local currency) in? How high can you jump? I declare a thumb war. The possibilities for non-verbal games are endless. No matter what language a child speaks, entertainment is appreciated with or without perfect aural comprehension. So while I have yet to understand the news programs in their entirety and my trips to the grocer still involve a lot of frantic pointing, there are at least moments in my day when a kid and I just ‘get’ each other.
posted by Laura | 3:10 AM
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