I’ve been teaching English for almost five years, but I still frequently find myself lost in translation or untangling a cultural collision. This week, I tried to navigate my way through the meaning of Valentine’s Day with my (mostly Somali Bantu) students. We talked about “holiday”, “heart”, “like”, “love”, and the custom of making and sending valentines to friends and family members. The women wondered to whom it’s appropriate to say “I love you” and why their daughters claim to love boys (their culture does not endorse dating). The men were more curious about how much flowers and candy cost and what our husbands were going to do for "Love Day" . . . and we're not sure, but we think they asked if it would give us "chills"! Omar is a few years older than me, large in stature with a face that suggests . . . well, “terrorist” was my first thought when he walked into my classroom last year (click on his picture for an up close)! Now he is one of my favorite and most mischievous students, so I was surprised at how engaged he was when deciphering “I like you.” “I love you.” “God bless you.” “Will you be my valentine?” After explaining each phrase, I asked, “Omar, will you be my valentine?” He answered seriously, “No, I will not.” The class burst out laughing! I thought, “Uh-oh, I’ve just offended an elder, spiritual leader and married man.
In unison, the class asked, “Why?" Instead of dissolving into Kizigua (Swahili), Omar said, “Let me try English . . .” and slowly pieced it together. “When I was young . . . I handsome man. Now I’m old . . . ugly man, no teeth. I’m sorry.” At this, the class really roared, but I didn’t. The person whose presence so intimidated me upon first impression, had just revealed a vulnerability and sweetness I never would have predicted. It probably got lost in translation (and the students’ laughter), but I said, “Omar, you are not an ugly man. You are a good man with a kind heart. His response was simply, “Ok. Thank you, teacher.” I hope that meant his answer is really “Yes.”
In unison, the class asked, “Why?" Instead of dissolving into Kizigua (Swahili), Omar said, “Let me try English . . .” and slowly pieced it together. “When I was young . . . I handsome man. Now I’m old . . . ugly man, no teeth. I’m sorry.” At this, the class really roared, but I didn’t. The person whose presence so intimidated me upon first impression, had just revealed a vulnerability and sweetness I never would have predicted. It probably got lost in translation (and the students’ laughter), but I said, “Omar, you are not an ugly man. You are a good man with a kind heart. His response was simply, “Ok. Thank you, teacher.” I hope that meant his answer is really “Yes.”
