Kathy Rohloff:
Language Barrier

Prior to our visit to Guatemala, I diligently studied Spanish through the Rosetta Stone home course. I progressed rather rapidly and found that I could read a great deal of Spanish.

Russ was further behind, so speaking it to each other was a problem. He would laughingly say, "El gato esta volando." (Translation: the cat is flying. A funny joke when you are careening around the living room with a 15- pound cat in your arms, but hardly worthwhile on the streets of Antigua.)

At the first hotel we stayed, there was a five-year-old girl in the courtyard petting her dog. I decided I would make my first attempt and queried, "El perro llama?" This is not the right way to ask for the dog's name, but that's all I could come up with. She turned enormous brown eyes upon me, silently studied me, and said, "His name is Bill." That was the only English I ever heard her say.

Later, while sitting in my room she ran by with two other children, as I was waving red licorice sticks in my hand. They entered my room as I asked, "Te llama? Cuantro anos? Hermano? Hermana?" I was able to find out their names, ages, and that they were cousins. (Three licorice each.) I figured out they were cousins because they said no to hermano and hermana, brothers and sisters. This conversation was punctuated with a lot of laughter on all of our parts and a depleted bag of licorice.

Early the next morning we were meeting our son Peter for breakfast and were closing the courtyard gate behind us when a young boy around 14 said, "Lo siento, blah, blah, blah, casa, blah, blah, blah, por favor."

I clearly didn't understand anything but his "I'm sorry" at the beginning, "house" in the middle, and his "please" at the end. He smiled and repeated himself, eased past the door I was closing and scooted into the courtyard.

"What did he say?" Russ asked.

"I don't know. It could have been 'I'm sorry but you are in the wrong house, please leave.' Maybe it was 'I'm sorry, but this house is under quarantine, see a doctor please.' Or he could have said 'I'm sorry, I'm a mass murderer coming to this house, open the door please.'

"Russ, what have I done?"

"Probably nothing," he reassured me.

When I repeated the incident to Peter, he laughed and said, "He probably got locked out last night and didn't want his parents to know. You're safe; he might not be."

When we left that hotel two days later, Russ sent me in to settle the bill insisting, "You know how to speak Spanish."

With a lot of hand gestures, and "dinero" in hand I settled the bill. I even managed to tell her, "El baño es muy bueno. Gracias." I did love the clean bathroom, and although the words weren't perfect, she understood.

I really did attempt to speak in Spanish. When the bottom of Russ' chair broke, I assured the laughing matron that, "El esta parada aqui. No sentada." (He's standing here. No sitting.)

When I was accosted by the various vendors, I repeated, "Estoy mirando," over and over again. (I am looking.) Miraculously, they would then leave me alone.

Peter was behind me as I assured some zealous jewelry sellers, "No me gusto," concerning the various wares they were selling. Although I thought I was telling them I didn't like it, Peter informed me that I was telling them I didn't like myself.

"They can figure it out," I said confidently.

On the last night of our visit, we stayed with Peter's host family. Since this is the fourth year that he has stayed with them, there is a warm friendship established. This is especially evident with Juan, the father. Juan is in his 70s, soft-spoken, and gracious. Earlier in the week, I had listened to Peter and Juan talk about the Mayan ruins, the weather, and the town of Antigua. I had probably understood 80% of the conversation.

On this last night I spoke a few words haltingly to Juan. I wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed the visit, his hospitality, and his kindness to Peter and our family. Many times I interjected "bueno" and "gracias" into my conversation. Unfortunately, I felt that my Spanish was inadequate to express my gratitude.

It was then that Juan paid me a huge compliment and began to speak in broken English. "Your Peter is a good son to you. He is doing much good in Guatemala. We are glad he is here. While he is here, he will be my son. And you are now my family. My house is your house. Whenever you come to Guatemala, you are welcome to my house."

That's when we found that there was no barrier; we were speaking the same language.