For the Love of Languages (Guest Post by Letitia Juday)

Thrilling. That is the best word for it.

Speaking in a second language is an experience everyone should wish for, and a skill everyone should pursue. I know it is difficult to be excited when we are required to learn a language in high school or college. Classrooms are not famous for being exciting or thrilling. But let me tell you: if you work hard in the classroom and you are granted the awesome blessing of being able to travel to a country where your second language is spoken, the reward is huge.

Take today for example: Tiffany, Elle and I were supposed to go with the Bolivian medical director of Hospitals of Hope to the largest public hospital in Cochabamba, where he also works. Leta had work to do for the US office, so I was going to be the only person present who could speak Spanish and English. I was nervous; I always get nervous when I am designated “The Translator.” It’s quite a lot of pressure. I love it, and I am so honored to have this skill, but I am far from bilingual still, and I often cannot understand what a Bolivian says, simply because my vocabulary is not that huge.

But I had nothing to be nervous about today. This doctor is such a friendly, kind man, and loads of fun! We got in his car (I sat up front, so I helped myself to the seat belt, and it was my first time wearing one since arriving in Bolivia in August) and drove off toward the public hospital. I told him that earlier that morning, I had been watching Madagascar in Spanish to make my brain switch over to thinking in Spanish. He started singing, “I like to move it, move it” but in Spanish, and would randomly burst out into this song all morning. He is a genius for languages, speaking Spanish, Guarani, Quechua and Aymara. And although he says he does not like English and does not want to learn it, he knows some words from movies, like “Very good,” “You’re welcome,” “Alright. Let’s go!” “I got it,” etc. He asked me how to say “I think” and how to say “I am your father” from Star Wars.

At times, the English words that would burst from his mouth would make us burst out laughing. We passed a car accident and after clicking his tongue and commenting on the number of accidents in Bolivia, he said in English, “Destroyer! Superman!”

We got to the public hospital (which, let me just say, was NOT as nice as Hospitals of Hope), and found out that his boss was not going to be at work for a few more hours. So the doctor told us he would bring us back tomorrow at 2:00 PM. I wondered if that meant we weren’t going to stay today, but I did not ask. We followed him through the hospital and down the street and soon found ourselves back at his car. And we left. And stopped for a coke, and came home. So, basically, I translated for a ride around the city and brief stroll through the public hospital.

I have definite off-days and on-days when it comes to understanding and speaking Spanish. I’d say today was an on-day. I prayed that it would be. But that’s what makes me so nervous about being the designated translator. If it’s an off-day, there is much communication that gets lost, and it is my fault. But that’s what makes on-days so fabulous! Without me, there would be no communication between the two languages. It is SUCH a beautiful thing to be the channel of communication, to see people’s face light up with understanding as you explain what the other person said, to watch them laugh with delight after you translate a joke.

And even though translating is pretty darn awesome, my favorite is simply having a conversation with someone in Spanish. Although I usually do not ponder the situation while it’s happening, I look back and say to myself in total amazement, “Wow. I was communicating in a different language! Not English!”

I do not want you to get the idea that learning a second language is always peaches and lollipops. Unfortunately, my brain gets exhausted very quickly and I am often frustrated when I don’t understand something. My English is getting worse as my Spanish gets better. Once I was trying to say that many doctors were… but I could not think of the word. I scrunched up my face and thought and thought. Finally, Leta asked, “Do you know the word in Spanish?” I nodded. “Orgulloso!” And then she told me that the word I was searching for was arrogant.

But even though it is a tiring, often embarrassing, and frustrating process, as my Australian friends would say, “I am heaps grateful” for the opportunity to be in a situation where I have to learn Spanish. I would go through much worse than a little exhaustion and frustration to have the invaluable skill of communicating with millions more people than I could before.

Thanks for all the prayers concerning my language learning. Although I was super discouraged only yesterday, I can objectively say that I am speaking and understanding TONS more than when I first got here. When you pray for me, pray that I will be able to persevere through the discouragement that will never completely leave.

And to those of you studying another language, take heart! Study that grammar, perfect your pronunciation, and be ready for the day that God will give you the opportunity to become proficient.

Check out Letitia's blog (http://pakasqa.wordpress.com/) to read more about her experiences in Bolivia.

Changing Lives and Being Changed

Three short weeks ago, I came to Bolivia to temporarily fill in as the guest house hostess. Since then, I have been busy translating, cooking strange foods, and coordinating volunteer activities. I've met volunteers from all over the US and from as far away as Australia. We've worked together to find our way around an unfamiliar city, to communicate via hand motions and little bits of Spanish with a Quechua woman who came to our clinic, and to grow in our faith and in our ministry here.

These volunteers have jumped into life in Bolivia, helping feed babies at a local orphanage, washing the hair of street children, training EMTs, and more. It has been a privilege for me to be a part of their experience here, to see the ways God is working in them and through them.

One volunteer gave up hours of her time to keep an orphan boy company while he was in the hospital. Others have bravely shared their testimonies, helped translate at church, and sought ways to serve each other, as well as the people here.

The time the volunteers have here in Bolivia is limited, but I can see the effect they've had in the faces of the orphan girls they've played with, as well as in the way they interact with each other. I've seen them growing, struggling with the challenges of poverty and culture shock, and seeking how to love God and each other better.

Although volunteers come to Bolivia seeking to make a difference here-- and they do make a difference-- often they find that the biggest difference is in themselves.

These volunteers have already started to return to their various homes, and new volunteers are on their way. But I know that God will continue the work he has begun here, both in their lives and in the lives of those they've touched.

If You Are Where I Am

I'm never sure where home is anymore. When I'm in Wichita, I tell my friends that I'm going "home" to visit my parents. When I leave my parents' house to head back to work, I say that I'm going "home." And after leaving my "home" in the US, after having been away from Latin America for awhile, I also feel somewhat inexplicably at "home" here, in a country where I've never lived before, speaking a language that still is difficult for me.

It's not that I'm completely at ease here. I think I've experienced the first bits of culture shock this week. Waiting an hour for our driver to pick up volunteers for their flight back to the States, I certainly did a lot of internal grumbling about "Bolivian time." As the lights, water, and internet took turns randomly going out on Sunday, I laughed but really, really wished they'd come back on. Sitting on buses, being openly stared at because of my fair skin and blue eyes, it's fairly obvious that I, at least externally, don't belong.

Yet I love being here. I love the fact that I've started to think in Spanglish. I love shopping at the market, buying strange fruits and vegetables that I've never seen before. I love talking to the women selling food on the street corners and the taxi driver taking us "home" at night. And, while I've already started to miss my friends and family in the States, I know that I will miss Bolivia, as well.

There is a saying that missionaries are never happy except when they're in the airplane. There, for a few hours, they are content, knowing that they are going "home" to whichever home it is that they haven't been at. Once they arrive, they immediately start to miss their other home - the people, the sights, the smells, the sounds.

As I was coming back to the US from Guatemala a few years ago, dealing with culture shock, trying to get to know my own country again, the words of an old Rich Mullins song kept running through my head: "I am home anywhere, if You are where I am."

I repeated those words over and over to myself, hoping that they could be true. And I've come to believe, in the depths of my being, that they are.

I don't know where God will lead me in the future. I don't know if I'll travel to other continents, struggle to learn new languages, or never again travel outside of the state of Kansas. But I do know that this is true. My God is with me. And where He is, I am home.

Part of the family

This morning, I said goodbye to a member of my family. I'd only known him for about a week and a half, but there is no question that we are family.

Since I've come to Bolivia to temporarily run the HOH guesthouse, I've discovered a whole new branch of my family tree. The volunteers who are here all have different last names and come from different parts of the US, but this short time together has revealed an undeniable kinship. They alternately tease and affirm each other, like any close brothers and sisters, and they've dubbed me "Mama Leta." (This name is a bit ironic, as I'm less than a decade older than any of them. One suggested that instead of being their mother, I could be the "young, cool aunt.")

We've talked a lot this last week about what it means to be a part of the family of God, to have a connection deeper than that of blood, and how to live as children of our loving Father.

It's been bitter sweet getting to know each other this last little while, knowing each day that the time we have together is getting shorter. Together, we've struggled with communicating in a foreign language, confronted our fears and prejudices as we washed the lice-infested hair of street children, and laughed with the street vendors who came to our free clinic on Tuesday. It is hard to say goodbye, not knowing when we will all see each other again.

We will keep in touch, I think, as we all continue to process the things we have been learning here in Bolivia. And, although we will soon all be scattered, we know there is a family reunion coming.

I will see you there.

Hola de Bolivia!

As I write this, I'm sitting in the dining room of the HOH guest house in Vinto, Bolivia. One of the volunteers is playing the guitar in the background, and another group of them is in the kitchen making potstickers for dinner. We haven't been able to find quite all the required ingredients, so there have been a few creative substitutions. I think that's the way a lot of our cooking will be around here.

It's hard to believe that I've only been here for two days. We've kept busy at the hospital, visiting orphanages, buying groceries (which is quite a long process here), and navigating the public transportation. I'm here for three months, filling in as the guest house hostess until our new guest house hosts can start in December. It's been a lot of fun so far, although a few of us are battling colds and everyone is pretty tired from all we've been doing.

We're trying to take it a bit easier right now, until everyone gets rested up, but we've still got a lot planned. We're heading to the Casa de Alegria, a girls' orphanage, around 6 pm, and then we'll come back to the house for a late dinner. We'll also be making plans for our visit to the boys' orphanage tomorrow, where we'll be doing hygiene education and playing soccer. One of the boys from that orphanage is in the hospital here. He's improving, but it's a bit lonely for him, since he doesn't have parents or siblings to keep him company. One of the volunteers has really taken him under her wing, reading Bible stories to him and checking in on him throughout the day. We're hoping and praying that he'll be able to go home soon.

Thus far, I'm enjoying the change in pace and scenery. The volunteers have been wonderful, jumping in to help around the guest house, bravely sharing their testimonies at the hospital, and playing with kids at the orphanages. Over the next couple of months, I'll continue to keep you posted about life around the hospital and guest house. For now, I'd better get back to work. Hasta luego!