Language

We need to measure the progress we make. Work gives us guidelines, but life happens when we are making other plans. Our work schedules and agendas, while important, don’t gauge all areas of growth. Try learning a new language. I’ve studied Amharic, Arabic, Hebrew, French, Spanish, Greek, and Russian. I’m no scholar. I’m a generalist. However, English is my default. I’m most confident using American English.

Today, I met a man from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He spoke to me in English, French, and Amharic. His name was Franklin. I asked if I could abbreviate it, and he said no. I appreciated and respected his boundaries. He was a brilliant soul. He spoke Amharic more fluently than I did. He said the word Amharic in Amharic.

It deeply saddened me that I had to put our interaction into ambiguous words. Franklin rang my doorbell to introduce himself to me as a service man arriving for routine maintenance, but if I say “he rang my bell,” that has a sexual connotation. He literally pressed a button and announced himself, but here I am implying that I was satisfied with him in a physical, sexual way by merely putting into words our exchange. For that reason, I hate language. The number of relationships we can describe are limited. Everyday English is not as nuanced and innocent as it should be.

I am not Franklin’s wife. I am not his coworker. I am not his sister. I am grateful to him for his professionalism and courteous demeanor. The moment he discovered I was Ethiopian-American, he expressed himself to me in Amharic. The moment I discovered he was from the Congo, I spoke to him in French. We met each other in the middle. Our conversation was relaxed and kind. We discussed upcoming holidays and our health. We noted changes since the pandemic. I was delighted to include him in the discussion of personal matters because he showed genuine concern.

Not only was I grateful for his timely repair, I was grateful for the way he opened his heart. He made the process comfortable and quick. He and I aren’t exactly friends, but I do hold him in high regard. It breaks my heart that I am limited to the English language, for the most part. I hate the sexual connotation to everyday activities. English is a hypersexual language. There are so many references to sex and substance abuse. I’m deeply embarrassed by the way my English plummets into trash talk so quickly. I’m still learning English. Fluency is largely a myth. I hope to cleanse the foul speech that enters my mind. I literally wish I could speak a holy language.

Tena’yistillin, which is an Amharic greeting, means “may God grant you good health on my behalf.” The next time you say hello (What does that mean anyway? Hell and o or holla or hollow) consider using a different greeting. I’ll never understand the English language. It’s not my most authentic expression. So, I’m stuck muddling through each day searching for the right words. I won’t say hi, because the word high is connected to drug abuse. I’m really at a loss for words when I try to convey ideas in English, so I recommend to you what I myself do, study different languages. Find your most authentic expression. Continue down a road that’s paved with gold where intentions are refined. Choose the best possible description of reality and hold onto your innocence. Avoid filthy language. Rise above the limitations of language – one sentence at a time.

You can be romantic, but it’s more important to be accurate. You can employ literary devices. Every language comes with poetry attached. Learn figurative language. Don’t be satisfied with only speaking one language. That limits your ability to establish connections with unique souls. Bridge the gap. All you have to do is say peace, for example, or salam in Amharic to get to know someone. What happened to wishing people peace from the outstart? Let’s return to the basics. Let’s give language its depth and meaning back. Let’s strive for wisdom and good character. Language is an open door. Enter at your own risk.