“Cara, Cara!,” Or, A Match Made in Africa

From every direction the chattering was directed at me. I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of seven very interested people. As I attempted to talk about Jesus, my primary conversationalist used her broken English to change the subject. I discovered that her name was Pat and she wanted to learn English. This was all well and good, but not what I was seeking.

With plenty of other options, I turned my attention to a young couple next to Pat. After a few experimental phrases, the language barrier proved too firm to move. My new friends could communicate nothing but blank stares. Pat found this to be her opportunity to re-initiate a language learning session. Giving her a brief smile, I looked to my next attempt. I greeted a young girl about my own age hoping to begin a meaningful conversation. Another wall. Through this particular wall passed one lone piece of information; her name was Meredith.

Turning to meet Pat’s incessant pulling on my elbow, I pulled the four of them together to attempt to make hand motions. Gathering my patience, I began climbing air to show that I had just come up their mountain. With smiles they joined this new and exciting game. As I walked in place pumping my hands back and forth to show difficulty, I realized that my partner, Cara, was right behind. “Cara, Cara, can you help me out?”

“Cara! Cara!” said Meredith as she briskly walked in place pumping her fists. The young couple quickly caught on, “Cara! Cara!” Excitedly nodding their heads up and down they joined the dance, legs kicking. Now all four were doing it, “Cara! Cara!” I tried to dissuade them, explaining that Cara was my friend who wanted to share Jesus with them, but my error proved fatal. This was the last brick placed on the already overwhelming wall separating our worlds. There was nothing now that could quench their excitement at learning their first English words. “Cara! Cara!”

Even in the midst of a two month training session to live and work overseas, the barrier of language sometimes seemed insurmountable. Learning language is a difficult task and I now have firsthand experience as confirmation. Pat is also discovering firsthand that learning languages is difficult as she studies a tribal language in Mexico. Meredith is discovering the same truth as she learns Spanish in Madrid. And that young couple has a large task ahead in India learning Hindi.

Luke and I have now completed four weeks of Arabic study. We continually progress, but the process is draining. Monday through Friday we study in class with a native speaker from 9am to 1pm. Each day we make a number of recordings that we are expected to listen to for 1-2 hours outside of class. In addition, there is the expectation that we spend 2-3 hours each day in community learning language and culture. All this together gives us a 40-hour workweek. This is, for sure, a busy schedule. But this is the best way to prepare to be useful to both the business and God’s kingdom.

I am quickly finding that the most rewarding benefit of language learning is the relationships built along the way. As I spend time in the community, I meet more and more people that are willing to patiently help me through my language struggles. What makes these friends smile biggest is to hear new Arabic and progression in my studies. When they get excited about my advancement, so do I.

The other day I returned to a bakery discovered a few weeks earlier. During the first visit, there were no words, just pointing and motioning. Shortly after, I returned knowing the words for bread and money. The next time I brought numbers. This past week I came in and asked politely for a baguette. I asked how much and thanked them. I realized I needed a bag and asked, “Can you have a bag, please?” My friend behind the counter, who is quickly realizing the permanence of my presence here, smiled and corrected me. He beamed even brighter at my second try, “Can I have a bag, please?”

Here, Friday is couscous day. Christians have their Sabbath on Sundays, but the Islamic holy day is Friday. Every Friday the mosques are packed by 11am as the prayer begins followed by a message. During the early afternoon the city comes back to life with thousands of starving Muslims; this Friday hunger is best satiated by the couscous found in any restaurant, baqqal, or street hanuit.

Last Friday I went with my Arabic-proficient friend, Nick, to find couscous at a nice restaurant by the beach. As we sat down, a young woman came to wait our table. Her usual waitress-smile was transformed into a genuine smile as I exchanged the usual greetings with her and politely ordered couscous with a coke. I told her that would be all and motioned to Nick. He completed his order and she made her move back to the counter turning to flash me a big grin en route.

My very friendly waitress was just one more encouragement to continue pressing forward. She came back and I was able to explain to her that I had recently begun learning Arabic. From here Nick took over and my speaking role in this drama ended. Nick had spared me from breaching the border of my Arabic knowledge and afforded me the opportunity to brighten that nice waitresses’ day. I suppose I will never know if she was more into my Arabic mastery or my studly aura.

While language learning will be a long, arduous process, the future is bright for me in North Africa. I am here to learn language and culture. I am here to bolster our mountain climbing and trekking business. But above all else, I am learning language so I can live out my life as the Bible teaches; boldly sharing my faith with people I meet in my daily activities. This is nothing new to my life, but doing it in Arabic presents a slight twist to my daily routine.