I have always thought of the words as essential, in everyday life: even more than gestures, even more than glances, words have always been everything to me. Letter by letter, to form entire speeches. How can you communicate without a common language? How can you understand each other? How can you stay together?
Before I came to Cyprus, I thought it was impossible. I had some ideas before I arrived to the shelter, of course, I made some hypothesis, we also discussed of it at my recruitment interview… but the whole thing was just theoretical. The idea of actually finding myself face to face with boys who did not speak English and having to spend time with them, doing activities, communicating with them without the use of a common language, scared me a little bit. I was afraid of not being able to bond with them, of not being able to find a way to listen to them and to get them to listen to me (can you listen without talking?)
Then, I met them –these boys with whom I did not have a common language. And they blew my mind. They thaught me a new way to be together and build bonds: by uniting few words from different languages (English, Arabic, French, Greek, depending on the cases), gestures, facial expressions; by playing together (and trying unsuccessfully to teach me how to play football); by teaching one another some words in our own language (from english to italian to arabic to somali, from “Come stai?” to “Ina mari!”); by doing activities; by showing each other videos from our own countries of origin; by requiring my mere presence (“Come Elìna, yalla!”) and being together, with no need to say anything.
In the last 3 months, I played Uno repeating the colours in three different languages (azraq, bleu, blue; ahmar, rouge, red; akhdar, vert, green; asfar, jaune, yellow); with my flatmates I wallpapered our kitchen with papers we wrote potentially useful words translated in arabic and greeek on; I had the proof that google translate is not that good (but it can sometimes help, it seems that it translates in an understable way “Clean your room, please”); I felt the frustration of not understanding what the boys were yelling at me when they got angry, and the satisfaction of actually explain things mining; I was able to bond with boys who spoke only Arabic…
It was not always easy, at certain times my need of words forcefully came back, especially when it came to emotions or crisis: not being able to wish good luck to a boy who was about to leave the shelter, or not being able to give him my point of view and suggestions in difficult moments was often heavy and frustrating for me. Sometimes I tried anyway to do the speech I would have liked to do, in front of two curious eyes carefuly following me, and receveing as final response a cheerful:“Me no understand!”
Well, I learnt that my vision of communication was limited and that there is a lot more, in addition to words. That sometimes speaking in two different languages and imitating laughing each other’s confuse expression is a great way to say that after all we are not that different, that a lot of things can be said through our bodies and faces, that if you want to communicate you will find a way, even without talking.
Therefore, thank you, boys from the shelter. Shukran, merci, matondi mingi, shukria, mahadsanid, eucharistò.