Virtually every time we left or returned to our hotel, entered or exited the convention center, or came and went from the hallway of our offices, we passed South African doorkeepers, guards, or porters. And virtually every time we passed them, Ben would greet them with their native tongue (sometimes Afrikaans, but usually Khosa).
“Molo!” (if there was only one… or “Molwheni” if there were multiple), “Kunjhani?”
The first time he greeted the evening doorkeeper at our hotel in Khosa, the man grew so animated I truly thought he might hug him. Every one of those men would beam like a proud parent as Ben tried to learn new words or try out more phrases with them.
I generally hung back, holding Ben’s arm like the smiling, dumb wife (i.e. mute, though the other meaning fit fairly well too).
To be honest, language is for me a place of convenience and ease. In the majority of the world (certainly everywhere I’ve been so far), I have been accommodated in my native tongue. I don’t have to exert myself to communicate, and I assume that I will be able to function as needed in virtually any context.
But other languages are everywhere, not just overseas, and the quick rapport that Ben gained by being a learner of others amazed me. It even led to some significant conversations with a couple men.
More than I realized, I believe learning someone’s language may express honor, interest, a willingness to come into another person’s view of the world. It’s not easy for me, and I probably will never be natural like Ben is, but I hope to grow in it as a way to express love.
