Language Barriers

It's really humbling to not speak the language. Most other places I've travelled, people generally speak at least a little English, or I know enough words in the local language to get by. Here in central Vietnam, away from the tourist areas, neither is the case. Communication is a challenge, in restaurants, shops and taxis. We've been dependent on the few people who do speak a bit of English, like the hotel receptionist or Nhup (when he's with us). And we've gotten good at charades! It's definitely given me more empathy for the Montagnards and other immigrants who come to the U.S. and have to depend on others to do even basic things that require language proficiency.

We haven't always been sure what we'll end up getting when we try to place an order for food or drinks. Our taxi driver had a whole conversation with us the other day, and we have no clue at all what he told us! But other times, somehow the meaning gets through even without the right words. Yesterday, it started pouring rain when dad & I were out walking in Kon Tum, so we ducked under the awning of a coffee shop. A group of Vietnamese people sitting on the patio pulled up two extra chairs and waved us inside to sit with them. They shared their roasted sunflower seeds and guava, and we managed to introduce ourselves and share what country we came from. With hand signals, we learned each other's ages, and who was married, and how many kids and grandkids everyone had. One lady kept laughing uncontrollably and we're still not sure why, but it didn't seem like she was laughing AT us, at least! It was a nice moment of surprise connection.

We've had many moments of connection across the language barrier on our visits in the village, too. There's plenty of body language to communicate welcome, like handshakes and smiles, toasts and insistently waving us over to taste each and every pot of rice wine. Music helps, too. The last couple of days we've done lots of singing with a group of little girls at the church. They sang songs in Vietnamese and Jarai for us, dad and I sang a few songs for them, and then we taught them several simple English songs. They were so excited they practiced them over and over and over again. By the time we left, they really had "Jesus Loves Me" and "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" down.

Speaking the same language isn't essential to developing a friendship, as many at St. Paul's already know well. But it sure does make life a whole lot easier and more convenient, more predictable, when you can be sure you're understood. It takes a lot more faith and trust to go through your day hoping that everyone around you is on the same page as you, especially when they are in control of where you're going or what you're eating!

Finding Our Way

We really weren't sure what we were getting into when we got into the taxi. The evening before, we'd sent Nhup off with his relatives on their motorbikes back to his village, while dad & I stayed at a hotel in the small town of Kon Tum (Vietnam), about an hour's drive away. Nhup had given instructions to the hotel receptionist so she could help dad & I get a taxi to the village the next day. The taxi driver didn't speak a word of English, so we didn't know exactly how much he knew about where we were going. We didn't quite know what to expect when we arrived in the village -- what it would be like, what we'd do there, how we'd find Nhup (Nhup hadn't seemed concerned the day before that we'd be able to find him, or the village itself).

We drove for almost an hour, down progressively smaller and bumpier roads, until we finally came to a fork in the road and the driver turned to look at us. I pulled out the phone number we had written down for one of Nhup's relatives, but it had the international dialing code at the beginning, and we couldn't figure out how to dial the right prefix for calling within Vietnam. Just as we were pondering what to do next, Nhup's brother in law drove by on his motorbike! We had met him the day before in Kon Tum and luckily we recognized him and he led the taxi driver just a few hundred yards up the hill, down the correct fork in the road, to our destination.

A large crowd was gathered outside Nhup's mother's house, and they led us inside and sat us down on mats. Nhup wasn't there at the moment, but clearly this crowd was expecting us, so we all shook hands and sat there and smiled at each other. I remembered I had brought the photo cards that St. Paul's made, so I got those out and started passing them around, pointing out the pictures of Glun, Jum, Neh, Nip, Loi, and others that they would recognize. Everyone got excited and had fun looking through them. I pointed out the kids born in the U.S. and said the names of their parents. Nhup's mom was excited to see the pictures of her granddaughters. After a few minutes, Nhup got there, and there was also a teenage girl who spoke decent English who arrived and became our guide for the day.

It felt like we spent the rest of the day eating and drinking our way around the village! We went to Nhup's brother's church, then Hnam's family's house. We went to Glun & Jum's old house where Glun's brother lives now. We went to Hon & Biyu's son's house. At each one, we were given something to eat or drink, or some kind of gift. We couldn't converse much, but we at least exchanged names and handshakes and did our best to communicate a bit. We definitely felt like local celebrities. All of Nhup's family, friends & neighbors have spent the week celebrating in honor of his return. Dad & I have visited the village for a few hours each day, making the rounds to different homes. More stories to come!

There's a Time to Build Walls, and a Time to Break Them Down

Over the past few years, I have really enjoyed being a part of Habitat for Humanity of Wake County’s Interfaith Builds. Some of the most active and enthusiastic leaders and volunteers were from NC State’s Muslim Student Association. I was totally impressed by the young women in headscarves swinging hammers beside me during our first build, and amazed at the energy of their student leader, Farris, who was one of the key organizers of the project. And so my heart broke today when I read the news that his brother was one of three young people killed in Chapel Hill this week, most likely because they were Muslim.  

We are shaped by our experiences and relationships in powerful ways, ways that influence how we understand the world around us. I have been fortunate that my life has been filled with relationships of welcome and hospitality. It’s made me love meeting new people from different backgrounds. I love learning their stories and finding ways to connect and communicate across the cultural and linguistic barriers that separate us. I’ve never felt the need to fear people who are different from me. I haven’t had to fear for my life or my safety, either because I grew up in the midst of a war or because my neighbors disliked my religion or ethnicity. I haven’t felt like my way of life was threatened by outside forces.

At times, I’ve been in the minority, but almost always a privileged one. I grew up as an American child in Germany; I worked in mostly African-American neighborhoods in DC, as a young white woman; I served as a Christian missionary in northern Sri Lanka, among mostly Hindu Tamil people; I’m now a female minister in a vocation where men still dominate, but in a denomination where women are welcomed in leadership positions. As a result of my experiences, I find it exciting and fascinating to make friends from other countries, religions and cultures. They help me see the world in new ways, they inspire and encourage me with their own stories. They have taught me about generosity and resilience.

I’m thankful that I’ve never needed to fear people who aren’t like me. Fear can breed anger, distrust, and isolation. So, I’m deeply troubled by the growing fear and resentment in the United States towards people perceived as outsiders, especially our Muslim neighbors. I realize that many Americans feel fearful because of ongoing violence committed in the name is Islam. We hear more and more stories about killings, kidnappings, and terrible acts by Muslim terrorists against Americans and our allies. Many Muslims, in the US and around the world, are afraid, too. Many of them have lived with the threat of violence as a daily reality.

If we let our relationships be driven by fear, then the problem will only get worse. The vast majority of Muslims are not terrorists. I believe that the vast majority of Christians sincerely want to practice Jesus’ call to love our neighbors. At our core, most Americans value diversity, even though living it out often makes us uncomfortable. We will never come to understand one another and build trust, we will never all be able to feel safe, until we break down the walls between us and learn each others’ stories, until we learn each others’ names and experiences. May we all keep working together to build a community where understanding drives out fear, and where love is stronger than hate.