a few things

When you switch from language to language, there are almost always sounds that get lost. Several Liberian languages have a GB sound that American English speakers can’t say – or even distinguish. I can’t tell you how annoying it is to hear US Americans say “Barpolu” instead of Gbarpolu. And they can’t hear the difference, most of them. Then try getting a North American to say the MP sound in Kinyarwanda. We sound hilarious. In Spanish, B and V are interchangeable. In Kinyarwanda and for some Swahili speakers, L and R are interchangeable, resulting in people writing (and saying) “Kigari” instead of Kigali for Rwanda’s capital city. And in Rwandese French, it’s a toss-up whether your meeting is going to be called a “reunion” or a “leunion.” (I love that one.)

Here in Southern Sudan, it’s P and F. I got very confused the first time someone asked me about the “pish” (the fish is really good here, by the way), and today I had to decipher words like “frogram” and “pinance.” Also “fersonal.” I always feel like I’ve become a very small child again when I move to a new country with a new accent, because I have to relearn how to understand the people around me. It becomes easy after a while, and I almost never (other than for my chronic deafness, which happens in every location) have to ask a Kenyan, Ugandan, Liberian, or Rwandese to repeat him- or herself. I’m still learning here in Southern Sudan, as I’m sure my coworkers are learning to understand my crazy North American accent.

The other night, as we were all sitting around after dinner, the old hands started playing the “scare the newbie” game. They told me about how long a scorpion sting hurts, where the snakes hide, how many people a black mamba can kill. All the good stuff. And I admit, it scared me for a few minutes. I didn’t want to head out into the dark.

But then I did head out, and after a minute or two I remembered how it’s done. I grew up with the vicious snakes in Liberia, after all, even if I didn’t really realize the dangers all around me.

The pit latrine at night does scare me a little, though. I just don’t want to share that little space with a snake, you know? I’m also afraid I’m going to drop my flashlight down the pit, and then where would I be? And a few minutes ago, when I went in there and heard a rustling noise that was not me, I jumped (really high) despite the daylight.

It was a scared, striped lizard, trying desperately to hide in the corner between the tin wall and the fat stick that holds it up.