Are You Talkin’ to Me?

When I travel to a foreign country, I always take the time to learn a few phrases in the native language. “Hello, how are you?”, “I am fine, thank you”, “The food is great!” are a few of the standard phrases. I always try to match the accent and speak as authentically as possible, sometimes being mistaken as a local, since I have a nice tan.

A few years ago I traveled to Uganda to teach music.  Uganda is a quaint, yet rustic country. Quaint because in a country named Uganda, in a Kingdom (yes they have a King) named Central Buganda, the language they speak is Lugandan. Quite creative with the names, and yet, easy to remember.  Anyway, Ugandan culture is quite formal, which seems somehow out of place in an area with no electricity or running water.  Even so, as a country founded and influenced by the British, they know more about and practice proper etiquette more than any city today in England.

Our job; to teach songs at a school in rural Uganda. Our team; 5 great musicians with instruments and can-do attitudes. The song; I can’t quite remember but that part wasn’t important to this story. The important part is that we had so many children, we split them into two sections and introduced an all-American aspect of our culture -- competition. One group was competing with the other to see who would sing the loudest. All we needed was the word for “louder”.  No problem. The word is nyo. Proper pronunciation is one syllable, kind of like a Japanese word.  “Yo” with an “n” sound at the beginning. 

Some people just don’t take their language arts seriously is what I have found. “Try to blend in” is my motto. So I am in the middle playing the guitar. Our two best singers are on either side of me getting their respective groups ready. One side is noticeably louder. I lean toward the right and the crowd goes wild. I lean to the left and the kids are staring at their newly appointed leader as she screams for them to be louder. Well, not really. She is yelling nee-oh at the kids, an obvious two syllable modification of a simple word. But we are American. Surely they understand. And yet, they stare, some in despair. 

Our Ugandan escort quickly corrected the word to the one syllable version and off they went. Well, not really. Some probably sang louder from fear, others out of obedience, and there was that group who just kept the look of bewilderment. I had to ask. What was the problem, did they not understand our Lugandan? The reply; “oh yes David, they understood.” Oh, well what was the problem? Our friend would not repeat the word but gave us the translation by pointing at her rear end. Yes, our team leader called the elementary school children asses. And not just once. She kept yelling at the kids as they looked at her...”ASS, ASS, ASS”! A finer moment in church mission ministry there has not been.