An Encounter with Moldova

Every once in a while – ok, a lot more than that – but every once in a while I’m reminded about how I wish I were better at languages than I am. Or rather that I were more dedicated in learning them. There was a man who came into the campus center today trying to find some papers that had been recycled that shouldn’t have been. He couldn’t have been more than sixty, but had gray and greasy hair –that he was definitely losing, he hadn’t bothered to take the size sticker off of his pants, his glasses only had one ear piece, and I saw only two teeth – one of which, was silver. He was from Moldova, but came to the U.S. ten years ago when he married his wife, who had been a missionary there. His English was good, but he obviously had to think about it.

Now, it can be tricky to try and speak Russian with anyone from a former territory, based purely on the generally unhappy memories that it triggers, but it’s also sometimes nice to be able to speak with someone in a language that they’re likely more comfortable with. And while Moldovans don’t technically speak Russian, they were under Russian and Soviet rule for much of their history. Plus, some of the words that came out as he was thinking were Russian, so it would have been nice to at least see how it would have worked to try to speak to him. But, I haven’t spoken any substantial Russian for five years, so that wasn’t really an option.

Unaware of my inner dialogue, the man talked with me as he was searching through paper about what prayer does, about how culture and society and psychology affect our theology, about Serbia and Slovenia, and about how one should email themselves with information they want instead of writing it on paper that can get lost. And then as he was leaving I was finally able to get out “good day” in Russian to him. He walked out the door, then came back and started asking me – in Russian – if I spoke the language. I answered in English, but he continued to ask me simple questions in Russian, apparently delighted that I knew anything. And he then went on to talk some more about Eastern European history and how there were different websites where I could practice Russian. And somewhere in there he managed to flip into German…prompting a whole other discussion.

I enjoy these earth-wandering types. And I tend to run into them a lot. My Russian helped in talking to my next-door neighbor several years ago who spoke no English, and also with local customers who came into my Starbucks . My German not only ended up getting me out of stranded and frustrating situations in Turkey, Italy, and Denmark, but it helps in conversation with the guy who manages the convenience store on the corner here. And I have close friends who are fluent in both. It’s not just in far-off lands that these languages show up – they’ve been in the middle of the communities I live in here in the States. So one would think that, by this point in my life, it would have sunk in that it would be helpful to actually learn these languages that I’ve started. But it hasn’t. Not really, anyway. I’ll go home, look at the textbooks, find the words and grammar charts slightly amusing and tempting… and then decide that watching movies is more fun.