"Romenglish" and Other Musings

I decided to go for a run the Sunday before our final week of homestays.

My host family had been invited to attend not only one, but two birthday parties in town that day—both families insisted the American daughter be in attendance. I woke up early to take advantage of any free hour leading up to what was sure to be a long day of broken conversation in what I’ve come to affectionately call “Romenglish.” I diligently crammed phrases into my head before the run, scanning page upon page of jumbled notes from my language class.

I knew my efforts wouldn’t be of much service, and I felt a slightly defeated at the lack of connection that would come despite any attempts.

Heading back later, I saw an elderly couple taking a leisurely walk ahead of me. To my slight dismay, they stopped right on the intersection where I usually took a left to make my way home. I found my footsteps growing softer as I approached them, attempting not to make my presence known through the loud crunching of the gravel beneath my feet—I was not going to begin the awkward conversations this early in the day.

As guilt would have it, I realized what I was doing—Why didn’t I want to engage these people? It was clear I was American…there would be grace. So, why didn’t I initially jump on in? I took the dangerous first step and made eye contact as I approached. Of course they were already looking at me—they’re always looking.

I threw out a polite “Niata,” (a shortened form for “morning”) with a halfway smile. Right away, the woman of the pair took it upon herself to engage this strange person. As usual, she fired a string of Romanian words that meant absolutely nothing to my comprehension of the language. I stumbled out the phrase “I’m sorry, I know a little Romanian” in her native tongue, followed by the disclaiming phrase: “Sunt American.”

I automatically had a foreign air bestowed upon me—why was I here? When did I get here? How long would I stay? I tried my best to answer with a genuine effort and engagement, and did what we’ve all learn to do so well here: celebrate the little victories within ourselves when we can just barely follow along. When our conversation came to an end, I received the standard blessing that most Romanian elders bestow on the poor English-speaking souls who venture to engage them—It was if we’d each given each other the world through three minutes of connection.

Matthew 5:47 notes, “And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others?” The language barrier here can often feel like a much thicker curtain than it is, but disconnect can happen anywhere. After realizing how many people have squeezed their way into my heart despite this is both astounding and convicting.The familiar is always easiest, but “brothers” don’t become so unless we have the desire for family. To intentionally engage others anywhere in loving community—new and awkward community—requires a deep humbling of the self.

When we see that our oldest of relationships at one point took the same starting effort, we realize how different we can grow to be by expanding the family.

A growth that only occurs when we learn to love the language.