Talking the talk

I have a special friend here.
Her name is Ellen, she’s two and she thinks I’m the bee’s damn knees.

When I returned to Buala after a month in Oz she literally ran half the length of the village to leap into my arms, shrieking my name joyfully into the balmy air.
“MAE VAKA!” for this is what she calls me. It means ‘white person’ in her language.

Ellen speaks to me and I pretend to understand. I speak Pijin to her and she pretends to care. We’re close like that.

I tell her the new phrase I have learnt in language.
“To’me filo ka glaba.’ (You can’t see the moon.)
She looks around feigning observation. It is 2pm.
“Uve,” she agrees –yes - and gives me a sweet, gentle smile like I am on unplanned day leave from a high security psych ward.*

The day my work really started to have meaning was the day kids like Ellen stopped bursting into tears on seeing me; when I became part of the community and gained people’s trust. Like moving to any new place it was hard work but it was worth it. Now I have an island full of friends (these are like Facebook friends but, you know, real.)

This may be a bit controversial but real development depends on this. How can you work with people if you don’t understand them? How can you understand them if you don’t befriend them?
This is the problem with a lot of development because, let’s be honest, lots of it isn’t working.

If this was The Drum we could use this as a discussion point for comments (GypsyStar from Fitzroy agrees. Kegman69 from Gold Coast does not) but it’s not…so until next time!

*My learning of Maringe – the local language – is somewhat sporadic and patchy because I am not by nature a polyglot.
Among the ‘useful’ things my brain remembers are:
Yaigo siri dia fara. (You smell very bad)
Pipila gino falahe nigo yaigo. (Cigarettes will kill you)
To’se filo tutu ka yaira. (Don’t stare at me)
Yaira rogu thuru. (I want sleep)

Practically. Fluent.