Of Sharon and Other Adventures in Creole

That particular afternoon Shundel and I were searching for a slip for Sister Iris. Sister Iris is quite blind and doesn’t go out. Her bachelor grandson is her primary caregiver and she assured us he knew nothing about buying women’s slips. So we clambered onto a bus and rode down to Kumaka in search of a slip. We poked through some stores and found one we thought would work well. We still had some time and decided to swing by a store we hadn’t visited before (it is always closed when we go to market Tuesday morning) and see if they were open and sold “top up”. The way cell service works in Guyana is like this. One purchases a phone that will work with one of the two cell networks; Digicell or GT&T. Then one loads it with the appropriate networks’ cell phone minutes by purchasing a “credit card” or via top up. A top up machine allows the shop owner to load minutes onto the account associated with your cell number. Top up is cheaper here then the credit cards and so we hoped the store would be open. As we came around the corner we saw the green doors were unlocked and we walked in. Shundel completed her top up purchase and I, in my best Guyanese accent (which sounds like my best Spanish accent, which sounds eerily similar to my best Norwegian accent) said, “Please for a thousand top up?”  The woman behind the counter took my phone number, confirmed “for thousand?” and then loaded my phone. When I got it back I was shocked to realize that I now had four thousand dollars of credit on my phone! 

“Yes, you say “four thousand’,” the women reminded me.

“Oh no! I meant for A thousand!” 

She laughed and laughed and graciously let me come back later to pay the bill. When I returned she told me how she had told all her friends about the white girl who accidentally bought $4000 ($20 US) top up. I am glad I can bring such joy to the hearts of Kumaka’s shop owners. 

One beautiful Sabbath morning I was puffing my way to church under the hot sun carrying a freshly cooked (and still quite warm) pot of rice for potluck. “Hey you Sharon?” The men called out to me as they sat resting in the shade. “Nope!”, I called out, laughing to myself a little. The white ladies here are often mistaken for one another. People have asked me for flights before thinking I was Laura, but I hadn’t met a Sharon yet. Oh well; I went on my way. Later it dawned on me. They weren’t asking if I was Sharon, they were asking if I was sharin’; my pot of rice that is.

Before I came to Guyana, I did not realize how much the words I used to communicate relied on the culture around them. Here, I can use the same words, but because of their cultural context their interpretation is very different. If I were to walk into a shop and ask for a credit card, I would get cell credit. In the States, I would probably just get a puzzled look-"aren't I the one who is supposed to ask YOU for your credit card?" Communication, speaking a common language, relies not just on the words we use but on the experiences we share. The right words, even spoken correctly, can get lost in translation if the experience is missing. As I continue to experience the Guyanese culture, I am able to speak and understand better and communicate more clearly. As I build experiences with the missionaries here we are able to convey ideas more effectively. I think the same thing applies to reading the Bible and talking with God. As we experience God we begin to understand what he is saying more and more. The Bible gains layers and texture when we begin to experience the words for ourselves. Whether buying cell phone credit or conversing with the creator, it pays to spend time experiencing and really learning the language.