Communication, Without Knowing the Language
By: Inigo Hare, Carleton College Extern ‘24
When I applied to MPI’s two-week environmental sustainability externship this fall, it seemed like a perfectly curated position for me. Working in the Amazon rainforest? I love plants and animals, so check. Past experience with social work and communication? I was an English-as-a-second-language teacher last spring, so check as well. Openness to trying new things? I’d like to think so. Check. But there was a slight problem. The job posting listed “knowledge of Spanish” as a qualification that was “highly preferred”. I had absolutely no knowledge of Spanish. Oof.
Here in Shandia, community members generally speak Spanish and Kichwa, the indigenous language of the region. Only ten percent know English—a problem for someone like me, who suddenly deeply regretted his own monolingualism. But the job sounded like too unique of an experience to pass up. So I held my breath and applied, with the hopes that my deep interest in the opportunity and past work experiences would carry my application to the finish line.
A month later I found myself sitting in a house in Shandia, Ecuador, getting briefed on my first assignment. I guess it worked out in the end. The environmental sustainability externship involved a significant amount of field work—specifically, maintaining eco-trails and helping community members with their senderos, which are areas in the jungle designed to support ecotourism with sustainably-built lodging and gardens. I quickly learned that, while my lack of Spanish speaking ability presented a few minor hiccups, I was able to pick up common phrases and expressions spoken to me with relative ease. We worked with community members to construct huts and line trails through the forest with stones, and all the while I felt more and more comfortable getting my ideas across despite my monolingualism. You can get surprisingly far with only a few words like “come te llamas”, and “mucho gusto”.
As the two weeks progressed, we received regular Spanish lessons that established some basic expressions to help me communicate with the community further. Eventually, I felt like I was able to bridge some of the gap that I was so worried about when I applied. I thought I would be helpless, having to rely solely on others to get me through conversations with the residents of Shandia. Instead, I found myself conversing—albeit very simply—with our neighbors, greeting the local children, and communicating effectively with the sendero workers during field work. It helped that everyone was so friendly—the community was welcoming, often inviting us into their houses for a snack or cold drink, and no one seemed to mind that I had no previous experience in Spanish. We were even taught some Kichwa phrases: I was often greeted with an “alli puncha” (good day) when I bumped into a familiar face walking down the street. While I know my situation was drastically different than the ones of the local community members, it was at least nice to begin to feel like less of an outsider during my two weeks here.
Now I’m at the home stretch—on Saturday I make the four-hour drive to Quito and fly up north, to the cold, sea-sprayed land of Boston. It will be nice to have hot showers again. And air conditioning. But I’ll miss the walks outside, when even people you’ve never met before go out of their way to greet you. Or the birthday parties that last until the wee hours of the morning. Or jumping into a cool jungle swimming hole after long hours of working in the sun. I feared that my lack of Spanish communication skills would hold me back during the externship—but it forced me to adapt on the fly, and I soon found myself engaging with the community in ways that I would have never expected. I guess it did work out in the end.
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