Cross Cultural Communications

During the many years I worked in other cultures and with other languages I encountered numerous situations in which I had difficulty communicating.  And a few times when I made big mistakes and was frustrated in my inability to communicate.

This is the reason why organization that send missionaries, volunteers, or professional and technical experts to other countries provide (or should provide) cross-cultural and language training. 

A 1958 book titled "The Ugly American" by Eugene Burdick and William Lederer made this point. (it was made into a movie starring Marlon Brando in 1963).   The book presented, in a fictionalized form, the experience of Americans in Southeast Asia (Vietnam) and allegedly portrays several real people who are represented by pseudonyms. We were advised to read it before we went to Vietnam in 1966.

The following story from long time friend and former colleague, Bill Herod, is humorous and also instructive.  Judy and I have a few stories from our own experiences, which I may share at a later time.  I assure you that Bill eventually came to speak Vietnamese fluently and was not an ugly American.  In fact, Bill still lives in Southeast Asia and has dedicated his whole life to working with and living among the people in Vietnam and Cambodia. Enjoy.    

If you have some of your own stories of communication "mishaps" to share, please do so and I could post them on this blog for other to enjoy and learn from. (with your permission)

 

Flying Machines

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” ~George Bernard Shaw

As I began my community development work in Viet-Nam many years ago, my conversational ability in the Vietnamese language was basic and my technical vocabulary was virtually non-existent.

In the Vietnamese language, a machine is often named for the function it performs. Thus, a typewriter is a “word pounding machine,” an airplane is a “flying machine,” and so forth. We do this in English sometimes also: washing machine, fax machine, and so forth. In both Vietnamese and English, a machine used for sewing is a “sewing machine.” A machine that flies, however, is an “airplane” in English and a “flying machine” in Vietnamese. The Vietnamese words for “to sew” [may] and “to fly” [bay] are similar . . . and I got them confused. When I meant to say “sew,” I was actually saying “fly” and when I thought I was talking about “sewing machines,” I was actually talking about “airplanes.”

With this confusion deeply embedded in my brain, I ventured into a refugee camp on the outskirts of Tam-Ky to see if I could find some people who would be interested in learning to use sewing machines.

After the requisite cups of tea and polite conversation with the respected camp elders, I casually asked if anyone in the camp knew how to “fly.” Looking at each other and at me in some confusion, they asked me to repeat the question. “Does anyone in the camp know how to fly?” Well, that was a bit of a conversation stopper. I realized they didn’t seem to know where I was headed, so I tried to clarify: “You know, I think we could get half-a-dozen ‘airplanes’ here. Perhaps some of the women could learn to ‘fly’ with them. Also, some of the boys could learn to repair them - useful skills in Viet-Nam today and in the future.”

My hosts — and a great many villagers looking in at the door and windows — were completely baffled. The idea of putting airplanes in a refugee camp was clearly preposterous but, coming from an American, not unbelievable.

One of them finally said, “Where would you put the airplanes?” I said that we would need to discuss that because they couldn’t be kept in anyone’s home. We would need to have a special room where all of the “airplanes” would be available to everyone in the community.

That comment was particularly jarring. The suggestion that these desperately poor and vulnerable people were being asked to build a huge hangar for storing airplanes (in a war zone) was just too much.

One of the camp leaders complained that airplanes were “very big and up in the sky.”

Up in the sky, I thought. Up in the sky. Why would sewing machines be up in the sky?

I replied that we could get small “airplanes” that the women could operate with their feet while they made clothes for their families and to sell at the market.

“Sewing machines!” a laughing child exclaimed, “He’s talking about sewing machines.”

Everyone laughed, both with relief and appreciation. They were delighted with the idea of getting some sewing machines for the camp and we quickly got down to the serious business of planning the sewing project.

With cooperation and understanding, we were soon able to get the sewing project “off the ground.”

   Bill Herod,

Notes: Usually one of the first language skills we need in another culture is how to shop for food in the local market.  Judy once sent a maid out to buy flowers and she came back with apples.  (a language glitch on Judy's part)

 Besides Vietnamese, several on our team needed to learn basic Ko'ho, one of the languages of the indigenous
people of the Vietnam highlands.

We needed to have an interpreter - in this case it was Ka'kra, who spoke Ko'ho, Vietnamese and English (and I think some French).









     Learning Vietnamese in Saigon - intensive one to one teaching.

Pat Hosteter (Martin) in language training

 One of the most important things I learned in Vietnam was the wisdom of employing competent local staff in key positions... they already know the language and work with people from within the nuances of their own culture. This is Mr. Ninh, one of our valued colleagues in Vietnam Christian Service.

A man from Central Vietnam who would have had an accent different

from that of Saigon