Per usual, on a Monday, the day was rather packed with meetings. The first of which was our staff meeting (I know, terrifying). This occurs weekly and involves updates about the work of the different projects, changes to laws that affect our work, and whatever other randomness pops up. The meetings are in Khmer with Cambodian Sign Language interpretation and are a great opportunity for me to improve my vocabulary in both languages. I often jot down new words while, of course, paying close attention to every detail being shared... Or something like that...
Generally, Fr. Charlie (Director), interprets from CSL into English for the staff who do not understand Khmer or CSL to a level that allows them to participate. BUT, today, he was not there and we had a new volunteer-staff member from Australia who had limited-proficiency in both those languages. Thus, the first words out of the co-director’s mouth were, “Karen, will you translate to English, please.” *Now imagine a semi-truck, with an extra trailer is plummeting down a dark road, in a terrible monsoon, right toward an angelic deer that happens to have my innocent face*
That was kind of what that experience felt like. Thankfully, most staff speak slowly enough, and I know their speech patterns so I can understand about 80% of the Khmer (not always the 80% that leads to understanding the point, but, you do what you can). With the Cambodian Sign Language, I was able to fill in a whole lot of the rest. BUT, I now understand why it is typically advised to have multiple interpreters for anything over about 20 minutes of interpretation. I felt a bit like that semi-truck had dragged me for a while by the time the 45 minutes were up. As a child, I once considered learning to be an interpreter. Sweet goodness, I don’t know if I have that stamina, at least not for simultaneous interpretation.
Then, just 1.5 hours later, I had already told a friend I would interpret for an interview in English/Cambodian Sign Language. Again, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. We have a great set of interpreters on our staff but English is a real challenge for them, so my burgeoning CSL seemed stronger than their English. The first 20 minutes, I did ok (meaning I did better than your average chimp not trained by Jane Goodall). Unless I had to finger spell. If you have never seen a native signer finger spell in American Sign Language, google it. Prepare to have your mind blown.
My fingers knot-up when I try to spell and despite my home school-roots, this kid couldn't win a spelling bee unless I was the only bee. If my ability to spell is at a notably low level, my ability to understand finger spelling sunk to depths that would have been melted by magma. My exploded-brain was oozying from my ears in a pathetic puddle of failed gray mush by the end of the hour and a half.
After scraping my pile of mush up, unceremoniously shoving it back between my ears, apologizing for my inability to spell, I went for a relaxing lunch... With three co-workers... All speaking Khmer... At which point, I was again humbled by my inability to understand the conversation of three native, slang speaking Cambodians. We compared experiences of being in our young twenties, dorm-life, etc. All of which I have no vocab to express.
I am pretty sure I would have ended up in traction had I been stretching anything but my mind to such a degree. But, I have heard the only way for the muscles to get stronger is for little tears to form and heal. Right? By the time the large lacerations of challenge and humiliation in my mind recover, I am going to look like a bobble-head or the presidents that run around the bases at the Nationals baseball games…
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