But I Thought I Already Could Speak English!
Last week I wrote about finding community as an immigrant or expat. Speaking the language makes it a lot easier. English is one of the two languages spoken in Ireland, and the more common one. So before we moved here, I figured communication would not be an issue.
Then last week a friend texted and said she had made flapjacks. Our place or hers for tea?
Well, it was our turn to host. She’d be over at around 5:00 PM. I swept the floor. (I try to do that every couple of months or so.) I got out the maple syrup and raspberry jam, checked the egg supply for a bit of protein in the meal, and put together a cheese board for a starter.
She rang the doorbell, came in, and held out the plastic container of flapjacks.
I stood looking at her flapjacks in confusion. She looked at my cheeseboard in confusion.
Friends, in Ireland—these are flapjacks:
Oatmeal cookies. Flapjacks are oatmeal cookies. She came expecting tea, not supper.
Now I must say, Irish flapjacks are fabulous oatmeal cookies. Less flour and way more butter than American oatmeal cookies. They went very nicely with the sharp cheddar, apple slices, and red wine that I had on offer.
We had a great laugh and a grand time.
So I told her about this text exchange with my work colleague:
Me: I’ve still got the baptism register. Pretty slammed right now. But I will get it back to you. I got the newsletters last night.”
Him: Great. Slammed ?”“Pretty slammed right now” was my effort to ward off any extra assignment he might have in mind for me—because, well, I was pretty slammed.
But that “Slammed ?” in his return made me suspect that I had once more stumbled across a language barrier.
Him: Great. Slammed ?
Me: “Ah - slang for lots and lots on my to do list.
Him: Slammed is a term we might use when we have lots of drink onboard.
Me: I will be careful to clarify when I use the term!”By the way, the time stamp on this exchange was 10:30 AM. Or as they say in Ireland, half ten. No wonder he was surprised that I was slammed!
When I told a story at coffee hour about my dead car battery and the neighbor who gave me a ride, another immigrant from the US leaned over to tell me quietly that I probably meant to say that the neighbor had given me a lift. I shudder to think what the other people in the room understood me to say!
Moving to another country where they speak your language sets you up for being blindsided by the language barrier. I thought I was prepared. I already knew that Irish biscuits are American cookies; American biscuits are Irish scones. Crisps are chips and chips are fries. A boot is a trunk and seventy-year-old women can be called lads.
But my efforts to communicate at the grocery store that I wanted to buy Q-tips rivaled any episode in charades I ever had when shopping in Costa Rica!
It might be handy to have an app that translated from English to English. But I suppose one never knows when to use it until it is too late.
Any other expats/immigrants with similar stories to tell?
By the way: Are you thinking of moving overseas? Elizabeth Silleck La Rue says that the first question you need to ask is not “Where do you want to move? First you need to ask where can you move. Go talk to her about that issue. It’s above my pay grade.