Language is culture? Or is culture language?

I spent the night in the 127, the office/dorms of Formando Vidas, awakening at what I thought was 6:30, utterly confused by the fact that it was still dark outside. This confusion was not cleared until about 7:45, when I encountered my friend Emily in the kitchen of the 127 house. She pointed out that I was completely ready to go - a full hour ahead of schedule. Apparently, although my phone showed it was picking up service in Bogota, it was actually still running on Atlanta time and had automatically “sprung forward.” At least we had a nice visit over breakfast. After 15 minutes of watching Fabian back the car out of the tiny yard (and being very glad we did not have to do this task ourselves), Emily did a fabulous job of dodging hundreds of cyclists traveling with us up the steep incline to the farm, as well as maneuvering between the passing cars sharing the two-lane road with said cyclists.

I was, of course, thrilled to arrive at the farm, and I’m relatively sure everyone was glad to see me. J. had a welcome sign for me, which he flung at me along with a scarf while yelling at random and running by to inform Bibi that he did NOT remember me... then familiar faces appeared, though they were in an unfamiliar place. :-) Emily and her husband Julio took the Fuchs and I to church in La Calera, the town near the farm. I had forgotten how beautiful the view, how steep the hills, how green the grass, how abundant the tiny roadside stands selling everything from aguapanela (hot water with sugar dissolved) to almuerzos corrientes (full Colombian lunch plates). Julio assured us that because he preached, the service was about 45 minutes shorter than usual. We found it just shorter than the normal 2 hours we spend going to 2 churches. I was thankful Emily was there to translate most of the service, because I found I’d lost the skill of simultaneously listening to Spanish and speaking English; therefore, we only heard every other sentence of the sermon when the responsibility fell on me.

After church, we were on a mission. While Julio finished his responsibilities at church, Emily and Dianne went buy gas and avocados (across the street), while Ethan, Tyrel, and I entered the gas station/hardware store to buy parts. Emily and I had just discussed how to say 3/8 in Spanish. Ironic, but neither of us had ever had the need to learn the term. Using gestures, numbers, and samples, I discovered that tres octavos was correct and after a description of light accompanied by several adjectives, I was reintroduced to the word for lightbulbs - which were only sold at the store next door. 

This adventure with lightbulbs really was the crown of the language episodes. On Monday, Dianne and I went to do some shopping while Bibi attended a Formando Vidas training. I’d known that finding hot peppers outside a fruit market might be difficult, but we succeeded in finding imports from Mexico in a modernized supermarket. We decided to just pick up lightbulbs there, and as we checked out, the clerk asked, “Las prendo?” I was confused. She asked again, opening the box and pointing at the lightbulb, then shook her head as if frustrated with the stupidity of the foreigner to whom she spoke. I concluded that prender had a meaning unknown to me, that perhaps it meant open or check, so as we picked up our bags, we double checked to be sure none of the lightbulbs were broken. I commented, “She asked about turning the lightbulbs on. I really don’t understand what she meant.” Just then, a voice spoke from behind, “Excuse me.” It was a young Colombian woman speaking English. “She just meant did you want to test the bulbs to see if they turned on. She has a place to do that because sometimes...” Dianne began to laugh. We thanked the young woman, returned to the register, and handed the clerk our bulbs. She proceeded to “prender” each one, using a socket at the register to to prove that each one was a good purchase.

I learned a lot of words on this trip, as you may realize in traveling, but I learned something more. Just because you know the words doesn’t mean you know the meaning. Culture is context.