Knowing all the costs that I will literally and figuratively face, I finally decided to go to Geneva and push through with this internship early this year. Although the process of getting here wasn't at all a piece of cake -- involving money, connections and of course, tons of faith, my husband and I just knew that I had to grab hold of this opportunity. And so I came here with my huge trolley and camping backpack, armed with my thin stack of survival French basics: "Bonjour!", "Au revoir!", "Merci beau coup!", "Bon appetit!", "Excuse-moi", "S'il vous plait" and "Pardon". With these phrases plus my skill at charades, I knew I will have no problems getting around the city. Besides, I have good command of one official UN language (English, of course), so that will do. Not learning French won't really hurt.
But just now I realized, it does sometimes. And whenever any UN human resource office would say, "Knowledge of spoken and written French is an advantage", believe me, they mean well.
Yesterday morning, I took over the reference desk to relieve my colleague for his coffee break. I have been given Reading Room duty since August, and although I'm up for the challenge, being seated there isn't quite exactly my favorite thing. To me, reference duty is a struggle and the reading room is my battlefield. Yesterday wasn't any different. It was the last day of the World Microfinance Forum here, and since their venue is right next to the library, many bankers in black suits came in and out of the reading room during their session breaks. Some were just checking out the library, a handful lounged by the sofas, while others meant serious business.
One lady found me at the reference desk and sensing the earnestness in her, I believed she needed help with something in the collection. After the customary exchange of bonjours, she launched on to me in French. I smiled and interrupted her, apologizing that I don't speak nor understand French. The eagerness in her face slowly faded away. She really needed something, I knew so well. Using contextual clues, I somehow managed to decipher her next question: when will my French-speaking colleague be back on the desk? At that point, my knack for charades automatically kicked in. I pointed at my wristwatch and counted up to twelve using my fingers, telling her that my colleague will be back by 12 noon. She nodded, said "Merci beau coup (thank you very much)", and then went ahead. I figured she was good at charades. At the same time, I also felt insecure.
That was not the first time I assisted a pure Francophone, though. But that was the first time I felt so limited. I would've helped the lady find what she's looking for, but because of my inability to speak the language, I couldn't do anything more. It's frustrating and sometimes embarrassing. I sat twice on our staff meetings and I wasn't able to say and contribute much because when my colleagues get carried away, they speak French all throughout. I would have to drag myself whenever my colleagues throw out occasional TGIFs (cocktails) in the library, for the simple reason that I couldn't socialize in French and it really feels terribly awkward. Don't get me wrong, my colleagues are friendly and sensitive, and I must say I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with them. But just like me back home, they will converse in their mother tongue, of course.
I had the chance to express this to one of my colleagues, who is an English speaker. He's taking up French lessons thrice a week at the ILO, so he is conversant in French. He told me he can relate. He does charades too! But with Spanish-speaking clients. We both laughed at our ridiculousness.
I'm not alone in the boat after all :)
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