Language: An Exchange of Ideas
Step 2: Prepare

C

hief Willie powers our dugout down the Rendova coast as if time matters in the Solomon Islands. The wake from his 25-horse Tihatsu engine ruffles a glassy sea. Its shrieking wail assaults the Sabbath morning.

Without warning, Chief cuts starboard, then slows. The man-made breeze dies, and sweat drips from beneath my hat, drenches my shirt. It?s early December.

Bare-chested and hatless, Willie points landward. ?Iu lukim desfala riva? Do you see that river?? he asks in Pijin.

Unbroken forest stretches to the sea, hiding the coastline. No markers identify a river: no roads, no houses, no bridges, no silt-laden plume spewing into this pristine bay. I finally locate a crack in the jungle. A river emerges from beneath the dense canopy. ?Ies, mi lukim. Yes, I see it.?

Without warning, Chief cuts starboard, then slows. The man-made breeze dies, and sweat drips from beneath my hat, drenches my shirt. It’s early December.

Bare-chested and hatless, Willie points landward. “Iu lukim desfala riva? Do you see that river?” he asks in Pijin.

Unbroken forest stretches to the sea, hiding the coastline. No markers identify a river: no roads, no houses, no bridges, no silt-laden plume spewing into this pristine bay. I finally locate a crack in the jungle. A river emerges from beneath the dense canopy. “Ies, mi lukim. Yes, I see it.”

“My land ends at the river.”

“Your land?”

“Ughele’s land. Our village land,” he says.

Without warning, Chief cuts starboard, then slows. The man-made breeze dies, and sweat drips from beneath my hat, drenches my shirt. It’s early December.

Bare-chested and hatless, Willie points landward. “Iu lukim desfala riva? Do you see that river?” he asks in Pijin.

Unbroken forest stretches to the sea, hiding the coastline. No markers identify a river: no roads, no houses, no bridges, no silt-laden plume spewing into this pristine bay. I finally locate a crack in the jungle. A river emerges from beneath the dense canopy. “Ies, mi lukim. Yes, I see it.”

“My land ends at the river.”

“Your land?”

Without warning, Chief cuts starboard, then slows. The man-made breeze dies, and sweat drips from beneath my hat, drenches my shirt. It’s early December.

Bare-chested and hatless, Willie points landward. “Iu lukim desfala riva? Do you see that river?” he asks in Pijin.

Unbroken forest stretches to the sea, hiding the coastline. No markers identify a river: no roads, no houses, no bridges, no silt-laden plume spewing into this pristine bay. I finally locate a crack in the jungle. A river emerges from beneath the dense canopy. “Ies, mi lukim. Yes, I see it.”

“My land ends at the river.”

Without warning, Chief cuts starboard, then slows. The man-made breeze dies, and sweat drips from beneath my hat, drenches my shirt. It’s early December.

Bare-chested and hatless, Willie points landward. “Iu lukim desfala riva? Do you see that river?” he asks in Pijin.

Unbroken forest stretches to the sea, hiding the coastline. No markers identify a river: no roads, no houses, no bridges, no silt-laden plume spewing into this pristine bay. I finally locate a crack in the jungle. A river emerges from beneath the dense canopy. “Ies, mi lukim. Yes, I see it.”

“My land ends at the river.”

“Your land?”

We’ve been cruising at breakneck speed since we left Ughele thirty minutes ago. How far does his land run on the other side of Ughele village?

His answer translated from the Pijin: "Long way, little bit."

Forty-five minutes later, we zoom through a reef passage into the bay facing isolated Lokuru village. Willie cuts the engine, and our other passenger–Radio–leaps into waist-deep water and drags the canoe onto the beach. Radio’s not a nickname. His father served as lookout to a GI radio operator in World War II. It’s the family’s badge of honor. He’s my age, fifty.

Chief and I step dry-footed onto coral sand so dazzling it seems to singe the extra-heavy tint from my prescription sunglasses.

To have effective language exchange, you'll need to prepare something to talk about. In step 2, you'll prepare a dialog.

Ask your mentor to prepare a dialog, that is, a short conversation about an ordinary topic, like buying veggies. Start modestly by making the conversation between two people: you and, say, a carrot vendor.

As your skills increase, you can increase the number of parties involved, making sure you are always one of them. Describe what you want to say so your mentor can prepare the dialog. He should include anticipated responses.

He may write it down, so as not to forget, but you should try to avoid reading from it directly at first. You read with an English-speaking bias, which can easily lead to improper pronunciation. Rather, ask your mentor to read it to you (see Step 3: Practice).

During your sessions with your mentors, try to use the target language as much as you can and rely on English only when necessary. See if you can get your idea across with what you know. Use gestures to fill in the gaps. This will get easier. Honest.

The dialog should not be a direct translation of what you would say and do in English. It should be culturally correct. To make sure, ask your mentor to translate it back to English. It may sound awkward, and not the way you would say it in English. This could be an opportunity to talk about correct protocol for the situation in your dialog.