At the intersection of four languages

One of the things that makes Bocas so unique is its varied cultural history, which today results in the rich blend of Spanish, Caribbean, European, and indigenous influence seen throughout the province.

Language is part of that unique blend. Each day, someone tries out their limited reserve of English phrases with me, but many times I don´t even realize they´re speaking my language because the pronounciations are so garbled.

"Gerd marning, herr you!?"

Whenever someone asks me to teach them an English word or phrase, they always repeat it back to me in a strange voice, peppering it with superfluous ´r´s. I´ve yet to figure this out, as Spanish doesn´t sound like that either, but it always makes for an interesting lesson. They take little offense to my grins or giggles. They enjoy themselves just as much when I stumble over my Spanish.

Then there´s Guary-Guary (I don´t know how to spell this and my half-hearted Google searching turns up nothing), a Creole-infused English, some colonial left-over with a nearly indecipherable accent. Guary-Guary is spoken choppily, lips thrust forward, and with hardly any mouth movement. Sometimes it´s easy to understand, but certain words are unrecognizable. "Cow" is pronounced more like "Go," and if you say "Cow?" they usually can´t confirm whether we´re talking about the same animal, leaving me to ask, "Vaca? Nivi?" in Spanish and Ngobere, respectively. "Yes, go!," they respond affirmatively.

Not many people in my village speak Guary-Guary, and I am still unsure of where they learned it and why. My host parents speak a bit of it, and it´s their chosen dialect when they fight because their kids don´t understand. And because they don´t understand normal English, I think they believe I am also in the dark.

"Dees es ho yoo treat me!?"

But oh, I know.

Then we have Ngobere. I yet to officially begin my lessons with my neighbor. Despite his intial enthusiasm and impromptu lessons on my site visit, he´s been dragging his feet lately. I´m eager to get started, because many people here, especially the older women, insist on speaking to me only in dialect. I can tell people my name, ask where they´re going, comment on the whether, but can say little much else. Frequently, when I pasear with a guide, I speak to the families in Spanish for 15-20 minutes, and then everyone lapses seamlessly into Ngobere, leaving me with nothing to do but sit, watch the rain, and wonder how it is that I have to wrap my mind around not one, but two languages.

Then, of course, there´s Spanish, which I navigate comfortably, more or less. I have a harder time deciphering the rapid Spanish of the Latino teachers and school principal. But I understand well and am well-understood (mostly) among my community members. It helps that I am here in the country, where people speak a brand of Spanish which could generously be assessed as imperfect. It´s as if I went to Appalachia to learn how to speak English. And whenever someone tries to speak to me in English, I respond in Spanish, partly because it´s what I believe I should be doing, but mostly because I usually can´t understand their English.

As I´ve said before, there is certainly a lot to see here in Panama. But there´s also a lot to hear.