Ode to my Interpreter

Have you ever been in a situation where you are at the mercy of an interpreter?
Then you will understand what I am about to say.


Imagine standing between two people who are obviously speaking in tongues, and the subject of their discourse is you - with your own permission. You stand there, looking lost but striving to keep a straight face. One is my interpreter, who has taken the pains to be your voice where you cannot be understood, and the other is the occupier of the office, from whom you need one document or the other. And what does the later do? In between the rattling in strange tongues, she turns to look at you as if you are the fullstop she desperately needs to modulate the speed of her speech delivery. You try to understand the look she constantly throws at you and many options open up to you as to the muted questions in her thoughts:

1. Here is a full grown man that cannot speak for himself ... what a shame!
2. These Africans do they ever know anything?
3. What is the relationship between this "blackness" and the beautiful white lady beside him? 
4. Is he going to marry her in order to get proper residetial documentation?
5. Why is she helping him anyway?
6. Is there a possibility that he understands and pretends not to?

Personally, I refuse to dwell on any of the possibilities because of the unsavoury taste that each leaves with you. The worst part is that after the altercation in strange talks, the lady gives you a wide grin (supposedly a smile) in order to confirm your "whatever", depending on the correct thoughts she has for you. In the end, as you smile back, you appear like a fool because you are not privy to the purpose of the smile nor why you should even reciprocate. as you turn to leave, you look around from the corner of your eyes to see if some hefty men are approaching to take charge of you. Why, you may ask me?


Isn't it obvious?


When you do not understand what has been said between your rep and the officer, and the only thing that has made sense were the repeated nods shared between the speaker and your rep, you end up having a sense of being a commodity. Yes, a piece of merchandise that some folks are haggling over. And the wide smile in the end appears as if the deal has been sealed and what remains is for money to exchange hands and you become someone else's property. Now I have a better understanding of how slaves must have felt - knowing that the exchange is about you and your freedom, and then doing nothing about it. And none of the conversants cares to include you in the discussion except to confirm that you are exactly what the offerer says you are.


But my interpreter makes it all easy. She turns to quickly bring you up to date over what has transpired before delving into another. She does not take charge as the person mandated to speak on your behalf, but seeks your permission to say anything on your behalf. I wish that the (s)elected representatives of the people in my country will take a cue from my interpreter. She knows that she is there because of me and as such does not overthrow me and usurp my powers in order to speak for me just like politicians do. It is for this purpose that I regard my interpreter as an angel.

http://www.britsattheirbest.com/creative_brits/cr_blake.htm

Angels come in diverse ways. Whether they are divine, I reject the anthropomorphic to aver that there are a whole lot of human-angels who cater to our needs on this side of existence. We can as well leave the divine for the spirits, or at least, till we become divinities ourselves (if you ever will, anyways). They come in diverse ways - as wives, sisters, mothers, girlfriends, teachers, and most importantly as friends in a foreign land, like my interpreter.


She has a heart made of gold; pure and glittering, just like the one that made me meet them all. I thank you D. for bringing me here and making me meet all these wonderful people. You all are angels!