True story.
A few years back a friend of mine went to Gabon to work for a year for a conservation group. Now Gabon is French-speaking country, and despite some preparation, the only few words that my friend had at his disposal were “hello”, “thank you”, “everything is fine” and “one fish please.” On arrival he was given a cultural baptism by fire. The dust had not yet settled on airplanes tyres and my dear friend was sent on a shopping trip, armed with a giant list of supplies that he would need; all the items listed only in French. Fortunately he is quite a trooper, so armed with his “wide reaching” French vocabulary he leaped head on into the largest shopping center in Libreville city with the gusto of a man on a mission. He made quite good headway at first. He began by locating the different vegetables, surprising himself at the ease with which he was finding items like un Banane (banana) un thé (tea), fairly pronounceable and identifiable.
With every step between the cereal isle and canned goods he found his confidence growing.
Until he got to the cheese.
“Frottage Sivuple,” he articulated across the cheese counter towards a lady in charge of slicing and distributing the different cheeses. The women behind the counter froze, mid slice. Thinking his pronunciation might not be as perfect as he had hoped he tried again, slower this time.
“Frot-t-age, si-vu-ple.”
The cheese lady leaned a little further forward, a confused look sweeping over her face. Maybe he was not quite getting the point across. So he decided to add a few hand gestures to go with his what was now looking to be a disastrous attempt at getting a slice of cheese in French. He began cupping his hands like you would a ball in an attempt to mimic the shape of the cheese balls under the display case. Moving them in a circular pattern in the air he began repeating “frottage, frottage, frot-tage”¦..”
At this point the cheese lady slammed down her slicer, glaring at my friend over the counter. In a stern voice she began to angrily shaking her fingers and loudly voicing her disapproval. Bystanders stared at him in shock and horror and the cheese lady gesticulated to the security guard to remove my bewildered and embarrassed friend.
And here’s why.
See “Fromage” is the word for cheese and, unfortunately for my friend, “Frottage” is what happens when you rub yourself up against someone in a sexual manner. His hand actions didn’t do him any favors either.
Moral of the story?
To quote Freeman Tegue Jr, ” Nothing is so simple that it cannot be misunderstood.”
Travelling to different countries and cultures opens us up to some incredibly embarrassing and socially awkward situations, but never let that scare you away from venturing out into the unknown. So often we tend to not want to “put ourselves out there” so to speak ,when it comes to travelling in another country. Sure you can choose to go on group tours, use translators, guides and generally experience a whole country and its people through your own home language, the way you understand the world to work. But why not be a bit more daring? Open yourself up to be laughed at, to make mistakes and take the leap of faith into someone else’s way of doing and saying things. You might get some real magical experiences next time you’re traipsing across the globe. I mean how else are you going to get a large breasted lady to chase you out of the fresh produce section all the while calling you a pervert?
Photo by Not Quite a Photographr
