How come you are still talking? Or What did I just say?

I have not spoken anything of my experience of what it is like being an interpreter and having to depend on interpreters to get my information. The photo is of participants from one of the grief sessions I gave in DR Congo.

Today I have been working on the newsletter. I have about 13 possible articles that I can pull together at the moment, ranging from the Declaration being presented to Quakers on the dire situation in the Goma Relief Efforts, to weapons collection in Gitega (30+ automatic weapons, 1000+ grenades, etc. from local people turning in their weapons stash since the war ended), to election monitoring in Burundi next year, to the local work being done with HIV/AIDS and peace. Some of the material being gathered is in the second language of the person I am interviewing which makes me struggle with the accuracy of the reporting. Sometimes, I have sat through a presentation with an interpreter where I went from Point One to Point Six and wondered what happened to the other five points. It has been a bit of a challenge—one that I thought I knew well from my work as an interpreter—but now realize that I have only mildly understood what it is like to be dependent on an interpreter for EVERYTHING. I have watched as others broke out in gales of great laughter and the interpretation I received was not in the least bit funny. I have felt terribly left out of prayers that do not get interpreted for the most part, especially the final prayer of the workshop that I recently facilitated. In fact, I later learned that the interpreter had asked for an evaluation of my session and had not translated a single word but gave me the summary later. I sit occasionally at meals, struggling to understand, but not wanting to ask again what is going on. I sit through entire services in Kirundi and have no idea what has transpired so I start making it up in my head. Ok, that was the Our Father, no, this is it now, or maybe now…or ugh! It is a humbling, growing edge experience and I have thought more than once, that Deaf children in public schools should be given some kind of award for surviving each school day. In fact, Deaf people, in general, have even more of my admiration and respect for not lambasting some of us more often. I struggle trying to find a balance between stopping everything so I can be included more, or letting it slide so that people don’t have to slow down for every little detail. On the flip side, when I am presenting, I sometimes have to wonder what on earth the interpreter just said in Kirundi and should he still be talking since I only said five words?? Other times I have been thrilled that the process is going so smoothly. I am developing a fondness for consecutive interpreting. I am unsure how this will impact my work as a consultant but I am sure it will. In fact, it may turn out to be one of the most valuable lessons I learn.