Babel

For those who don't know the story of the Tower of Babel, I'll give
you a quick rundown… Back in the day, all of mankind spoke one
language. Folks got together and decided they would build a huge
tower to heaven to skip life and get right to the good stuff. God
disapproved, and so He caused the people to speak in different
tongues. They no longer understood each other, couldn't work
together, and the tower was abandoned or collapsed or both. [If a
greater scholar than I wants to give a better history in the comments
section, go ahead.]

The first time I watched director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's
latest film, named after the ancient tower, I did so without
subtitles. I thought I remembered reading an article somewhere that
said he had deliberately chosen to go without translations of the
Arabic, Berber, Japanese, Spanish, and sign-language in order to
highlight the barriers that separate us. If the audience struggles
to understand, then they're more participants in the story than
simple observers – or so the theory goes. Turns out, I never read
such an article and somehow created it in my mind, mostly because I
didn't notice the "Turn Subtitles On" button in the program on my
computer I was using to watch the film. Oops. Believe me, the
second time through (with subtitles) is much better.

This film and the story from which it derives its name are in some
ways strikingly similar to my current situation. Yesterday, I went
to the university in Taraclia, a city about a 5-minute taxi ride from
my village center. I've lived in Copceac for a year-and-a-half, but
it was only a week ago that I learned that there was a university
nearby, and only yesterday, when I ventured there on my own, that I
discovered an English Department there AND that from 1992-94 some
woman from Kansas served as a Peace Corps Volunteer there! Am I
speaking some different language? How was I never told about this?
Granted, some of the blame lies with me because I never asked anyone,
"Hey, is there a university in Taraclia?" Then again, I also never
asked anyone, "Hey, is there an underground Olympic-sized swimming
pool with an unlimited supply of chips and salsa in Taraclia?" Maybe
I should.

More striking to me was a question I asked several of the students I
met in one English class. "How many of you speak Gagauz?" Not a
single hand went up. In Copceac, five minutes away, the primary
language is Gagauz. But in Taraclia, nothing.

This was, of course, only one class and not a true cross-section of
the Taraclia population, which I know has significant numbers who do
speak Gagauz. Nonetheless, it was surprising to see that in such a
small area, two villages should have as many languages. That would
be like everyone in my hometown of Fredon speaking Spanish, and five
minutes away in Newton everyone speaking Chinese. I guess I never
cease to be amazed by the number of languages spoken in such a tiny
area. Romania, Russian, Bulgarian, Gagauz, Ukrainian, and some study
English and/or German.