They called me “Grotch”

They called me “Grotch.”

That’s okay because I struggled to pronounce their names: Faiso, Hawo, Fatuma, Farhiya, Yurub, Zamzam…

Six years ago, I’d never heard of the country they’d fled–Somalia–and I was nervous around these East African women who wore hijabs and long flowing robes.

I offered to teach English and help the refugees study for the citizenship test. They dreamed of becoming a United States citizen. In return, I was invited into their lives, and our unusual friendship centered on words.

During our lessons, these hospitable ladies served chai tea with freshly ground spices, and we laughed as we struggled with words. When Fadumo called her kitchen a chicken, I squawked and flapped my arms until she understood a chicken isn’t a kitchen. Another Somali wanted a chop, meaning a job. We often repeated words and reworded sentences and still couldn’t understand each other.

Dr. Alber Mehrabian was a pioneer researcher in communication in the 1950’s. He authored Silent Messages and concluded the 38 percent of a message is conveyed through the vocal elements and 55 percent through body language, which leaves only seven percent of a message is communicated by words.

When words failed, the Somalis and I resorted to Merabian’s theory. We communicated through facial expressions, sounds, and physical gestures. And as we laughed at each other’s crazy charades, our hearts grew close. I wept when Faiso called me–her white skinned American teacher–her sister.

As a writer, my tools are words. I strive to show–not tell–stories and let pages dissolve so readers experience what I’ve written. I want my characters to bring readers into their worlds, no matter how different.

Communication takes practice. Writing takes more. Are editing and rewriting and tweaking worth it? Yes.

It took months before I heard a Somali pronounce my name: Gretchen.

And I smiled. All day long.