Guest Post

Here is a guest post from Thomas, who has been visiting over his winter break. - Susanne

 

Body Language—When No Really Does Mean Yes

Not possessing the gift for languages Susanne does, I devise my own communication methods when traveling abroad. The easiest and most effective means is to use Susanne as my guide. As we interact with Albanian farmers and shopkeepers, I grin stupidly while Susanne threads phrases and sentences together like fine Balkan lace. But with Susanne working as a consultant to the Albanian court system, I’m on my own during the day. I must develop other techniques to straddle the language barrier.

Locals give Susanne directions

Most often, pointing works. Or holding up fingers. Sometimes, I rely on my bilingual talent and take my rusted-out high school French for a test drive on the off chance an Albanian will  recognize it. Sometimes a strange, guttural sound emerges from deep within that means nothing to anyone in the conversation, but it somehow produces the desired result. Strangely, while ordering a kafe macchiato, I was flattered to be identified as Italiano. It must have been my accent. To purchase roasted chestnuts or oranges from sidewalk vendors, I simply hold out a handful of change and have them pick out the proper amount. (Such trust is one of the many beautiful aspects of Albanian culture, where no one negotiates price, and where honesty prevails in retail transactions.) To catch the correct furgon or minibus, I memorize the town we’ve planned all week to visit, then panic when I reverse letters and the driver gives me an amused look. To find my way back to familiar territory, I call Susanne at work.

But in defense of my linguistic lameness, Albanian is a challenging Indo-European language unique to the Balkans and on par with Finnish, Mongolian and Hungarian in its difficulty to learn. So I’m told, anyway. I am told that Albanian has nine “moods” for a single verb, including “admirative” and “operative,” which don’t exist in English. But never mind verbs. Just tackling please and thank you involves wrapping the tongue around four- and five-syllable words, with dipthongs that tumble like gravel in the throat. Not only does Albanian have northern and southern dialects, it also contains smatterings of Greek, Latin, Turkish and Slavik borrowed from its neighbors and occupiers throughout history. No wonder I struggle more than usual with basic greetings and numbers.

One aspect of the language that adds to the confusion is that, in Albania, yes means no and no means yes. Sort of. For starters, Po, which sounds like no, means yes, and Yo, which resembles the affirmative, means no. Difficult at first, but after a couple of days and more than a couple of missteps, even I learned yes and no in Albanian. And there was always the universal head nod to fall back on to clarify any misunderstanding. Easy enough, Po? Or rather, Yo!

Just when I felt I’d made tangible progress, I discovered nonverbal cues are not to be relied upon. Head movements that accompany yes and no in most other languages mean the opposite in Albanian. Albanian people shake their head side-to-side to mean yes, and nod their head up and down to mean no.  That explains why, after I confirmed my capuccino order with an attentive barrista, I received an espresso instead. Why a second carafe of raki and shot glasses appeared when I was already pleasantly intoxicated and ready to pay the bill. It also explains why the produce vendor indicated he had no cabbage as I admired a half dozen, dense, shiny heads that I could only conclude were reserved for some future customer.

I never realized how inherent head gestures are to communication until I tried to reverse my own. Shaking my head back and forth as I say yes feels as awkward as signing my name, left-handed, with a crayon. At times, my  attempts at Albanian head motions are so subtle, they go undetected. Other times, I overcompensate, with my head movements vigorous and circular, like a wet dog shaking itself. Finally, I resolve to hold my head neutral and stationary. I find this equally clumsy, even impossible, and as unnatural as running with my arms plastered to my sides.

Until now, I’ve relied on gestures and facial expressions (and Susanne) to overcome my language deficiencies. Not so in Albania, where nonverbal language is a duplicitous friend who purchases twice the number of persimmons requested, who waves off the summoned taxi, and who transforms a pleasant buzz into whirling intoxication. Fortunately, Albanian people are patient, good-natured and forgiving. Still, before pursuing business or romance in Albania, it’s best to practice some neck exercises in front of the mirror. And remember, no means yes.