A Brief Encounter-Shared Roots and Language Barriers.
A few days ago, I met an elderly man at the bus station.
He instantly reminded me of my father. He had the same complexion and an air of friendliness.
He also possessed an air of elegance, accentuated by a charming smile and a stylish hat that added to his overall sophistication.
He greeted me warmly and asked where I was from, to which I replied, "Nigeria."
He broke into a smile, and in a mix of Dutch and halted English, he disclosed his Surinamese heritage. He paused for a moment, then quickly added:
"We are both from Africa, you know?"
I nodded in agreement. As our conversation unfolded, we relied on fragmented sentences, punctuated by broad smiles, and bursts of laughter to bridge the language gap between us. His earlier words still lingered in the air, reinforcing our shared African heritage.
I communicated in my borrowed English, while he used his borrowed Dutch. Neither of us fully understood the other, and our lingua franca served as a stark reminder of our shared colonial history.
Despite our best efforts, our stilted conversation could only go so far. And in the absence of communal words to bridge the gap, we sat together in silence, awaiting the arrival of the bus.
Like branches plucked and separated from the same tree, silently acknowledging the legacy of our historical separation.
A separation that persists, truncating our ability to connect in the present on a deeper, more familiar level.