We were talking about Peanuts…

The worst is when your reverse “A-ha!” moments time themselves so perfectly that they hit you when you least expect it.  Your body stops functioning and turns itself into a lifeless vessel, but your mind is still very much on the move.  Forty-three very negative thought-streams predicting the immediate future sprint marathons through your head in different directions, but none end with victory; all stop at Mile 25.  Cue the nerves.  Your stomach decides to take an unsavory plunge off the nearest cliff, and your confidence, the lemming that is it, soon follows suit.  Feelings of defeat infect your entire body.  The ominous catalyst enters through your ears and/or eyes, is converted to negative emotion in your brain, and is then sent racing through your veins faster than the blood which fuels you.   And just like that, you’ve been transformed into a hopeless glob of goo. It’s that discouraging feeling you get when something metaphorically kicks you right in the testicles.  That feeling’s only made worse when you realize that you’re alone, and in Africa… for another two years.

I got that metaphorical kick tonight while attempting to make conversation with my Mãe, and my downhearted mood stuck with me throughout the night.  In typical fashion, I’m describing the feeling to you in the most dramatic way possible.  We were talking about peanuts.  I was trying to tell her that a friend of mine wanted to buy three cups of peanuts for a game we would be playing on Saturday. In hind sight, trying to ask for something that will be used in the future isn’t a particularly easy task when you don’t have a firm grasp on interrogatives or the future tense.  Using the expression “em futuro,” will only work so well for so long. Also, it doesn’t help that Portuguese is neither of our first languages, and neither of us know it all that well.

Up until today, I had spent the past few days basking in my newfound ability to converse in a foreign language on a very basic level.  For the most part, when I know the context of a conversation, I can understand most of what is being said to me at any point in time.  Responding….well, that’s a different story, but I can usually get the point across without too much trouble.   All in all, I’ve been able to successfully fight my way through conversations for about 2 weeks now.  That said, there have been a few speed bumps along the way.

For some reason, last night felt more like a trying to conquer a mountain then hurdle a speed bump.  For some reason, I just couldn’t explain things right.  I forgot words, mis-conjugated verbs, and constructed my sentences pretty poorly.  A lot worse than usual.   My Mãe, the expressive little African Peach that she is (her repertoire of facial expressions is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever seen.  Her laugh comes from the bottom of her belly, and you can hear it down the street.  Phenomenal.  And she does this thing when I get home from school that makes me feel are warm and fuzzy inside. When she sees me, she gets all excited, smiles and barks “Oooh, meu filho, ja volto!”  No joke, she does this every time.  And it’s freakin’ adorable… end digressive tangent), responded with a number of her familiar verbal reactions. A loud, confused “EIY!” and “OOO!” were thrown my way a few times before the conversation came to a screeching halt as both of us were at a loss for words.  If I hadn’t been using it to cut up the fish on my plate, I could have used my butter knife to cut the awkward that now filled the air.  It was quiet.  It was disheartening. It was uncomfortable. I felt embarrassed and low.  We sat there in silence, reflecting on the awkward exchange as we continued to eat.  At least we could use that to temporarily escape from the moment.

Awkward conversations are no big deal to me.  I’ve had plenty throughout my time out here. This wasn’t the first, and it certainly won’t be the last.  I rarely know everything that’s being said to me, and I’ve gotten quite good at faking it while successfully steering the conversation back in the direction of something I can understand and sustain. But tonight was different.  On the eve of the LPI (the final language evaluation we have to pass  that apparently determines whether or not we can swear-in as volunteers on Tuesday), the confidence I’d need for the following day just up and walked away.  Now, with my oral exam looming over me iin less than twenty-four short hours, I’m still trying to locate it. Boa Sorte, Professor William.