Ringa ringa ringa

I passed my LPI (language proficiency interview) a couple of months ago. Got a score of 5 out of a potential 9, which is what I needed to be considered, well, proficient. In all of my various attempts at learning languages other than English, I’ve had issues with vocabulary retention. I can generally pick up the accent well, and sometimes even sentence structure, but vocab? Heck. I’m lucky to have the vocabulary that I do in English! So I know that’s always been a weakness. Even when I passed the LPI, my evaluator told me my vocab was not very good. I just shrugged, because that’s what I knew the issue would be coming in, and that’s what I noted on every form about language the Peace Corps has had me fill out to date. Questionable vocabulary retention. That’s how my brain works. Or doesn’t work, rather.

So I have a basic/passable mastery of the Azerbaijani language. That doesn’t necessarily mean I will understand you if you stop me in the street and start talking to me. Often, I have to say, “Başa düşmürəm,” (“I don’t understand”), smile and that’s usually the end of the conversation. Often in these cases, as soon as the friendly person and I get about ten steps apart, it hits me what they were saying and I realize what an idiot I was. I have a feeling I will perpetually be ‘the stupid American’ here.

Because I don’t instantly recognize words, and I obviously am far from thinking in Azerbaijani, it takes me awhile to understand what someone is saying. I often have to rely on context or visual clues. When I have those, it’s easy-peasy. Truly! I have very little problem communicating while grocery shopping each week. Those are generally great days…when I can interact easily, I understand them, they understand me. I can come away from those interactions feeling good for a change. Like, I can DO this.

Just don’t call me.

As a general rule, if I don’t recognize a phone number, I don’t answer the phone, period. I didn’t do it in the States, I don’t do it here. If I didn’t give you my phone number purposefully, I probably don’t want to have you call me. Call me crazy. And when I am not confident in a new language, I almost never, ever answer the phone unless it’s someone in my contact list. That’s just asking for it, really. Context and nonverbal cues? Completely out the window over the phone.

Today, I broke that rule.

I have been waiting for something to be sent to me from the Baku Peace Corps office for about ten days, now. They actually sent it last week via express mail service, but I didn’t know when it arrived, and it got returned to Baku. So our office there sent another package this week. I went to the post office yesterday to see if it had arrived, but the women there know me and said, no, there is nothing here for you; we will call you if something comes. They have my number. They’re in my contact list. It’s good.

But today, today I broke my own rule. Because I was waiting anxiously for this package, when the phone rang, even though I didn’t recognize the number, I answered. It was a man. A man who was speaking Azerbaijani. Quickly and, apparently, without breathing often. As he went on and on, I thought I heard the word ‘poçt’ at least once. 'Aha,' I thought, 'this must be the delivery guy with my package, wondering where to deliver it.' “Mərkəzi poçt...Tərtər mərkəzi poçt,” I said. I wanted him to take it to the central post office because then my guardian-angel postal workers would call and all would be right again. But nooooooooo. Back he comes, hurling Azerbaijani at me with increased volume and rapidity. I mean, this guy was actually yelling at me! Man, I got ticked! I did nothing to deserve this, so I decided to fluster him just like he was flustering me. I interrupted his tirade with a string of rapid-fire English: “Look! I am an American and I speak English,” then in Azerbaijani, “Zəhmət olmasa! Yavaş yavaş danışsız!” (Please! Speak slowly!”)

Click.

He hung up on me.

I have a feeling my package from Baku will never, never come.