Floriography

At some point in high school we were doing The Merchant of Venice. Our teacher was a tall dame nearing retirement. She was always impeccably dressed, with a hint of expensive jewellery. Frau something-or-other was intimidating yet friendly, intent on teaching us to have ambitions whilst also making us appreciate the beauty of the language. 

This day, we were nearing the end of the play, and I knew the scene would come. The one I had heard quoted before, the one I (mis)wrote on my jeans, the one thing Shakespeare wrote besides 'to be or not to be, that is the question' that I can't forget. 

Always these lines: 

SHYLOCK

To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath
not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as
a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we willresemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
will better the instruction.

The Merchant of Venice,3,i.
  

Same in any language

About thirty people are shouting at me, enthusiastically. "Commerce!Commerce!Commerce!" I am bewildered. What arrrrrre they saying? Because they are all speaking at the same time, and not in unison, I don't really know, but smile politely and pretend to have understood.

Today was the first day I ever interpreted, officially. At the moment the university is hosting a course for diplomats from francophone countries in Africa, and some of the Masters and Honours students are helping with the interpreting. Most of the visitors do understand English, but to make some points clearer it helps to have someone. Perhaps that someone is not me, yet.

The diplomats know we aren't professionals, but still I was stressing. It was like a first date, except that the butterflies in my stomach were evil and eating my insides. I prepared, read some articles, found some terminology I thought was relevant, and remembered to translate, above all, "le sens" (the sense) and not the individual words. But what you do at home is not the same as when you have to interpret words and acronyms that you don't even know in English.

After a while I decided to fuck translating the slides and simply pronouncing English words in a French way. I just made notes, and when I didn't know the word or expression, the group was more than willing to help. They were all very friendly and understanding, and after an hour, I felt a lot more at ease. I'm sure a professional would have cringed and thought that it was a bit of a pathetic effort.

But the diplomats came up to me afterwards to say "good job" and to give advice on how to improve, which is great. I think good interpretation comes with experience. I'm glad I tried this, and will do so again for Wednesday's session. It can only get better.

Someone ( I found either Roosevelt or Vonnegut as sources) said that you should do something everyday that scares you. I'm scared of lizards, sharks and people breaking into my house/car and hurting me. Academia normally doesn't scare me. Speaking in front of people is also mostly fine. This, however, was terrifying. It was the fear of not understanding, of misinterpreting, of not finding the right words, of embarrassing myself, and most importantly, of failing.

But without trying, you can neither succeed nor fail. So suck it, evil intestine-eating butterflies. I got this.