Following Clues and Context

By necessity, I’m becoming a master at following clues and context. When your understanding of the language and the systems is imperfect, you have to catch what you can and put it all together. Someone will say a hundred different things, and point, and maybe you only understood a few words, but you nod and thank them and walk in that direction, and either you’ll see something that fits what you did understand, or you’ll find someone else and ask them, put a few new words into the mix, keep going, keep trying. You’ll get there eventually, and then it will all make sense, seem so simple, so easy.

You can’t do it all in one day. I’ve spent a week and a half learning how things work and I’m probably not even half way. People keep talking about this online system called Aldi and I have no idea how to start with that – I haven’t set up my university email yet – I don’t actually understand what we’re supposed to do when we get sick, although they droned about it for a little while at orientation.

But I have gotten an I.D. card, learned how they worked, how you need to scan them to enter buildings… figured out where to find class schedules, both online and on campus, and how to follow them… realized that the Communications Building and the Social Science Building are one and the same… figured out the overly complicated way to use the WIFI on campus… realized that instead of recieving print-outs in class, you have to go see if any are listed on a bulletin board by the copy machine, by the school store, buy a copy card, and ask and pay for your numbers… found out that there are two technically seperate libraries sharing one building, that undergrads are not allowed direct access to most of the books, learned how to use the computer system to search for and request such material…

Sometimes ordinary tasks are extraordinarily daunting in a new place, in a new language. You have to be brave. You have to be persistent. You have to be resourceful.

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One day, I had to go to Lea’s house to pick up some dishes. I hadn’t been to her place before, and she gave me some directions that I generally don’t fault, though she might have mentioned that her building was the one under construction. I followed her instructions to a plaza, where I saw buildings 5, 6, 8, 9, 10… but not 7, which was what I was looking for. The only door I saw that looked residential, but was unnumbered, was under construction… such that it didn’t really look inhabited. But after wandering around the plaza, I concluded that 7 could be nowhere else… and there was laundry and plants hanging from some of the balconies above.

I went in. I might mention that I didn’t have my phone, to call or double check anything, and I was a bit nervous about knocking on the wrong door. There were mailboxes in the foyer, some of them overflowing. One letter had fallen on the ground, so I picked it up and checked the address. Number 7. So far, so good.

I didn’t know if the elevators were usable or not, so I started climbing stairs. The walls were bare, stripped for construction of all signs or indications. I don’t trust my own counting on the best of days, and here floors are numbered differently… so when I ran into a construction worker I asked which floor we were on. “El Quinto!” he said – “The Fifth!” I thanked him and climbed on, got to the right floor, went to the right letter, knocked, and hoped.

And Lea answered the door.