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February 2002
The Multilinguists
Diario de Diana:
I have already made myself vulnerable by sharing my struggles
with Portuguese (see: "Estupido in Maputo"). There is
more to the story, as T.D. Jakes says, "Nobody tells their
whole testimony."
It wasn’t just the jet lag, or the Lariam, culture shock,
or middle-age muddles (although I recently spent fifteen minutes
searching for my glasses and by the time I found them had forgotten
what I needed them for). When we arrived in Mozambique we were
trying to simultaneously master several new languages: Portuguese,
Computerese, and Presbyterianese.
The enculturation process involved linguistic challenges of
its own. It is therapeutic to leaf through our early journal entries.
We were greeted at the airport by the president of the Igreja
Presbiteriana de Mocambique (IPM), Rev. Mario Nyamuxwe. The first
entry in Charles’ notebook reads: "President: Mario
Nyumuxwe [sic], Yu [short vowel sign] - moosh [stressed syllable]
- way." Nyamuxwe is the president of the Conselho Sinodal,
or Synod Council. IPM also has a Mesa Do Sinodo, Synod Table,
which has its own president. Another eight presidents lead the
various presbyteries. I am beginning to understand why I was confused.
Our difficulties are compounded by the repetition of six or
so surnames with only slight variations dispersed among 60-some
ministers: Mondlane, Mandlate, Malate; Tseco, Tcheco; Massingue,
Matsimbe, Matsinhe. Presbyterianism is very tribal in Mozambique,
(the Rongas and related Shangaans in the southern provinces);
as in America, (caucasians from Princeton). My guess is that the
transliteration of tribal phonetics was quite a challenge. More
consonants are strung together than the freebies on Wheel of Fortune.
I have seen the name of an elder in our church spelled three different
ways: Chirindza, Tchirindza, Xirinda.
It wasn’t just the Portuguese/Ronga/Shangaan language blur.
We also arrived in Maputo with a brand new laptop. Charles and
I had not used a computer in six years, back when the monitor
was as big as a Fifties TV console, the printer sounded like a
sawmill in operation, and a degree in paleontology was required
to operate them. Computer know-how must be stored as short-term
memory, as we had to start all over again. I find these embarrassing
entries in our journal: "Type username, hit enter",
"to check our email go to SEND & REC.", "to
close, go to X."
Ah, but then we also had to learn accountability and accounting,
Presbyterian-style. At our first formal meeting at PC(USA) headquarters
in Louisville, Kentucky, we were introduced to four people in
the PC(USA)’s WMD: the PIMM Coordinator of MPC; the PIM (not
to be confused with the PIMM) Coordinator for S&EA; the Associate,
A&M, Int’l; and a representative of the Coordinator,
Int’l. E, GS&W. Now I get it: it was preparation for
learning Ronga! They drew three or four overlapping circles on
the board and explained how each agency within the PC(USA) was
distinct, yet mutually interdependent. Our work was to be supervised
by at least three of them, our reimbursement requests separated
and submitted to five different addresses, and it was all as clear
as are most explanations of the Trinity.
Then there was the language of international banking. For several
years before our appointment as overseas missionaries, we had
a traveling faith ministry (non-salaried). Our cash flow was hand-to-mouth;
from God’s hand to our mouths. We had one checking account
and no major credit card. We had no indebtedness, praise God,
and a rotary phone. When we learned that our bank could not make
monthly transfers to our children’s education funds (one
of the wonderful blessings of the financial support of the
PC(USA)), we managed to open another account in a local bank just
a week before departing America. We also applied for and received
a major credit card, as we were advised that international travel
was virtually impossible without one. We have since discovered
that international travel in Africa is virtually impossible with
one as well. Few places can process a credit card, and it d-d-don’t
help the r-roads n-n-none, n-n-neither.
When we arrived in Maputo we had to open two more bank accounts.
One to receive wires in American dollars, and the other for the
local currency, meticais. I have had to memorize (or at least
remember where I’ve written down) enough account numbers,
PIN numbers, passwords, access codes, and banking websites that
a part of my brain has been identified as an unreached people
group and Wycliffe is sending in a team.
Continual travel between Mozambique, Zimbabwe, South Africa,
and Malawi forces us to rapidly convert various currencies at
constantly fluctuating exchange rates: 16,000 to 22,600 Mocambiquan
meticais = 55 to 350 (the span between the official bank rate
and the street value peak for a couple weeks last November) Zimbabwean
dollars = 6.5 to 11.2 South African Rands = 65 to 68 kwachas (Malawi’s
cwatchy currency) = $1 US. To a hotel clerk I might protest, "5,626
Zim for one night?" and 7-year-old Isaiah will loudly say,
"Mom, that’s less than $20." I have had to teach
him either to quote the official bank rate or remain silent.
This year our four children will be attending four different
schools in three different countries.
We are still working on Portuguese.
Diane Wonnenberg
The 2002 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 43
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