Oct

20

Speechless in Biel

Filed Under Humor, Language, Migrant Life, Society & Culture | 1 Comment

(Note: Below is the first-ever entry I wrote on my personal blog, which used to be hosted on Blogger.)

BIEL-BIENNE, SWITZERLAND — In this small Swiss town composed of approximately 50,000 bilingual (German and French) residents, life for the clueless ‘Pinoy’ (Filipino) may pose some major linguistic challenges.

Unlike in big Swiss cities like Geneva, Zurich and Basel where most of the expat communities can be found, speaking English in Biel-Bienne seems to be as unpopular as speaking Russian in the Czech Republic. It does not matter if this laid-back town is home to the offices and factories of some notable watchmakers like Rolex, Omega, Rado and Swatch. Being fluent in English does not really open doors of opportunities — well, unless you are a native English speaker with a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) qualification. Your nationality and your certificate might just as well be your passport to the whole new world of EFL teaching in Switzerland. But that’s another story.

So, is it really tough to not know German or French in this bilingual town?

Well, let’s put it this way: if an “alien” (non-Swiss) dares to communicate in English, say, in a supermarket, either you won’t be understood or you won’t be appreciated. You just get either THE LOOK or THE SHRUG. So, a Pinoy immigrant who has been recently uprooted from his or her comfort zone must learn how to speak at least one of these languages or risk dying of isolation (an exaggeration, of course; isolated people here just become crazy). Many choose the high road of enrolling in language courses, hoping that they will soon become useful members of Swiss society.

But, of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds.

It will take years of serious language study and a high language aptitude to complement it to ‘make things happen.’ And since the Swiss speak in Swiss German (a German dialect which is not a written language) and not in the so-called High German (the Germans’ German) in their daily conversations, an immigrant’s predicament gets even more complicated. This means that aside from learning High German in a language school, I must at least understand Swiss German, which varies from canton to canon, adding another unwelcome dimension to my already overwhelming linguistic angst.

So after about 40 45-minute German lessons, a handful of language coursebook purchases, and daily prayers to the Almighty, I now rely on my broken German mixed with mispronounced French words to get by (I studied basic French in Manila in the early ’90s). Body language sometimes helps, if words don’t. I never thought I was capable of sounding and looking so desperate and uneducated at the same time, up until I moved to Biel-Bienne in February 2003.

Indeed, it’s a bit disconcerting to be lost for words and lost in translation in an environment, which is poles apart from where you came from. In the process of integrating yourself in a rather xenophobic community, you somehow lose your personal identity and your life takes on an existentialist twist. You ask yourself philosophical questions: “Who am I?” or “Why am I here?”

Tasks otherwise considered mundane suddenly become the most challenging activities that require more-than-average IQ and complete concentration. Consider these: You can’t operate the washing machine or the vacuum cleaner without outside help just because the instructional manuals don’t usually come with an English translation. You depend on your Swiss spouse to set the doctor’s appointment just because the only English words the clinic assistant knows are “Hello” and “Good-bye.” You struggle to buy the right cake ingredients just because the labels are all in German, French and Italian! (This is true not just in this town, but in the entire Switzerland as well.) So, you end up buying an instant cake just to end the ordeal.

And there was this incident with my Swiss OB-GYNE whose English lexicon was a bit limited, nudging me to ask my husband if he could take a half-day off from his office to extend his translation services to me. He did, and was soon giving the exact terms in English and/or in Swiss German for “uterus,” “Fallopian tubes,” “myoma” and “ovarian cysts” lest the diagnosis and treatment be less accurate. My uninitiated husband, since then, persevered to study the female reproductive system and its complexities — both in German and English

After a self-imposed break from foreign language studies, I’m now back to studying High German, and am getting used to uttering throat-straining lines like “Ich bin krank” (I am sick) and “Ich bin muede” (I am tired). “Sick and tired of Swiss life?” my husband once inquired. “Not really,” I replied. “Just literally sick and tired,” citing my unbroken love affair with allergies as the culprit.

Thanks to CNN and BBC, I still have access to the English-speaking world. Life is still beautiful — my television works, the air is clean, the bus arrives on time, my translator-husband is wonderful, etc. — even though one can be as clueless and speechless in Biel-Bienne.

The linguistic saga continues, and so do my philosophical musings. (Photo taken from Tourismus Biel Seeland website)