The blue-uniformed
Chinese girl haunts me. She came to my
ESL class at the detention center and sat at the table, studying her hands, as the other
women entered. When
I began my introduction to the class in both English and Spanish she stopped me
with a gesture. “No Spanish,” she said.
I asked if
she spoke English and she said “only little, most Chinese.” Stumped, I surveyed the class as they looked at me,
waiting: six women from Spanish-speaking countries, three from African
countries in head coverings and shawls of bedsheets, and the young Chinese
woman. As the African women had fairly good English I could reach all in the
room, except for one.
Hands
extended in apology I said “I don’t have any Chinese, I’m sorry. Only xie-xie
(Mandarin for thank you).” Most of the class chuckled at my poor attempt, but
the girl looked confused. Did she wonder if she was the butt of the
joke? As the class went on, we shared
more laughter at my pathetic attempts to illustrate our text on the whiteboard. My students
offered their own drawings, and encouraged each other to read aloud so they
could get the chocolate bar reward. The young Chinese girl was left out of the
laughter, the drawing, and the chocolate.
What is her
story? I wonder how she ended up here, unable to communicate. I’m not supposed
to ask, and I don’t dare break the rules. I don’t know if my one hour per week offers
the detainees anything other than laughter at my expense, but it’s life-changing
for me, and I can’t risk losing my volunteer’s badge. But I can’t forget the
young Chinese woman, because I know that I failed her. I hope I get a second chance to offer my sympathy and perhaps a chocolate bar.
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