Welcome to a Proficient Misa

The look of horror, surprise, and disgust on his face when I offered $4000 is forever etched into my mind. In the moment, I felt shame and frustration and wanted to just flee. Negotiation has never been exciting to me. I generally avoid it. Or ask my husband to step in and allow him to give face. But here I was in Laos trying to purchase a car from a guy from Taiwan using English as our mutual language. At the time, my husband, Misa, had exhausted his language skills in speech about who won the latest Champions League game. It was up to me.

We ended up paying $5000 for the car and I kept ruminating about my words and the Taiwanese reaction for days, something that would have just rolled off of Misa´s back. It’s part of the reason he is such a great fit for me as a husband, he just easily removes the pressure from situations. He diffuses anger or confusion with well timed humor and easily moves on from awkward encounters. His charisma is through the roof too, leaving vendors feeling the need to pay us to remove items and heeding their high prices to this outgoing man. I was always the one giving ideas and Misa charmed his way for their existence. But outside of his language, this man seemed so distant.

Before the big move, Misa had some English. He studied at an important university which only accepted English proficient individuals. However, Misa laughs each time he explains that he has always been able to pass a test without ever really knowing anything. So he was accepted and pushed his way through engineering courses by having friends translate his textbooks outside of class time. 

When we befriended each other, Misa had the desire to keep studying English with plans to live overseas someday. We had coffee dates filled with English instruction, the charming Mexican soccer player with the American English teacher. I knew he had a lot of vocabulary hidden in his brain and when he the English cord was plugged in, he could slowly make sense of a lot. But I also knew he had a longer way to go than he had come.

When it came time to move across the world, he hadn´t come too much farther than our casual classes in date form. This meant that I was in charge of flight purchases and visa forms. I filed for Camilo´s US passport and spoke with potential project supporters. At first it wasn´t too difficult for me. I understood the process of swimming through red tape in a new language and I was used to it. But when it changed from paper to person, it became more difficult. 

As we passed through immigration in the airport, I answered the questions and when they took Misa to a different line because he didn´t hold the ever-powerful US passport, I feared he could misunderstand important statements that could lead to detainment without cause. After filling out three visa applications in the airport of our new country, I was in charge of searching for housing and a vehicle all in foreigner groups because we were both lost in the Lao language. I spoke to phone companies numerous times and walked away in tears when our phones weren´t functioning after the long trek. I spoke to the Uber drivers and real estate agents who made me nervous as they planned to take me to a property on the back of their motorbikes with a baby in my arms. I made plans that couldn´t be fulfilled leaving a local to find me on facebook and hatefully comment on all of our wedding photos, my only album that was public. Misa was a trooper and gave his best to support me in it all, but I still felt that my shoulders were carrying the three of us.

Our first visit to a Lao hospital kept this sentiment going. Misa unexpectedly collided with the goalie from his own team, causing a shoulder injury that did not show improvement. He had difficulty brushing his hair, taking his shirts off, and obviously could not carry our child. Back home he would have been able to call our doctor, get a ride from a friend, and walk into the lab for an Xray all without having to drag a seven month old along for the journey. But it took four people to go to the hospital. One was the injured party, one our Lao friend who translated to English for us, me who translated to Spanish for Misa, and our baby who couldn’t take care of himself.

We walked up to 13 different windows; registration, payment, instructions, who knows what else, in order to be approved for an x-ray. Misa visited a doctor who pushed his shoulder around a bit while elderly men in arm slings pushed pass us while coughing and the hallway crowded itself enough that hands from five different strangers were upon Camilo´s bottom. Misa´s responses to the doctor were translated to the third language and the doctor dismissed him promising Misa that he was fine. After perhaps some begging inappropriate to this culture, Misa to me, me to our friend, and our friend to the doctor, Misa was finally put through. Misa knew that his English needed to improve because this was no longer an engineering exam, but his real life.

With each appointment that Misa couldn´t go to alone and each meeting that stopped with translation only into English, he was already be pushed and exposed to the language more than ever. Then we add in that our community of foreign friends communicates in English, Misa uses English to coach his soccer mates, and I have a never ending stream of consciousness spoken to our young son. The pure exposure brought improvements that also knit our relationships tighter and tighter over time. 

His improvement really has crept upon me slowly. The days when I would say something to him in English out of the blue and he couldn´t respond seem so far behind us. The moments I accidentally ask for a diaper in English and he brings in everything we own happen less and less often. Misa actually understands my conversations with Camilo. I give instructions and at the first whine, Misa repeats my statements in Spanish. He often speaks to both of us in English when our Lao friends are around too. I have a fun time watching Camilo fill in the holes for Misa. Camilo taught the differences between: move, stir, shake, jerk, and work (the dough). Nothing escapes Misa anymore.

Sometime before Camilo became verbal, Misa took the risk to begin fitness classes for English speakers. I have never known someone more knowledgeable about exercise with such a wide repertoire of exercises to work specific muscle groups. And although I fully trusted him to be able to coach and transfer his knowledge to a new situation, I was skeptical that clients would return to him. I was nervous he would have them doing 200 burpees rather than 20 by accident or that he could miss key information from concerned clients leading to an injury.  We practiced some phrases at home before he was off and it did not help me to feel any better. Thankfully though, we have lived in a country where foreigners have to forgiving of non-native speakers, because Misa has flourished. He has provided for his family and made great friends while using his second language. 

Nearly every time I hear my husband speak to another in English I have to marvel at him. My heart swells with pride and also amusement at his lack of studying. A few days ago I was making the kitchen smell like chicken curry while Misa stood outside selling the car we purchased two years ago. In English. I watched him stand there more relaxed than I could ever be in such a situation and negotiate with honesty and humor. He didn´t need me, and he hasn´t needed me to intervene for quite a while. He coaches on his own, goes to the physical therapist on his own, and has even taken trips to the US embassy. Of course he is not 100% fluent, but where he is makes me so proud and relieved.  I now feel confident that we could go anywhere together and my role as the speaker wouldn´t need to drain me. Rather than being the English speaking wife having to figure all things out, we would stay together as the team that we formed nearly four years ago.