What Language Barrier?

By Keith Monroe

Participants at next year's world jamboree in Chile, says a veteran of many such global gatherings, will have little trouble--and lots of fun--understanding each other, because they all will speak a universal language called SCOUTING.

In Chile they're getting ready to host the 19th World Jamboree--the first to be held in South America.

The 25,000 Scouts and Scouters from all parts of the globe who will attend the event are sure to enjoy some wild and crazy moments--as well as an uplifting and memorable experience.

Having been part of four world jamborees (Idaho in 1967; Japan, 1971; Australia, 1988; and Holland, 1995), I can tell you something of what to expect.

Whether you're part of a jamboree troop, a cog in the huge jamboree staff, or a strolling observer, you'll soon feel oddly at home. Everyone seems to know you, and they often want your autograph. Youths and adults in uniforms of various colors smile and wave, calling- out greetings that sound like "G'-dye"..."allo"... "chow"... "bee-en-va-needos" (although they'll spell them good-day, hello, ciao, and bienvenidos).

Many Scouts from other countries speak at least some English. But they will be double-checking their dictionaries and U.S. maps after meeting BSA Scouts who tell them they hail from places like "Fed-vull" (Fayetteville) in Arkansas, "Bawlamer" (in the state of "Marlin"), "Lawn Guyland" and "Sanny Aygo." When you try to speak another language, at the jamboree or touring before or afterward, you'll soon have your own stories to tell.

One U.S. Scout, for example, wrote in his diary about visiting Paris, France. "At a restaurant, we couldn't read or speak French," he lamented, "[so] we went to the kitchen and showed the waiter what we wanted."

Searching for the train depot, his group tried using the French word for railway station, "gare." Passersby guffawed and walked on, however, because the Scouts' pronunciation sounded like "guerre," which means "war."

Cultural customs sometimes add to the communication confusion. In 1971 a BSA official who spoke some Japanese had to discuss jamboree plans with a Japanese Scouter he had never met. At an office in downtown Tokyo, he was received cordially and, as was the custom, the two men enjoyed a leisurely cup of tea while chatting about each other's families. After about 10 minutes, however, it became clear that the American was in the wrong office. His Japanese host wasn't even a Scouter!

The best-laid plans...

Travel mix-ups can occur during the preopening days of a jamboree. Buses take a wrong turn trying to deliver troops to campsites over unfamiliar roads. A few units may arrive without tents or other equipment.

At the Idaho jamboree, a British troop, minus tents or sleeping bags, spent its first night seated stoically around a campfire. A somewhat luckier Jamaican troop had to set up camp at midnight when its tents finally arrived.

In Australia in 1988 a German troop's cooking equipment never arrived. Other troops reshuffled their gear to let the Germans cook with them. In Japan eight Scouts from India arrived without any tents or camping gear. They understood the jamboree would take place in a hotel.

Friendly, courteous staff

Staff members helped the Indians resolve their problem in a friendly, courteous way. This is typical of jamboree staff, most of whom have served long in Scouting and are always ready and willing to help.

You can identify many a staffer's country of origin by the way he or she speaks English. For example, you open a map and look confused, and someone asks pleasantly, "Up a gum tree?" You know he's Australian (or "Strine," as he would say).

If he asks, "Kinna hepyuh?" he's probably from Kentucky or other points south. "May I die-wreck-chew?" indicates a proper Briton. On the other hand, you will probably seem pretty odd yourself to many of the people you meet. At the Idaho world jamboree, my hand ached from signing my name on so many individual participation cards at the waterfront. I borrowed a rubber signature stamp from E. E. (Hoisy) Hoisington, the BSA water safety expert who headed the lakefront crew.

As I slapped signature after signature on participation cards, Scouts were curious about the rubber stamp.

"Wot's that?" some Aussies asked.

"Mr. Hoisington's signature."

"You mean he can't write?"

"Yes he can--but this saves time."

The Scouts looked skeptical. "Go ask him," I said, pointing out Hoisington, who was busy scanning his five beaches through tiny Japanese binoculars. Hoisy had a certain majesty, but he politely proved to the doubters that he could indeed write his name. And from then on, the Aussies greeted me as the "stomper" or "the one with the stump."

Hoisy's binoculars were the cause of another incident in which knowledge of either English or Japanese by both parties would have helped. I spotted a Japanese Scouter (who spoke no English) leaving the swimming area with a pair of tiny binoculars that I recognized as Hoisy's.

Intercepting the Scouter, I tried blandly but firmly to retrieve the binoculars. However, after much tugging and a great deal of pantomime, he proved that they were, in fact, a different pair--his own. Scouting spirit intervened, and he quickly forgave me with a chuckle and a smile.

Say what??

Another incident taught me that you can never be sure exactly what language people know when you are trying to communicate with them.

As I explained check-in procedures to one stolid group in swim trunks, I saw no flicker of comprehension even though I was gesturing vigorously. Finally I asked, "Do any of you understand English?"

"We invented it," their leader replied in an Oxford accent.

My knottiest language problem arose when a Malay Scout came in from the beach in tears. "Negatiff," he wailed, pointing to his bare feet.

"Hurt feet?" I asked. He nodded and waited expectantly. His feet showed no damage, so I asked some more questions. He answered each with a nod or a plaintive "Negatiff" and vague gestures.

Some U.S. Scouts came to the rescue. They divined by telepathy or sign talk that the Scout's neckerchief had vanished from where he left it--in his shoes--on the beach. They deployed and found the missing item, which his buddy had hidden as a prank.

Amid the confusion of language logistics, and hundreds of other problems, friendships are forged and strengthened at a world jamboree.

Try one and you'll remember it for a lifetime.

Keith Monroe reported on the 1995 World Jamboree in the January-February 1996 Scouting magazine.

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Copyright © 1997 by the Boy Scouts of America. All rights thereunder reserved; anything appearing in Scouting magazine or on its Web site may not be reprinted either wholly or in part without written permission. Because of freedom given authors, opinions may not reflect official concurrence.