Life has a way of keeping you humble. Recently I'd been starting to have thoughts about how I was getting close to a point of comfort with Dinka culture and my general living environment. Then this little situation happened:
There are three of us in a small room, myself, Janet (Dutch) and Simon (Dinka). Janet needs a pen to sign something for Simon. Simon goes to his office next door to get one. I realize that I have a pen with me and offer it to Janet. Simon returns with his pen. Simon, like most Dinka people, is quick to laugh at just about anything. (Side note, I will soon take part in an emcee job at a wedding for our good friends Darren and Christina and I'm honestly concerned that I might not know what is actually funny anymore because pretty much anything I do in Sudan is laugh worthy as long as I say it with a smile on my face) Back to the story, I fasten a grin to my face and announce to Simon that "I beat you." Simon doesn't seem to understand so I repeat. Again I'm not seeing the light come on so I explain in other words. These I can't remember but let's say it was "Simon, I gave Janet a pen before you did." At this point even in Sudan, my attempt at humour has fallen flat and Simon simply heads out the door and back to his office.
I'm not too concerned because these kinds of unclear conversations happen all the time. Then Janet points out to me that I probably should be more careful with the word "beat." Turns out the reason Simon wasn't understanding me was because his only translation of "I beat you" involves violence. A reminder that I still have lots to learn here. I hope that some day Simon and other Dinka will know "beat" as a word to denote order of finish rather than violence.
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