The Joys of Workers Who Don't Speak English

Date: 10/2/10

“Morning Boss” this is how I am greeted by my workers on the jobsite when I enter every morning. Being mostly Indonesian and Bangladeshi (and full of vibrant personality), this is as far as some of their English vocabularies stretch. So during the day, trying to give them specific directions for what I need them to do becomes quite a difficult yet entertaining task. Hand gestures always help so I could imagine I may look a little silly from 50 feet away if you see me making hand motions but don’t know what I am talking about. Our Safety Supervisor, my main man Seelan, speaks very good Bahasa Malay and English, so sometimes (especially on time-sensitive issues), he gets drafted as my temporary translator for purposes of clarity. It already feels a little strange from time to time giving orders for manual labor to men who are on average 10 years older than me or so; the language barrier makes it that much more interesting. But luckily, the combination of me being one of the only member of the management staff that’s not scared to get their hands dirty and do something themselves and being the “big Black guy” has bought me a tremendous level of respect with my workers. I’ve rolled up the sleeves of my Polo to move something myself instead of disturbing a worker from another task and seen a worker come running 100 feet to come tell me “No boss, I will do.” It was a good feeling.. Hasan, a 28 year old Bangladeshi who’s the leader of the Kongsikong (a Mandarin term which essentially means general construction worker) has become my go-to guy because he understands a little bit of English on top of being genrally dependable, proactive, and informative. But that is the case with my Kongsikong. My site supervisor Fook Lee, a Chinese man about my parents age (who’s remarkably athletic for his age I’ve come to find watching him climb and navigate to the least accessible points on site) understands English okay because he watches American movies; however, he does not speak English well at all. I ask questions, about EVERYTHING. I want to learn about EVERYTHING because I plan to be the big man on the job one day and when I have young, handsome, educated college grad asking me questions about why I do the things I do on site, I need to be able to answer. With Fook Lee, trying to have a productive conversation with him is hit or miss. Sometimes I can decipher what he means and learn something, other times I just end up leaving unfulfilled. I don’t’ even get frustrated any more, I just know it’s part of the game. The most interesting events as far as language barrier are our inspections. Inspections of every building member before it’s concreted are done by Ms. Oon, the bilingual clerk or works for the project owner, and myself. Fook Lee often comes along though. There are times where she and I will disagree and be arguing with something in English and Fook Lee will lean to her a little later and ask in Malay “what was that about?” Then other times she and Fook Lee will argue in Malay and then I have to lean in and ask for clarification in English. After a year of this site dynamic, communicating with worker in English when I return to the States should be a piece of cake. Off to bed, need to get some rest and enjoy Sunday, my only day off each week. Selamat malam…

New Terminology

Date: August 22, 2010

As someone who will be spending the better part of a year here in Malaysia, I’ve decided that it’s best to have my friends help me pick up some Malay while I’m here. Although it doesn’t seem like a language I’ll ever use again once I go back to the US next year, it’s still a show of respect to try to pick some up. But I have to figure out a way to have fun while I’m learning too. So I decided to teach my Malay friend Seelan (pictured at bottom conducting a safety meeting), who speaks both Malay and English as most people I work with do, some English terms from my vocabulary that he doesn’t know; the first term “Laid Back.” Seelan is the safety officer at the site I work at. In America, safety officer is a position that requires an uptight butthole because of the steep consequences of on-site accidents or fines. Unlike the US where there is a very strict safety code (which is expensive if you break rules), the safety standards are much lower here. On our jobsite, you can see workers 20 feet off the ground tight-roping a 2”x4” and hammering nails(pictured below along with other dangerous feats), people riding the crane hooks up to the tops of boring machines, and even men walking around the site wearing bath towels (many of the general workers like in shanty style housing built on site). So the safety officer here has to take a much more ‘laid back’ approach to his job because safety is not a high priority of the management. I see dangerous actions and am immediately concerned, but he knows that he’s at the point where makes the proper recommendations (so that they can’t say he didn’t try) and then the rest is up to management whether he can buy the proper supplies or not. From there, he just has to make sure people are wearing hard hats and boots on site. The next term was “Eye Candy.” We decided to go for some drinks and were trying to figure out the appropriate venue. There were a few determining factors to be considered – prices, food, parking, distance from current location- but the eventual winning factor, Eye Candy. Since being in Malaysia, I’ve yet to really even be in a venue where there is an abundance of nice looking women to look at. Also, the search for nice lower half continues as I can count on one hand the women I’ve seen with any booty or hamstrings since I’ve been here. But it’s always nice to have women walking around to look at as you drink and tell jokes. We ended up at a nice bar in the main ‘action’ strip of a mall called the Curve. It was a good choice from an Eye Candy standpoint; even though the same absence of lower half still persisted. Seelam is starting to look like a good candidate for the road dog role that I’m not sure my British roommate can fill. Although he’s a bit older, he’s got a similar sense of humor to mine and seems like someone I would party if I worked with him back home too. Good person to find at this early stage of the trip. From last night’s trip to the movies (only $3 or so here which is wonderful) to see “The Expendables,” I’ve decided that my British roommate is odd socially. We were two straight guys going to the movies, a fairly normal situation, right? Wrong. He seems to follow me around like a puppy at times. If I walk to the other side of the sidewalk to get a little personal space, I look over and he has wondered over and is 11 inches away from me again. We get up to the ticket counter and there are four cashiers, all of which are open. Why is he right on my shoulder as I’m ordering my ticket? I literally had to tell him “Dude, those counters are open” to get him off my shoulder. Once we enter the cinema, only about 40% full, take a wild guess where he sits? You guessed it, right beside me. No one-seat guy buffer or anything. I think he’s probably be better at scaring fun away than helping to find it. Maybe he’s just out of his element, maybe he’s truly as odd as he currently seems. We will see. I’m glad I met my backup plan. Well, Selamat malam…

Lost in Translation

Date: August 18, 2010

Soul Food. Try explaining soul food to Malaysians whose only impressions of American food are McDonald’s, TGI Fridays, and KFC, and Kenny Rogers’ Roasters; that’s right, they have Kenny Rogers’ Roasters here. When is the last time I saw Kenny Rogers’ Roasters in the US? Drawing a blank, but I digress. I knew it was a futile effort before I got deep into the explanation. Like so many other things here, it was lost in translation. When I say lost in translation, it could literally mean that something was misunderstood in vocabulary. Or it could mean a misunderstanding in content or just an issue that arise that I didn’t expect to be an issue which became one. Or you just experience of see something that has you at a loss. As much as I like the food most places I go, it was a little confusing the first time I sat down at a restaurant and they give you a fork and spoon; no knife. All cutting duties fall to the spoon. Or they bring you warm water, tea or juice unless you specifically ask (and in many cases, pay slightly more) for ice in your drink. Hmmm, that’s new. Just like the hose found behind the toilet many places instead of toilet paper; wouldn’t we aiming a hose up my butt wet up my clothes? I’ve walked in and seen the entire bathroom all wet; it’s my guess that whoever used it before me got themselves wet too. I’d still grab some napkins and make due before I use the squat toilet you find some places. It was about as odd as the cold showers in a designated shower area without a tub or shower curtain. I’m sitting here right now with my hair half cut because these Malaysian plugs are destroying my clippers and I have to let them cool down. They’re louder and vibrate harder than even, the guard broke quickly, and the shapers started smoking less than 2 minutes into use because of some difficulty adapting to this new system. Once I let them cool down and do just enough to finish this bang-up job of a cut (due to the rush, it’s not gonna turn out good at all), I think I’ll put my clippers away and leave them there; if not send them home. I wasn’t aware there would be such a difference; lost in translation. I decided to get a sheet set that I wouldn’t get back home, something colorful that had a more Southeast Asian feel. I found a set that fulfilled my criteria, I talked to the Houz Depot (Yes, that really is what they’re home improvement store is called) representative and from what I could decipher, the set I had had everything I needed. I come home and put it on my bed and it’s only a fitted sheet, a bolster case (an oblong pillow case) and two pillowcases; no cover. Now I have to go back and find a cover because my rightful cover was lost in translation. My room in general is a story. I arrived first to our three bedroom two-bathroom condo, so naturally I took the largest room, which also happened to be the only one with air conditioning (“AirCon” as the locals call it) installed. The 2nd bedroom is small and has no view. The third bedroom is bright pink and has a bunk bed clearly made for toddlers just learning to count. Almost a week after arriving, I found out the Filipinos coming next are married and the master suite I’m staying in is theirs.. They better get the bunk bed, pink paint, and the flower-shaped light out of there or I’m not giving my room up. I was supposed to go from working in the office to working out on the site two days ago. However, every time I plan on going there is some kind of hold up at the last moment much to the site boss’s dismay. He doesn’t appreciate these translation issues. It’s hard enough trying to understand some of my coworkers both in the office and on-site, the one place I should be able to depend on full understanding of all English speak is at home with my English roommate, right? Not really. American English and British English are not the same language. I find myself asking him to say things over repeatedly, either because of the thick accent or the oddly chosen (in my eyes anyway) vocabulary. Is it really easier to say ‘washbasin’ than ‘sink’? Do you really not understand what I said about my pants until I use the word ‘trousers’ instead? What about the word “rubbish” makes you say that instead of ‘trash’? But I try to clear things up with him to avoid possible a lack of clarity. Sometimes it’s harder than others. Wish me luck. I threw in some pictures of things that had me scratching my head the first time I saw them here. Selamat malam…