Meet my family: Leo

The first interaction I had with my fifteen-year-old brother Leo was his introduction in broken English.

“Me, I am called Leo,” he said while I sat at the wooden kitchen table eating rice with a sauce of tomatoes and onions, my first dinner at my family’s house.

I was tired. My arms hurt from carrying my 58 and 52 –pound luggage. The plus vite French with a  Beninoise accent was beyond my abilities. At this point, I would take any English someone would willingly say to me.

Based on my latest language exam, I have reached a language proficiency with French that allows me to continue as a volunteer, but most of my days are still defined by the thoughts and feelings that I would be unable to convey in French.

Leo is the one person who is not American who can at least attempt to understand what I’m saying when my French fails me. (As long as I speak slowly and clearly enough in English.)

There are many times when I feel like I’m talking to myself. At night, when my French fails me more, my run-on sentences in English tend to end with the phrase “And I’m talking so fast right now I know Leo can’t understand what I’m saying.”

He replies, “Oh Emily. Your English is too fast for me.”

It is then that he understands what I’m working with everyday.