How to distinguish your host mom from a can of sardines.

Place: Jales, São Paulo, Brasil

Background:  This story hails from my time spent abroad as a Rotary youth exchange student in Jales, a very small city in rural São Paulo of about 50,000 people.  After hearing my high school friend mention a pretty "cool" exchange program, I decided it would be fun to spend a year abroad at the age of 16.  There is no explanation for this.  After learning that I would be spending my year in Jales, I decided to buy a "Portuguese For Dummies" book, since I spoke no Portuguese.  (It was to no avail, since I only learned how to say "My name is Sophie" in Portuguese on the plane to Brazil.)  After landing in Brazil, I realized I should have done a little more reading. 

After arriving in Brazil, I was immediately overwhelmed.  I knew one person that spoke English, but the rest was all a blur of some foreign language and an intense invasion of personal space.  Since I am the type of person that feels awkward sitting in silence, I just kept repeating the only line I knew (which I had also learned on the plane ride over): "Qual é seu nome?" or "What is your name?".  It probably would have been better just to keep quiet, since repeating this over and over just made me look like I had some pretty in-depth mental issues trying to remember people's names.  However, despite my apparent mental issues and inexcusable wardrobe (I was right in the middle of my hippie stage during this time of my life), all the Brazilians I met were extremely welcoming and definitely tried to work with me on the whole me-not-speaking-their-language fiasco.  For the first two weeks, I visited a friend in a city not far from my official host city.  Although this helped, I was still basically illiterate when I arrived at the house of my host parents in Jales.

We pulled up to a beautiful house with a fence made out of exotic plants in rural Jales.  My host parents were very welcoming, with my host mom being of Japanese descent and my host dad a jolly out-going lover of Harleys.  I was bound to communicate with my new "parents."  First step, their names.  Nadilson and Alice Leonel.  Last name, done and done.  First name, Nadilson, I soon figured out was pronounced Nuh-jeel-son.  I was almost pro at this, but don't let the spelling of my host mom's name fool you.  She was not to be called good ole American "Alice."  I landed on Ah-leech-ee as the confirmed pronunciation of her name and patted myself on the back.  Baby steps.



Me with my wonderful host family, Monise, Nadilson, and Alice, and fellow exchange student Jaella at Foz do Iguaçu.

The first two weeks were definitely hard since my Alice and Nadilson didn't speak any English, (although my host dad is fluent in waking people up in English with his infamous "wakey uppey"), and I was still in the introduction section of "Portuguese for Dummies."  We got by though.  They would knock on the door while I was showering saying "Vamos almoçar." I would finish my shower, grab my pocket dictionary, learn that almoçar meant to have lunch and walk downstairs to make my fashionably late entrance to the dining table.  Most of my learning Portuguese went like this, although I felt confident in that at the very least, I could properly pronounce my host parents' names.

After the first two weeks, my host mom told me that one of their family friends wanted to come show me around the town.  Oh, and also HE SPOKE ENGLISH.  I was excited.  Juninho and three other friends came to pick me up and we went to a little restaurant and bar to hang out.  They were very friendly and made me feel right at home, especially since I could speak English with them.  After having a good time they went to drop me off since it was, after all, a school night.  Juninho walked with me to the gate, where I rang the buzzer.  (Yes, their house had a buzzer.)  Alice answered, "Halo?"  I replied with my pro "Ah-leech-ee, é a Sophie" or "Ah-leech-ee, it's Sophie."  Juninho immediately started laughing and asked me with a look of ridicule on his face, "Ah-leech-ee?"  "Well yeah," I replied, "that's my host mom's name," although at this point I was not so confident.   "Sophie, ah-leech-ee is the name of a fish.  Your host mom's name is Ah-leesee."  Back to square one.  Why did I ever stop with my signature phrase, "Qual é seu nome?"  I should have never let it go.  I was so embarrassed.  "Is it at least the name of a good fish, like Mahi-mahi or something?" I asked Juninho, grasping at anything to make me feel a little better about calling my host mom "fish" for the last two weeks.  "Aliche is much like sardines, Sophie."  Upon hearing this, I knew there was no coming back.  Not only did I call her "fish," I had basically been calling her a can of sardines.  I said goodnight to my new friends, (in English; I wasn't taking any chances), and walked inside to greet my host mom.  "Oi Ah-leesee."  My host mom, as sweet as can be, just laughed and replied with her jovial, "Oi, Sophie."  And never again did I call her a can of sardines.

Aliche. Enough said.

Traveller's tip #2: Never underestimate the importance of asking "What is your name?" as many times as necessary. Even if people think you are mental.