Gestures and Interjections in Istanbul
“This is a language school and a language school is about communicating.”
A former manager at a language school in Istanbul said this to me. She went into detail about talking (when I used to ask students what they thought communication was, the first thing they said was ‘talking’.).
The manager said that students didn’t understand my gestures nor my facial expressions. She also pointed out that she didn’t like that I didn’t take time to hang around the waiting area during my breaks to talk to students. She said there wasn’t enough ‘communication’ on my part; because I was apparently hard to talk to or understand (in fact, I know I’m very clear because I enunciate sounds well and speak at a slow and understandable pace and I’m not just saying this to defend myself), she told me that some students left the language school and didn’t want to come back.
I didn’t appreciate that she failed to understand that I wasn’t Turkish, so, certainly my gestures and facial expressions were going to probably be different from what they were used to. I couldn’t take her feedback seriously because one thing that I understood very well was that communication went two ways; both parties take an active role, not just one. One person shouldn’t be the only one figuring out how to reach the other person; both people should make the effort.
I could easily have argued and complained that when Turkish people made a sucking noise with their teeth that I didn’t understand and could they please answer me in a way that I could understand based on what I was used to in my environment growing up? No, I learned a little later that when Turkish people made that noise with their tongue and teeth (which I thought was so disrespectful [and, actually, when I hear it now, I still feel that it sounds rude]), it meant ‘No’. I accepted that that was a common way for Turkish people to say ‘No’ because I understood that Turkish people had their own gestures and interjections.
Another thing that confused me was when people muttered, “Allah, Allah”. I hear this expression a lot in Istanbul and I used to think that the people who said that within my earshot were happy; there were times I taught and young men in particular used to say, “Allah, Allah”, throwing up their hands with smiles on their faces (after I gave a homework assignment or said something to make fun of them for a good laugh [but nothing mean]). I realized indirectly that that expression was used to express anger or frustration or disapproval. Because the individuals who said, “Allah, Allah” around me didn’t appear angry, it took me some time to learn that it meant they weren’t happy. Before this realization, I used to smile back at people, not knowing that they disapproved of something that I said or did.
Another way that Turkish people express frustration is by saying, “Uffffffff”. I hear “Uffffffff” a lot and it’s said when someone explains that they have had a bad day or when they are tired and there’s still a lot of work to do or it’s used to express that someone doesn’t want to do something but is obligated to. I like this “Uffffffff” expression and enjoy hearing it even having used it twice myself.
Again, I have never complained about not understanding body language or interjections or faces because I understand from the start that Turkish people were going to express themselves a little differently since they were Turkish.
Another gesture that Turkish people do that was easier for me to catch on was their moving their head from side to side to indicate confusion. I didn’t grow up in a place where a confused look was paired with a movement of the head. I personally don’t like when they move their head like that but I haven’t said out loud that I disliked the gesture; instead, I knew that they were Turkish and that was how they were raised to express themselves. For me, this thinking is automatic; there was no questioning at all how people communicated.
I haven’t thought about any of these differences until I received useless feedback from my former manager who made it out like it was all up to me to adjust to the students, when, in fact, the students (being adults, especially) ought to have also understood that they had to adjust to me.
Other expressions that I hear a lot in Istanbul are “Masallah” (the ‘s’ is pronounced like an ‘sh’ sound), which is said in order to protect someone from something bad’ “Ahimdalillah”, which is said to express feeling grateful; “Bismillah”, which is said before eating a meal; and the very common “Insallah” (the ‘s’ here is also pronounced like an ‘sh’ sound), which is the equivalent to “If God wills it” or “God willing” or simply “I hope so”. I hear these expressions all the time, quite often hearing them from seemingly out of nowhere and I have always known not to complain about not knowing what they meant because, I repeat, people that share a common culture have certain body language and verbal expressions and since I didn’t come from their culture, I knew to go along with how the locals simply were.
My manager had it wrong when she spoke to me the way she did particularly when she said I had thirty days to think of a way to communicate in a way the students understood. I felt that she didn’t realize that everyone was different and, in this increasingly globalized world, people were inevitably going to encounter unfamiliar behavior and expressions more and more, so, instead, she should have understood that language came from a certain person from a certain culture. She shouldn’t have said what she told me because my understanding was that she gave in to the students who weren’t willing to be patient nor open-minded nor willing to truly connect with English despite learning English. I thought, “What was the point of learning English if those students expected their native teachers to behave exactly like a Turkish person?”
I could also complain about why Turkish people said “Yuuuuuuuuh!” to people on a stage or giving a speech or playing a sports game that they didn’t like instead of the American “Boooooooo!” But I don’t.
I could also complain about why Turkish people had different words to describe how animals sounded (there was a time when I explained what a lamb was by acting out a lamb, “Baaaaah, baaaaah, baaaaah,” and the students didn’t understand [and this was after drawing a picture of a lamb which they somehow thought was a cow and I swore that my lamb looked like a lamb; I learned later that a lamb said, “Meeeh, meeeeh, meeeeh” in Turkey, not “Baaaah, baaaah, baaaah”. ]). But I don’t.
I could also complain that I actually don’t understand when a Turkish person is angry because sometimes their faces didn’t look in a way that was angry not did their tones sounded angry (strictly my perception). I would stare at them with a clueless expression on my face as my response (growing up, I saw faces angrier and heard tones more clearly furious [a least, according to me]). But I don’t.
I could also complain about how I was with a friend at a park last week and I admitted that I didn’t think that the young men who were present there conveyed themselves in a way that matched their having said cuss words at someone in a building.
But I have never complained.
Instead, I don’t mind the different ways that people sit, stand, walk, or run. I don’t mind how people sound. I don’t mind how people get their points across (as long as they don’t do so with violence). I just figure I could learn to understand.
There have been many times when I have stated a fact, or just mention something I read, and students respond with ‘’maybe” or “yes, maybe” a lot. I said once that for some part of Gandhi’s life (if not most of it), his diet consisted of solely fruits and nuts and a response I got was “maybe”. I felt a feeling of offense whenever I said something that was known to be true and getting “maybe” as an answer but I immediately let the feeling go, taking the “maybe” as not a negative response based on the facial expressions I was given.
I finally asked a doctor why he said “maybe” when I said something that didn’t leave room for doubt (because, as an American, I perceived “maybe” as an expression of skepticism in some cases) and the doctor actually informed me, with a surprised look on his face, that when Turkish people said “maybe”, it meant that they agreed. I was puzzled at first but I just accepted the answer and was happy to finally know that “maybe” in Turkey meant something like “I agree”. The doctor was taken aback when I explained to him that “maybe” was an expression of doubting what someone said in the US after someone were to say a fact and he said it was useful for him to know and that he could remember to be careful with saying “maybe” if he were to Americans.
Cross-cultural communication is an education.
My former manager probably didn’t understand this.
I would also like to add that I believe that in this day and age, managers must be open-minded more than managers in past generations as the world is becoming one multicultural community. With this memory I have of that manager and all of my interactions abroad, especially in Istanbul, I have come up with my definition of a good manager: A good manager must know how to cooperate with different people, not mold everyone into one certain character.
A good manager must see the potential in her employees and advise them on strengthening their strengths, not tell them to be what doesn’t make sense.
A good language school manager would explain to students that communication is about finding ways to make their message clear to different people.
A good language school manager would know that communicating is more than opening the mouth.
Good communication is building relationships unique to every person.
“A language school is about communicating!”
What that manager said comes to mind in many instances when I am taking my walks around the city and I refute her meaning every time.
Communication is writing. Communication is frowning. Communication is when the face turns red. Communication is moving away from a certain person. Communication is shaking or shivering. Communication is looking down at the floor. Yes, a language school is about communicating but it doesn’t only mean talking like she claimed.
Communicating isn’t to have her personality: being bubbly ad thinking that that is the only way, or even the ‘right’ way to connect with others.
A language school is about promoting multicultural communication. In the world we live in now, we need to make an effort to bring humanity closer together by learning all of the ways that people everywhere communicate when they are upset or when they want something. There are universal signs and gestures and there are signs and gestures and interjections that are different. Instead of putting people down, regarding people as ‘incomprehensible’, and perceiving people as ‘too different’ to feel motivated to learn what they think is effective communication in their eyes, why not understand that the world is bigger than your community and that it makes sense that everyone isn’t going to share some things the same?
