Don't Let Tayta Hear You Say That

Last week I went to Joe's parents' Cedars Pita Bakery, which I'll share more about another time, but where I ate lunch with some of Joe's family. The food was great (again, I'll share more in a different post), but like other times when I have been a guest at a Lebanese-American function, I found myself quickly lost in the conversation. Silently, I listened to the family members visit cheerfully in either of their two native languages. Portuguese, for those from Brazil, or Arabic, the official language of Lebanon.

Usually, in these types of situations, I just look at whoever's talking, as if I can clearly understand what their saying, and respond accordingly with what everyone else in the discussion is doing. If they smile, I smile. If they laugh, I give a hearty chuckle. If the group gives any sign of disapproval, I frown and shake my head. I know I must look like a fool to everyone else, especially when I misjudge the tone of the conversation, but it helps me at least feel like I'm part of it.

Sometimes, when Portuguese is the dominant linguistic choice, I can pick up a handful of words and phrases. This is due to the fact that Portuguese is a Romance language (based on Latin) and shares many roots with English.

Arabic, on the other hand, is an entirely different beast to conquer. Known by many as one of the hardest languages for English-speakers to learn, Arabic is a Central Semitic language, related to Hebrew, Aramaic and Phoenician. Basically, many of the sounds and words of Arabic are nothing like what most of the Western world is used to speaking. Joe has even said that he was once told that many Arabic sounds can only be formed by muscles in the throat that are usually used during vomiting.

Gross facts aside, Arabic is a very complex language, the written form of which is even more difficult to master. Joe can only speak Arabic, while Seth and other second-generation relatives can write only a limited amount.  To make things even more challenging, Arabic is read from right to left, instead of left to right like English.

Back to my story, though...

As I sat in the back of the bakery, listening to the seemingly chaotic conversations, the chatter was suddenly halted. Joe and Seth's grandmother, referred to by the traditional Arabic moniker Tayta (tie-tuh), had started scolding Joe's mom. While I wasn't sure if this was a joke or not (which I later found out it was), I had reached a point in the afternoon when I just had to know what was going on. These are the moments when I ask Joe or Seth the painfully ignorant question, "What did [he/she] say???"

"Taboosh," Joe replied.

"Huh?"

"Taboosh. It's what we might call 'idiot' or 'moron.' Tayta hates it when we use that word. She yelled at me about saying it when I was little, so when my mom just called me it, I told on her to Tayta!" he laughed.

While the humor of the situation was somewhat lost with me as I tried to store this newly-learned swear word in my brain, I did come to appreciate the lesson learned on this day: even in a language as complex as Arabic, one bad word is enough to tick off a friends' grandmother.