In another language, the most I can hope for is a vague understanding.
We have Wednesday meetings after school and a different bus service. The first day is usually a mess and the drivers sort out their routes on the fly with lots of input from the riders. As a foreigner, I just watch and try to follow the drama some.
The bus drivers are typically a little more rough shaven. The teachers usually a little more clean cut and pale.
The drivers are pointing and smoking and talking on their phones.
People are getting on and off the buses, changing their minds, getting information from the passengers, talking to the drivers again.
The three foreigners are saying where they live like a question. Birlik? Ayranci? The nicest dressed driver seems to be organizing the most, via his cell phone. He sent Victor from Brooklyn on one bus. The bus spit him out like bad food. "We don't want him, it's to out of our way! We're not going that way!"
The bus organizer told me I'm coming with him. Uh-oh.
The third foreigner he couldn't understand where she lived, nor did he seem to have a map or the patience to figure it out. He ends up taking all three of us in his private car. One foreigner's mother is Turkish, the other foreigner has lived here for 15 years and both know less Turkish than I do. The man's accent is so horrendous that the driver can't even understand the name of his street.
We're in trouble when I'm the closest we all had to a translation. The driver, on the way home, tried to figure out and explain to me what we will do next week. I think, in the end he couldn't figure out what to do with the other two. For me, he said next week I'll be riding with the assistant principal in her car. I found it strange that he was arranging my assistant principal as my chauffeur, but I just shrugged and said okay.
I spoke with the assistant principal the next day. She doesn't drive and her sister had brought her home the evening before. Apparently I misunderstood, my assistant principal will not be my personal chauffeur.
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