Bangla→English…English→Spanish

A lawyer in Portoviejo connected to the Clinic helped in the preparation of my Visa documents. So, on Friday when she called asking for an English→Spanish translator at an event with young people, I quickly agreed to help.

While I thought I was going to an event with young visiting students from the USA, it turns out I met her at the local police station. Twenty-four Bangladeshi men were apprehended by the police after failure to produce identification documents. Only one man spoke English. None spoke Spanish.

In a small room, with four desks, the Bangladeshi men were questioned one by one about their reason for travel to Ecuador, about airline tickets, and where their passports were. One Bangladeshi man (also lacking documentation) zig-zagged between the desks, translating from Bangla→English while each translator then relayed the information to the administrators in Spanish. I did laugh to myself as sometimes this translation consisted of saying English words with a Bangla/Indian accent. Four “translators” sat at the desks each beside a woman in a sharp suit and vest over a baby-pink button-up shirt. I use the word “translator” loosely—as I was one and the only qualification was basic conversational knowledge of English and Spanish. The English of the other translators was impressive—seemingly better than my Spanish—and one was a high school student. There stories had slight variations…but all agreed on one thing—their passports had been given to a hotel manager for a security check and he disappeared with their passports and money, leaving them stranded and without identification.

Now, I am usually one to take people’s word as truth and give them the benefit of the doubt. Let’s just say in this particular case I am thankful I was not in the shoes of the Bangladeshi tourists nor in the shoes of a lawyer faced with finding lost passports and considering deportation.

While it was a bit crazy and busy, this was not the scene of a violent apprehension nor was a fistfight about to breakout. Nevertheless, a handful of Ecuadorian immigration police officers stood throughout the room in charcoal colored camel uniforms, laced up black boots, a handgun at their hip, caps, and facial expressions teetering between stern authority figures and amusement. After a time, the capítan of the police force showed up sporting this huge semi-automatic across his chest. None of the government workers seemed to give it a second thought—it did seem a little over-zealous to me though.

Several times I caught myself attempting to speak in Spanish to a Bangladeshi man with a blank look on his face or English to an Ecuadorian lawyer.

This made for an interesting Friday night. I can only hope the best for these young, bewildered Bangladeshi men.