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It was 2009, and Google Translator wasn’t available yet. I was studying abroad in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil and thought I would “figure things out” as I travelled on the local bus to meet my friends at the mall. I got on and, even though many buses had the same destination with different routes, I imagined that I’d just know where to get off since I knew the name of my stop. The wishful thinking definitely got the best of me because at one point I realized that we had passed my stop and I didn’t know how to communicate. Sure, I was fluent in French, but Brazil’s national language is Portuguese and the two are hardly similar. I began to panic but didn’t want to make myself obvious, thinking that if locals knew I was American I would become a target. At this point, a passenger began to talk to me, most likely striking up friendly conversation. In Bahia, locates in the northeastern part of the country, the majority of the population is of African descent, and so unfit right in and looked like a typical local. For this reason, it was pretty common for locals to approach me in rapid fire Portuguese, assuming I was Bahian. I shifted my eyes, trying to cover up the fact that I had no idea what he had said, nor would I understand anything he would say. He sat back, almost insulted by my dismissive character. He began speaking with other people on the bus and I imagined how they must be talking about me, tarnishing my personality for being unfriendly. At this point, we were well past my stop and the knot in my stomach was getting tighter and heavier. I didn’t know how to get home or how to ask for help, not did I want to expose myself as an American and become a target. So I sat there, silent and getting more and more lost. Finally, we got to the end of the line, which was the regional terminal. The bus driver approached me and must have been asking where I meant to get off. I whispered to him in my broken Portuguese, admitting that I didn’t understand and was American. He couldn’t believe it. “Mentira!” He yelled to the cashier, and in doing so let everyone else on the bus know my secret. They all gasped and seemed to understand, relieved. Some passengers approached me to test my non-Brazilianness for themselves, convinced with the look of confusion they were met with. The passengers and bus attendants all worked together to piece through my journey home, then how to maneuver the enormous terminal. One passenger even gave me bus fare along with what must have been something similar to “God Bless You.” Once I got to my correct return bus, I realized that the language barrier was not the thing keeping me from connecting with the locals; instead, it was my own prejudice. I had done some research yet was inundated with counts of violence and crime when preparing for my trip and at that point I wished I had known, or done better. At that point I promised that I would give people the opportunity to present themselves to me, and I would remain my authentic, Language- learning self wherever I happened to be. I learned that language extends much beyond words, and through their acts of kindness I know that I am studying to become fluent in the language of human love.