At first glance, the video call looks like a sign language class. Everyone is silent, their hands in front of the camera in the universal sign of skater bros – closed fist with thumb and pinky extended. Then, the fingers move, so that the thumb, index and middle are pinched together, as though adding salt to a stew. Next is an “L” shape, a hook, a true fist and a plus sign, pulling in the index from the left hand.
There is a leader to this silent madness, Xiao, who has taken it upon himself to teach the group how to count by hand in Mandarin. I’m used to the lazy way Americans count with two hands, and after so many times counting to seven – Qī, the salt pinch – my right hand is sore. Not since practicing the split-fingered Vulcan Salute has the gap between mind and body been this large.
After a few rounds of this we speak. Hǎimián bǎobǎo. Spongebob. Any doubt about the cartoon’s global spread is squashed by how fast Xiao says the name when asked, as though it’s the only question a language teacher should expect. Hǎimián bǎobǎo. We repeat the name a few times back to him, and by the end of it the Chinese Spongebob has become a rhythmic chant. Not since barbe a papa in French and Cochabamba in Spanish have we had so much fun pronouncing words quickly.
Eventually, our appetite for Mandarin sated, Xiao resumes his role of student, and I return to the head of the classroom. This is Intercambio, a virtual, English language cultural exchange that often, in delightful ways, travels down tangents like our lesson with Xiao. In one session we compare idioms – no pain, no gain and its Spanish counterpart, el que no llora, no mama – and discover that killing two birds with one stone is a universal act – it’s just the animal that changes.
For the majority of its life, Intercambio has been held in Manhattan, for the massive population of students whose futures in the city drive them to practice English. But no longer! Now Meetup and Zoom have democratized access to the group, so that a class of Brazilian, Taiwanese, Colombian and Mexican students is really that – a tethering of webcams in apartments around the globe. “The best thing I can do is practice,” one student says about their use of time in quarantine. The others nod along.
And there is a need for practice. Ana’s boyfriend is in Las Vegas, and doesn’t speak a word of Portuguese. Silvia wants to get a master’s in public health on the East Coast. Gabriela needs to communicate better with her American clients. Across the board, the classes serve individual needs surprisingly well. Social anxiety? Come to Intercambio. English speaking grandchildren? Come to Intercambio. Interview practice? Come to Intercambio.
Sometimes the students are surprised that I, too, enjoy the sessions, and at one point a woman says what they are all thinking. “I am torturing you with my English.” But it’s not torture. Each week, I turn on my webcam and am delighted by the latest multicultural makeup of that week’s class. We need shockingly little common language to communicate, and by the time eight o’clock rolls around I’ve learned how Venezuelans make potato rolls and been promised that Indonesians really are as nice as people say.
Intercambio also provides context to what’s happening in the United States. Bad healthcare system? Silvia says “Peru’s is worse.” Difficult quarantine? Luis hasn’t been allowed outside his Medellin apartment in four months. And Trump? “All politicians are bad,” says Elisa, the potato roll baker from Venezuela. I’m frequently reminded that the global experience is not always that different.
On a great night, the conversation is fluid from the moment we begin until we say our goodbyes at eight. A good Intercambio teacher is like a generous point guard – they make sure everyone gets enough touches on the ball. New additions need proper introductions, quieter students need to feel comfortable on a digital platform, and questions need to be spread evenly. That is what the teacher provides. The students take care of the rest.
There is an ongoing debate over the concept of selfless altruism. Some people don’t think it exists. To the believers, I’ll say this: Come to Intercambio. When I close down the call, grinning ear to ear and excited about the new virtual friends I’ve made “volunteering,” there can be no question about what’s just happened. And it’s a far cry from selfless.