At a recent soccer match in Dubai, I heard a young fan of the Al Ahli club launch into a tirade in Arabic that (I’m pretty sure ) was aimed at club executives. Ahli had just lost a match and isn’t having a good season.

He carried on for quite some time, at a volume sufficient to turn a thousand heads. He was angry, and he was voluble …

And I had no idea what he said. I would have liked to have known, as a reporter covering the match; he might have been calling out the club chairman.

Or he might just have been a crazy fan. I have no clue.

However, after two weeks in Paris, and two years in the UAE, I’m beginning to wonder if “not knowing” what most people around you are saying … might actually be a good thing.
Consider most of the conversation you hear in public places — when you understand the language, that is. How much of it is uplifting or inspirational or even meaningful? How much are you happy to have heard?

Much of it is trite, and that can be ignored without much effort. But a fair amount of the words you hear are angry or confrontational. Or foul or ignorant.

If you could go all Tower of Babel on every sales pitch that permeates the air waves, turning it into incomprehensible gibberish … just noise … wouldn’t you make that choice?

I’ve had that choice largely made for me, here. I could be getting verbally trashed in Arabic, Hindi, Urdu, Bengali, Tagalog … and the insults would wash right over me. At home, you might hear the unpleasant stuff and be annoyed or angered or hurt.

Over here? I could be getting insulted in a half-dozen languages … and I will never be the wiser. Blissfully ignorant.

Do you recall the Seinfeld episode in which Elaine is convinced (correctly, it turns out) that she is being insulted by Korean-speakers at her nail salon? It sated her curiosity to know what they were saying about her, but it didn’t make her happier.

Letting words you don’t understand just tumble right past you … might be a blessing.