One of my newest realizations is that language is too powerful to be contained. It’s a concept that’s only natural for an American student studying abroad in Europe to learn.

Glancing at the screens of fellow students in the computer lab, walking downtown on Gran Via hearing languages I can’t even identify; I am constantly observing language everywhere.

Even as I write this column, people around me look at Web pages and write e-mail messages in Spanish, German, French, Italian and dozens of other languages.

Politicians and the media may debate about making English the official language of the United States, but the point is, we can’t shut ourselves off from the rest of the world and deny the existence and importance of foreign languages.

America seems to be the only culture that has not realized we cannot expect foreigners to speak our language. Everyday, I walk by the tourist sights and hear the cries of lost, helpless American tourists asking for directions from Spaniards on the street, only praying that the victim they choose speaks English.

Surprisingly enough, it is quite common for the average native of Madrid to know at least a few key English phrases.

In America, it’s the opposite. Think about it. How many of your friends can actually speak a foreign language fluently? How about more than one? Unless they are a foreign language major or they’ve lived somewhere outside the U.S., the chances are slim.

Languages are one battle that Americans have lost. Europeans, for example, typically know one or two foreign languages fluently. On top of that, many of them know bits and pieces of a few other languages as well. In America, we’re lucky if we can differentiate between the words for lawyer and coat after four years of high school Spanish.

As a country that many would call a “melting pot” of different cultures, we should be able to respect, recognize and teach ourselves foreign languages.

In Spain, there are four official languages: Gallego, Basque, Catalan and Castellano (commonly known as Spanish to Americans).

The Basque language, spoken in a northern region called the Pais Vasco, has no similarities whatsoever to any other language. As far as historians know, it is the only language in existence with its own distinct roots. No one knows where Basque came from.

I learned about another enigmatic language a few weeks ago when I was temporarily living in a dorm at which I was the minority.

There are only a few Americans living in the building which is inhabited mostly by Europeans and Africans. The language is called Pidgin, and one version of it strikingly resembles English.

“I want go chop, for say, hungry dey do me plenty.”

“What?” you ask.

Translation: “I want to go and eat because I am feeling very hungry.”

When I first encountered this mysterious form of speech, I immediately wondered why I could actually understand some of it.

Ken, a friend and fellow student of mine from Cameroon, said Pidgin originated in the early 1900s when Africa was being colonized. Countries such as Germany, Portugal, England and France would take over new territories, and the constant turnover of government and language caused a lot of confusion.

Searching for a common means of communication, people in Africa began to speak a tongue that was a combination of several different languages.

Now, the language has spread all over the world used as a kind of slang for young people and as a bridge between other cultures for older people.

“If you speak Chinese with some English and I understand you, it’s Pidgin,” Ken says. “There’s no standards, you just let the rhythm flow.”

But in the States, somehow, most of us have never heard of Pidgin. Maybe it’s because we have not been as open to foreign languages as some other countries.

The event that led to my realization of the power of language occurred Sunday, Feb. 14, a Valentine’s day that I will definitely remember for years to come.

I was riding home from a weekend trip to Leon with my dad and sister (who are in Spain visiting this week). My dad stopped for gas, filling the tank with regular fuel, but the car required diesel so it broke down.

We called the rental company and they sent a service truck that brought us to a garage in another town. I was forced to negotiate in Spanish with the people at a garage. They told me they could arrange for a taxi take us back to Madrid. So that’s what we did.

When we arrived in Madrid, the driver did not know how to get to the hotel so he dropped us off downtown and we hailed another taxi. Worn out and carrying our luggage, we must have looked like typical, newly arrived American tourists. In other words, fresh victims.

After a seemingly zigzagged ride around the city, we finally got to the hotel and the driver told us the ride cost 6,000 pesetas ($45).

I knew he was trying to take advantage of us.

Anger and frustration unleashed the linguistic demon inside me and I argued with him, yelling Spanish words I didn’t even know I knew. In the end, I got him to decrease the price to 2000 pesetas ($15). After the battle was over and we had settled into the room, we came back to the lobby to the same spot which the argument had taken place.

Sitting on the floor, crumpled up in a ball, was a bill in the denomination of 2000 pesetas.

The power of language is incredible. It’s up to us to learn to harness its power.

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Conor Bezane is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Chicago. He IS a linguistic demon!