(In story form)
It has been about 100 years since the flood. Nimrod, son of Cush, had decided to build the tower of Babel in a rebellion against God. After building the tower very high, God came down and decided to confuse the languages. Everyone was very confused because their friends (whom they were just talking to) started babbling. I imagine people laughed at each other, and maybe even fought. After a couple of confusing days, some people found a group of individuals that spoke the same language as them.
This is where I come in. A humble little lady who just a few days ago was peacefully feeding her pigs and chickens. When suddenly, everyone started to yell and shout. I went to see what the fuss was about, but I could not because I couldn’t understand anyone. Then I put two and two together, and I deduced that my not understanding anyone was the fuss.
I walked around until I met a group of people who spoke the same language as me. We talked about the rumours that God himself had come down and did this because of the rebellion. Me knowing that it was all for the best, decided that I would go with these people to a new land where we could build a new town. Everyone set to work gathering their belongings and saying their best goodbyes to their friends, which, if I must say, was very awkward since they no longer spoke the same language. After loading up animals, food, and furniture we set off towards today’s France, and later travelled to Ireland. There we thrived with farming and fishing. After that, I lived (I would hope) to the age of 700, married a handsome man and had lots of children. (hehe)