Li Xuan Qi ( whose English name is Mary) was looking longingly at the huge fruit basket I brought over to her home. This sinful temptation sat on the table, its contents comprised of crisp Asian pears, juicy tangerines, tasty apples, and plump purple grapes. I could imagine her ecstasy in digging into that basket and savoring every fruity bite, but she had yet to wait three more days . . . three more days of the 40-day “sentence” placed upon her by the customs of China for new mothers.
Despite China’s great leaps and bounds in Western approaches to everything from industrialization to lifestyle, some age-old customs die hard. One of these concerns pregnancy, and it was this particular visit to Mary’s home that certainly was proving to be an eye-opener for me when it comes to China.
Mary (a high school English teacher) is the wife of my good friend, “Marty” Li, an English teacher at the vocational college I taught at in Luzhou. The couple had been married for 3 years and just had their first child, a healthy little girl.
The excitement and joy of Marty at having a little girl was apparent from day one when he announced at our English departmental meeting that his wife had just given birth. For him, the birth marked the happiness of Daddy shopping for clothes, toys, baby blankets and what-not. For the new mother, however, the arrival of the little one began an agonizingly long imprisonment on the fourth floor of their bare, dank and stuffy concrete-walled faculty apartment.
According to Chinese custom, new mothers are to begin a long internment in the confines of their home after giving birth. For 40 days, they are not allowed to go out. They can’t eat fruit or certain vegetables. No cold foods are allowed, only hot ones, and those are limited to bland chicken and fresh eggs, boiled in broth. Mary couldn’t fully wash herself, only sponge off, and under no circumstances was she to wash her hair for fear of catching a cold. Her attire was that of a flannel cap (worn at all times), flannel PJs and warm winter slippers. Late August temperatures had soured into the 90’s. Their small flat had no air conditioner but even if it did, I doubt she’d have been allowed to use it. The Chinese don’t like continuously cooled rooms due to electricity costs. They also believe it’s not good for the health to be constantly coming and going from one extreme temperature to another. Sickness will result.
Thus Mary had to remain in her invalid-style state, warmly enclosed in clothing certainly meant for chillier weather, and suffer under a sizzling Sichuan heatwave.
When I first visited Marty and Mary to see the new baby girl, it was after I had returned from America for the summer holidays. I had no idea about the customs she was patiently enduring until I arrived. Under the watchful eye of her mother and mother-in-law (two women from small towns), she was being well cared for. Both were diligently making sure traditions were not broken. Despite being a modern young woman with a high education, Mary decided it was better to please the new grandmothers by following their commands rather than annoying them by doing as she pleased.
As many dutiful Chinese children, she and her husband borrowed 2 beds for the customary long stay of the grandmothers to look after the new mother and baby for the 40-day period. Forty days is required to make sure the new mother remains, if not happy, at least healthy so that she will have a strong, uneventful recovery.
Years ago, when Chinese women’s lives were filled with constant hard work under very poor conditions, these 40 days were a blessing. Renewing a mother’s strength was of utmost importance for her survival. But with advanced medical technology and the comforts of today’s modern world, one does wonder if this tradition will eventually be adjusted to meet the needs of today’s busy, working Chinese mom or done away with all-together.
While watching the grandmothers fuss over Mary and baby, I wondered how this poor woman could stand it. She was not allowed to do anything. No cooking, cleaning or even performing basic duties in looking after the baby. Watching T.V. was acceptable for a bit but her eyes would not be good, according to her mother, so it was best to limit that. Working on the computer was likewise something to be monitored. Cell phones are owned by everyone in China but for new mothers, those have to be put aside with the rumors that they cause cancer. Why it was OK for her to use them at any other time in her life except for those 40 days was beyond me. My guess is on that point, there was no arguing with Mom and mother-in-law. If they said no cell phone use, then no cell phone use it was.
For the most part, Mary just lived in boredom. She took numerous naps and watched Grandma Li constantly rocking the child, Grandma Fu changing diapers, or Marty (the proud papa) freely coming and going from their apartment while she was stuck inside.
The true pampering period for Chinese mothers takes place during pregnancy, when women begin their 3 to 4-month maternity leaves six weeks prior to delivery. Pushy passengers on overly crowded buses are quick to part way for a pregnant citizen and offer up their seat for her. Open-air market sellers hold back the best of meats and vegetables and cheerfully offer these to their pregnant patrons. I have often seen some sellers refusing to take money from the soon-to-be mother. Instead, they thrust produce into her hands, give advice or suggestions about preparing these for her health and, with a kind smile, wave her away. And when it comes to attire, anything goes. It’s not unusual to see women at different stages of pregnancy, dressed in floaty nightgowns, fuzzy slippers and pajamas, strolling down sidewalks, shuffling through grocery store aisles, or shopping in department stores.
Soon-to-be moms know to enjoy such freedom and special treatment before birth as it’s not coming afterwards.
As I watched Mary sitting on the couch, I thought these last 3 days must seem like an eternity.
“Can’t you just forget the last few days and cheat?” I asked. “Surely leaving now can’t cause any problems.”
Mary hesitated. She eyed the grandmothers, one rocking the baby and another starting to prepare yet another wearisome chicken and egg soup meal for lunch. Marty was on the little balcony where 6 live chickens were clucking and pecking about in fowl filth. The grandmothers had insisted that keeping live chickens to fatten them up is better than getting the scrawny ones in the market. Marty’s duty each day was to kill one, which was not his favorite thing to do.
After observing the activities around her for a bit longer, Mary returned to my question about disregarding the last days of her confinement.
“No,” she said. “It’s best to follow the customs.”
I couldn’t help but ask the next question.
“So when your daughter is having a baby, years from now, will you insist she follow these same traditions?”
Mary was quick to respond.
“Of course,” Mary replied, “my daughter is free to do as she wishes.”
I nodded my approval, thinking, “Ah! A truly modern Chinese woman. Good for you!”
Then Mary continued.
“But . . . . maybe I will advise her that some old customs are more important than new ones.”
In other words, the answer was “Yes.”
From Chengdu, wishing you “Ping An!” (peace) for the end of the week.
AS ALWAYS, REMINDER THAT EARTHQUAKE RELIEF FUNDS NEEDED
United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake
Others: The Amity Foundaiton (www.amityfoundation.org)
After several days of wickedly hot weather, with everyone sizzling under a blazing sun, a bit of rain last night has relieved us of the heat from Chengdu’s previous afternoons. Finally, Little Flower and I are able to take a pleasant stroll outside, protected by overcast skies with a cool breeze blowing and temperatures calmed to the 70s.
Today proved especially delightful as we were able to finally take a turn down my favorite little side road, Jinxiu Xiang, translated as Splendid Lane.
This narrow xiang, connecting one busy city street to another, is one of the few around us that offers what I call scenic shade and a traditional feel. Tall trees line either side of this special walking route. They create a canopy of golden yellow during the fall, of vibrant green during the early summer. It is one of the few streets I have ever known here that offers a seasonal variety and flavor vastly different from any other.
I was lucky enough to first visit the little street during the autumn. Sichuan is not known for having a gorgeous fall due to the warmish temperatures year round. Leaves tend to drop still green or hang on throughout the winter, turning brittle and an ugly brown. But Splendid Lane has a magical quality to it that douses its tall, woodsy guardians into oceans of color.
Last October, I stumbled upon this sidestreet while taking LF on a shortcut back home. The beauty of the place dazzled me, making me dash back to my apartment for my camera. Nor was I the only one who appreciated this spot.
Day after day, for over a month, many of us enjoyed the golden array of leaves above our heads along this particular street. Autumn had indeed come to Chengdu, if only to one small speck in the city.
The ceiling of yellow brought out walkers and photographers alike. Those wielding cameras, professional and novice, were always seen scanning for that special, unique shot, the one that might land them an award winning photo or best represent the true splendor of the moment.
Tripods went up. Lenses extended. Stances set.
It was fun to watch people so enthused about a little stretch of fall which rarely presented itself in this sort of climate. For me, an Illinoisian, it gave a nostalgic feeling of home.
I think I can honestly say the autumn endeared me to this place. It’s been my favorite walking route ever since.
So today, when cool temperatures finally brought us out of apartment hiding, LF and I found ourselves once again being able to take a quiet walk down our favorite shortcut home.
The sky was threatening a light summer storm but entering Splendid Lane, LF and I had little fear of getting wet. The green leaves above arched inward, shielding us from any showers that might come.
Last year, we were able to walk the entire street with not a single parked car along the curbside. Sadly, not so now. Privately owned cars by the upper middle class are allowed to line one side. A nearby attendant collects parking fees of 5 yuan (70 cents) for daytime hours and 10 yuan ($1.40) for night. It somewhat ruins what we had once experienced before. China’s economic success has brought contented happiness for the “haves” but not a whole lot for the “have nots”. How sad, too, that it’s Nature who suffers most. Increased petrol use, noise pollution and smelly exhaust fumes from vehicles are a few of the worst consequences. Lining once quiet, pretty streets with unattractive cars is another.
Despite the parking, our shortcut home is still a pleasant one. Mostly, it’s the bustling of the residents and their businesses that make it so.
There are two mahjong parlors which were once apartments, now converted for money-making ventures by the locals. For 2 yuan a player (30 cents), anyone can sit at the mahjong table for half a day and play (i.e., gamble) to heart’s content. Tea is for free. In the steamy heat of July and August, an air-conditioned playing room is also available for a higher price of 5 yuan (70 cents) per person a half day. And for 60 yuan ($8.60), you can rent the entire air-conditioned room from 9 a.m. to after midnight. This sometimes happens when friends get together, maybe several visiting from out-of-town, and they wish to relax and chat while having something to do to pass the time. These family-run mahjong parlors offer just the thing for the neighborhood: cheap entertainment, nearby access and support of local businesses.
On our walk, LF and I passed both parlors with one of the owners inviting me for a sit at her sidewalk mahjong table, yet to be rented. Across the street from us, a line of nice furniture was positioned out in the open. On the concrete was also laid out two wardrobes, a baby stroller, a printer and a computer screen. The owner explained to me this is a regular drop-off point for anyone wishing to sell stuff if they move or buy new. She pointed to a posted sign which announced what items were acceptable and could be placed in this area for selling. A number was given to call if you were interested.
I eyed the used merchandise before me. The wardrobes and printer didn’t look so great but the heavy wooden couch set with cushions was very enticing.
“Do you want to buy?” those sitting around eagerly asked me. “Cheap!”
I already have enough stuff as it is. And I’ll be moving in another two months so . . . sorry, no thanks.
After about 10 minutes of chatting, it was time to move on. LF was getting antsy and I was in need of a bottle of water so I headed to one of two nearby tiny convenience stores that hugs the street. Grandma was out with grandbaby, giving me a good excuse to use my camera. Grandparents are only too happy to have their little ones fawned over.
The man tending the shop had a comfy set-up. He was playing mahjong with his buddies out in front. Their boisterous exuberance in the game had gathered several onlookers leisurely walking by.
Obviously, no one had much to do on a pleasantly cool Thursday afternoon other than take it easy by playing mahjong or strolling side streets, like the dog and me.
On Splendid Lane, our only industrious worker happened to be an older woman positioned behind her ancient, foot-pedaled sewing machine. She was carefully hemming the pants of a customer who perched on a stool to wait.
It didn’t take long for the job to be done. After a careful inspection, her pleased customer handed over 2 yuan (30 cents). The seamstress then picked up another item from her nearby table and began yet again on another project.
“My mother usually fixes my clothes,” I told her, “but she’s in America. Young people don’t often know how to do that. Are you here every day?”
My sewing machine expert smiled.
“Yes, every day,” she replied.
“Can I bring you a few clothes tomorrow?”
Of course, she agreed. It’s good to have the business of a foreigner. It makes a Chinese person appear more skilled and prestigious, especially with bystanders looking on, which they were.
Before I knew it, the end of Splendid Lane had come, all too soon for me.
A day like this is a rare one. The steamy Sichuan summer is already knocking at the door, ready to drop in on us at any moment. The air will be stifling and heavy, causing us to imprison ourselves inside. The canopy of leaves will wilt. Our shortcut will be empty of residents and look a bit worn out and used.
But for today, it’s at its best, proving to be a worthy walk and a cherished memory —
our Splendid Lane, Jinxiu Xiang.
From Chengdu, here’s sending you “Ping An!” (Peace) for your day.
REMINDER: EARTHQUAKE RELIEF FUNDS STILL NEEDED
For United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response,
China Earthquake
Others: The Amity Foundation (www.amityfoundation.org)
My parents have been hosting a Chinese immigrant that was sent from China 15 years ago by a good friend of mine.
Lao Dou (Old Bean) came to my American family as an unexpected guest.
I was leaving Nanchang, China, after 3 years of teaching English at Jiangxi Normal University. My good friend, Mr. Wu, was seeing me off at the train station.
“I will send something for your father,” the elderly Wu had said, showing me a small brown packet. The contents shifted and rattled mysteriously.
“I will send in the mail,” Wu explained. “Please tell him to look for them.”
Sure enough, several weeks later, Mr. Wu’s packet arrived. My father carefully opened the stained, brown envelope they had come in. Inside, he found a number of seeds wrapped around a thin piece of paper. On this, Mr. Wu had painstakingly written in English: “I send you Lao Dou (Old Bean), which I grow in my garden every year.” He then gave detailed instructions on when and how to plant this Chinese vegetable.
The first year Old Bean joined our backyard community, war erupted. My father had crammed him in among his prized Big Boy tomatoes and a battle ensued. Both vied for ownership of the metal stakes, their vines choking one another in an intense twining match. Eventually, they spilled into my mother’s ground cover, the Japanese ribbon grass. As the summer progressed, there seemed to be no end to the fight for land dominance. Lao Dou’s foot-long beans torpedoed the tomato vines, the Big Boy tomatoes bombed the Japanese ribbon grass and the ribbon grass slashed at the two like a well-trained samurai warrior. Then, too, my parents weren’t happy with each other. My mother blamed my father for the chaotic mess, and my father criticized my mother for her hostile ground cover. It was a summer of great conflict and no resolution.
The second year, cultural sensitivity took root. Old Bean received his own plot, the Big Boys became a close neighbor and the Japanese ribbon grass formed the boundary between the two. With this territorial re-mapping came a new understanding among the plants of the garden, not to mention my parents. The backyard community united, and it has remained this way ever since.
As the summers went by, Old Bean’s progress was continuously reported to Mr. Wu. My father wrote about Old Bean’s health, his growth rate, his coloring, and even his goodwill gestures. When my brother’s Chinese-American neighbors invited their parents to visit from mainland China, it was Old Bean who welcomed them into the country. My father sent over a sack of his Chinese vegetable harvest, which we later heard was wok-ed up with great delight. How proud we were that our Chinese immigrant possessed such ambassadorial skills as to bring comfort to those far from home.
This summer marks the fifteenth anniversary of Lao Dou’s arrival to America. Mr. Wu and I don’t live in the same province anymore, but reports from my father have informed us both that Old Bean (or rather his saved offspring from the previous summer) is especially splendid this year. The Midwest’s abundant rains have given him a vibrant green hue and a healthy plumpness. Pictures have been promised us, and we are anxiously awaiting their arrival.
My parents have received a number of gifts from China over the years, many sent by Chinese friends of mine wanting to be kind. These have included silk scarves, porcelain vases, clay teapots, hand painted scrolls, and embroidered slippers, all of which weren’t cheap. But the most precious and valued gift of all is the one that came with no expensive price tag attached, sent from the heart by our Mr. Wu. That’s the one we always call Old Bean.
From Chengdu, hoping your summer garden harvest is a generous one and wishing you "Ping An!" (Peace)
REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS
(Yes, still needed with 5 million having no homes)
United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake
Others: www.amityfoundation.org
The quiet, narrow side street that hugs my apartment complex is like many hundreds in the city. Despite its semi-secluded location, it touts three roadside medical and physical therapy (massage) clinics, an Internet bar, a vegetable market, flower shop, hair salon, clothes shop, dry cleaners and even several family-run convenience stores.
This side street appears quite normal aside from a strange sprinkling of closed businesses that are interspersed between the regular stores. These one-room shops are all alike. They have a thick glass storefront with heavy curtains drawn, making it impossible to see inside. Heavy padlocks tightly secure the outside door handles shut.
In the daytime, one hardly notices them while walking down the sidewalk. But when 11 p.m. arrives, a stroll down our side street invites you into a quaint little red light district.
Prostitution is supposedly illegal in China, yet hundreds of these areas can be found throughout the city. I can only speak from familiarity with this particular area but from what I see, unlike America, our neighborhood’s red light district is a clean, well-kept place. The streets are neatly swept. Shopkeepers take pride in their businesses, despite where they happen to be, and make sure their tidy displays present a pleasant sight for passersby. Children race excitedly through on their way home from school. The elderly chatter away along the sidewalks after finishing their exercise sessions in the nearby park. Residents sit outside on stools, enjoying the cool of June before the summer heat hits hard. And safety is never an issue, even in the wee hours of the morning. Average Chinese are always present, either playing mahjong, buying snacks from the still-open convenience stores and fruit cart sellers, or partaking of midnight meals sold by tiny restaurants and street venders.
The set-up of our tiny red light district is a bit different from that in my home country. Around 8 p.m., a few call girls will appear here and there to attract customers. They emerge from the curtained, padlocked shops, opened by a man or woman standing on the curbside, and hover at the corner of the street that empties into an obscure alleyway. They dress in high heeled shoes or thigh-length boots which compliment their provocative clothing. Make-up is thick with plenty of eye shadow and eyeliner to accentuate their eyes. Their purpose is to entice drivers to partake in their business rather than a competitor’s. It’s also obvious that those cruising slowly by, all men in shiny dark cars, are here for their services and not just out for a leisurely ride around the city.
The men or women on the street are in charge of handling the payment. They have purses slung over their shoulders where the money is kept and are the ones to talk directly to the client. Once the amount is determined, the curtained storefront is unlocked and a girl comes out. Hotels just a block away can be used at a rate of $7 per 3 hours or the driver might take the girl home. Later, the girls are dropped off and rejoin their companions inside the locked store.
The interesting thing about the hotels in the area is that they are quite nice. One would think they’d be dingy, dark, sinister and filthy but that’s not the case at all. During the past weekend, I booked my Chinese friend from Inner Mongolia, “Richard” Wei, into one of these hotels for his first visit to Chengdu. It was only $10 a night for a single room, had fresh clean linens and spotless tile floors, nice furniture, came with hot water and tea and had a large color TV. The front desk ladies were very polite, the floor attendants quite attentive and nothing smelled rank or odd.
Richard thoroughly enjoyed his stay here. He did have to laugh a bit upon his late night arrivals back to his room after we’d had a full day of touring. The desk girls looked at one another, whispering something to the effect that this guy didn’t need “other” services, just a good night’s sleep.
Both of us had at one time spotted in the lobby some beautiful-figured girls in mega-short, clinging tube dresses. We figured they were there for those wishing for a bit of excitement in the night. Their eyes followed Richard when he entered the hotel but quickly dismissed him an an unlikely candidate. For Richard, touring Chengdu with his foreign girl friend was excitement enough.
The sizzling heat of the Sichuan summer has not yet reached us but when it does, these brothel storefronts will open to reveal what’s been hidden inside all year. Older teenagers to those in their twenties lounge on couches inside. While dressed in sparkly, somewhat elegant tight-fitting attire, they are rather crude in their slouching posture and mannerisms of openly yawning or picking at their teeth and nails. To pass the time, they watch TV while munching on snacks and slurping tea. Their clientele are mostly businessmen who drive up in their privately owned cars, deal with the money handler in front and then off they go with one of the girls, either to a hotel or back to the man’s apartment. From nearby business owners, I learned the cost is 50 to 200 yuan ($6.25 to $25) depending on the girl and services rendered.
My guess is that many of these women are from the countryside, uneducated and poor, who came to the city looking for work. It is a sad reminder that the world is a hard place to live in, especially for women.
Currently, the shops are closed up tight but last August, when I first arrived in Chengdu, the stifling heat had the glass doors wide open with all the girls roasting hot inside. (No air-conditioner.) Little Flower and I would take walks down that way and one particular shop took a shine to my dog. LF was always invited into the open doors and fed anything from beef noodles to potato chips to peanuts. They anxiously awaited our walks. When LF suddenly appeared in the entranceway, her tail wagging eagerly, they would call out, “Xiao Hua! Xiao Hua! Guo lai! Guo lai (Little Flower! Little Flower! Come here! Come here!)”
It was rather sweet to see their daily routine interrupted by something that brought a little heartfelt happiness into their lives.
Of course, LF was always eager to have their undivided attention. She never judged these young women, like so many of us do. If nothing else, she reminded me that whatever age we are, or appearance we have, or social status we hold, we are all equally worthy of being noticed and loved, even if the work we have is frowned upon by society.
In another month, I’ll change LF’s walking route and we’ll once again head down our quaint little red light district to visit the girls. We haven’t seen them for almost a year. Perhaps some have forgotten about the foreigner’s little dog who came to visit last summer, but I’m sure Little Flower hasn’t. She always remembers everyone, especially those who once fed her potato chips and beef noodles.
From Chengdu, here’s wishing you an evening’s “Ping An!”
REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS
(Yes! Money still needed for 5 million having nothing other than tents and donated supplies to live on.)
United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake
Others: www.amityfoundation.org
Chinese love openings of anything. Crowds will gather to await the grand opening of any department store, grocery, restaurant or even small snack shop along the street. Everyone is afraid of missing out on the excitement of the rush to see what’s new and different, what’s cheaper and what’s not.
Two weeks ago, one of our neighborhood shops finally closed up due to lack of business. Within a day after removing all the items, workmen came in to gut the store and re-do it. Yesterday, I walked by to find construction still underway but this morning, huge flower baskets lined the entrance announcing opening day. Shining glass was in place with banners and posters stuck up giving special discount prices for the grand occasion. Promotional pamphlets and company catalogs were being passed out by young people standing on the storefront’s steps. A huge red sign announced in English “Ziyanfoods Chain-link”, above which read in Chinese "Ziyan’s Plain Chicken." Already at 8:30, there was a long line of people waiting for the 9 a.m. opening.
The three-day special began today, 30% off all dishes, and everyone is taking advantage of it.
This shop sells specially prepared cold roasted chicken. You can buy a whole spicy Sichuan chicken or a non-spicy one, chicken legs and feet boiled in broth and brushed with sauce, or the all-time favorite which is chicken pieces (bones, skin, meat and all) stirred and tossed in your choice of condiments: soy sauce, spring onion, peanuts, sesame seeds, sesame oil, peanut oil, garlic, cilantro, salt, sugar and the list goes on.
According to the promotional flier, there are over 800 of these stores located in 20 cities around China. Obviously, this fast-food take-out chain must be well-known among the Chinese or they wouldn’t line up for hours to get it.
One gentleman came away with 4 containers and he waited 50 minutes, spending 70 yuan ($10) instead of 100 ($14). It’s a sizzling day today and without an umbrella for shade, standing in line must be mighty hot and sticky. The man I talked to felt very pleased with his $4 savings so I guess for him, it was worth it.
Those getting their food now are the lucky ones, however, as they stood in line mid-day. I’m just wondering what the rush will be like around 5 p.m. when people are coming home from work, hungry and thinking this is a good deal for a family dinner.
I’m not sure how many Americans would wait in line so long, and under such conditions, for a mere take-out but I guess if the price is right, we might.
As for me, I think I’d rather prepare my own dinner at home in the comfort of a cool apartment. I like chicken, but not enough for a sweaty one or two hour wait in line, even if it’s for 30% off.
From Chengdu, here’s wishing you “Ping An!”
REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS
(Yes! Money still needed for 5 million having nothing other than tents and donated supplies to live on.)
United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake
Others: www.amityfoundation.org
“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / gang aft a-gley /
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promis’d joy!”
Robert Burns (from To a Mouse)
The telephone rang late on Tuesday night.
I was lucky it was ringing at all. Due to the earthquake, wires have been jiggled around to the extent that the phone sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t work. At first, it was full of static but now, it cuts out on me at inappropriate times, won’t connect when I answer or just won’t ring at all.
But Tuesday night, it decided to allow a call to come through.
On the other end was Jason, his voice low and sad, obviously worried. His 25-year-old sister, due for a heart operation this week, had gone home in tears. The operation was postponed yet again, the doctors’ news was not good and his family was distraught.
In summary of previous entries, Jason’s sister has been in need of an operation for several years due to a birth defect—a hole in the heart. She had a small procedure done at one time but it was unsuccessful, thus for three years, the family has been saving and borrowing enough money for a more serious operation. The needed 20,000 yuan ($2,857) had finally been collected when another blow: this would cost an extra 30,000 yuan more ($4,285). Once again, the family struggled to find people to help. The money was almost there when the earthquake hit. Hospitals filled with thousands and the operation was postponed. Then last week, Jason’s sister finally entered the Sichuan Provincial Hospital with an O.K. for surgery. I helped out with the additional funds needed and things looked good to go. . . . until Jason’s Tuesday night phone call.
Because of the seriousness of the operation, the doctors needed some extra equipment which the hospital didn’t have. They had to “book” it from another hospital and are waiting for its arrival. They also informed the family that most individuals with this heart problem died very young but Jason’s sister was a miraculous exception. They’d never performed this surgery on an adult before so it was risky.
Naturally, the family was upset, especially as she’d been staying in the hospital for over a week, being prepped and waiting for this to happen. I mentioned that Chinese hospitals are pretty bare so there’s nothing to do. No TV to watch or recreational and sitting rooms to visit. Plus the family is in charge of taking care of the patient’s needs, such as food, clothing, washing and so forth. Not to be in the comfort of one’s home, with good sleep, home-cooked meals and community support, was taking its toll on everyone. Plus staying in the hospital costs money, even if it’s a shared communal room for $5.00 a day. Thus the family decided it was best to leave rather than wait around another day.
All this going on and Jason not in attendance. Jason is enrolled in Qing Hai University, in the next province over. In China, mid-July is university summer dismissal, so he is not able to be here physically to support the family. The concern in his voice was all too apparent as he related to me his feelings of hopelessness.
“You know, my sister is so upset. This is worrying her. It’s not making her any better,” he said.
Then the phone cut off abruptly, leaving me angry and annoyed. Nor was I able to call back because the line was dead.
So many obstacles popping up again and again for this poor family! Like the aftershocks of the earthquake, they never seemed to end.
But that was Tuesday night, with promises that another day would be better.
Sure enough, Jason’s email came to me bright and early this morning. One of the doctors personally telephoned his sister and parents to tell them everything would be fine. The equipment would be there soon; the operation would be more successful than they originally anticipated. She shouldn’t lose hope. Everything would go well. After the weekend, she should return and they would get this done right away. Don’t worry!
The relief in Jason’s email was as strongly felt as if he were talking to me on the phone. He’d already spoken to his sister and parents to find their spirits had lifted. His as well, not to mention mine.
And despite the Scot poet’s (Robert Burns), rather depressing outlook at our best laid plans, I think in this case, the pain and grief is just about ended and we’re on the pathway to a joyful outcome.
Watch this space for upcoming reports on our Jason’s family and sister.
From Chengdu, as always, wishing you all “Ping An!” (Peace)
REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES AND NEEDED SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE DISASTER AREAS
(Yes! Money still needed for 5 million having nothing other than tents and donated supplies to live on.)
United Methodists: UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake
Others: www.amityfoundation.org
Despite what people think, Chinese is a kind language.
English is cluttered with articles, verb tenses, word derivations, idioms and a slew of grammatical rules and regulations. But Chinese has the ability to express one’s thoughts and feelings in succinct, well-placed words that take up little space yet convey great meaning. I sometimes think this is why Americans listening to Chinese, but not understanding it, feel people are always arguing or snapping at one another. The word phrases are so short that they sound rude. Add to this the 4 different intonations required to give a sound its meaning and, I agree, Chinese does appear to be a battleground of verbal abuse.
But despite how you feel toward the language, today I give you Chinese at its best, my favorite phrase which I probably hear a dozen times a day. It’s said by shopkeepers after I’ve purchased items, by taxi drivers when I open the car door to leave, even by the gate keeper when Little Flower and I exit the apartment complex.
“Man zou!” they say kindly with a smile.
Man (mahn) means “slowly.” Zou (z-oh) means “go / leave.” “Slowly go,” or rather “go slowly,” for more accurate English word order.
What an interesting combination! In English, a person would have a dozen similar phrases to choose from: “Be careful as you go,” “Take care,” “Watch your step,” “Have a nice day,” “Peace be with you,” “Safe journey,” “Look after yourself,”—the list goes on. But in Chinese, how simple and elegant to merely say, “Man zou (Go slowly)!”
At first, I thought “go slowly” was only used by those dealing with customers. I heard it from taxi drivers, market sellers, shop keepers, restaurant staff, and a wide range of others in the business sector. Yet even in the church I attend, I am often told after services, “Man zou!” by our kind, elderly women ushers or parishioners who walk out with me. Everyone is so happy to see a foreigner join them in worship. Their sincerely said "man zou!" wish me safety and peace as I leave the sanctuary and head out into the busy city life.
My favorite and most touching man zou story is actually one that took place 7 years ago in Inner Mongolia. I was teaching English in Hohhot, the capital city of the province, and had to pick up overseas’ boxes at the main post office.
Hohhot had one main post office where international boxes landed. It was located about a 30-minute bike ride from my home. I knew a package had arrived when a parcel slip came in the mail. These I then signed and presented at the counter to collect my item.
After waiting 2 months for my goodies from home, my package slip finally arrived. I excitedly hopped on my bicycle and headed out into a light drizzle. It was wet and cold, but I wanted that package and I wasn’t about to wait another day to get it.
After making my way through traffic with thousands of other bicyclers, I arrived at my destination. A very nice elderly bicycle attendant was there to help me neatly park my bike along with all the others. I quickly went inside to collect my goods. I thought this would be something that could easily fit into my basket or be tied on my bike’s back rack. What I was presented with, however, were 3 huge boxes that I had no idea how I would get back across town.
I made 3 trips from the counter to the outside steps of the building where I piled these heavy carboard things. The bicycle attendant was trying to be helpful. Having nothing else to do, she was stacking these next to my bicycle while I went in to fetch another.
Then came the dilemma.
Standing there in the drizzle, surrounded by these boxes and one bike, I just knew this was an impossible task to pedal them all home. Although the attendant insisted this could be done, I really had no idea how.
“I’ll take a taxi,” I told her. “I’ll come back later for the bike.”
“No, no!” she said, adamantly shaking her head. “Too expensive. You take one box, I’ll watch the others and you can come back again.”
Three hours in total to come and go for boxes?! And in the chilly rain?!
To me, that really seemed a waste of time and energy, especially as a taxi would take 10 minutes and cost me only 8 yuan ($1.15). But for my bicycle lady, so determined to be helpful, that was a lot of money. No matter what I said, she vehemently objected to that taxi.
After about 10 minutes, my patience with this woman was wearing thin. I wanted to get out of there, even if it meant hurting her feelings in the process. And what’s more, I suddenly gained an eavesdropper I certainly didn’t want.
A rather disheveled old man with few teeth, in a long, filthy Russian army coat, suddenly stepped into our conversation circle. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture but this time, I found he actually had something useful to offer.
“I can do this for you,” he said. “It’s very easy.”
I was still in favor of the taxi, but the attendant kept poking at me, urging me to give the man the two long cords the post office worker had passed to me before I had left her counter. So, with nothing to lose, I handed it over to him.
What proceeded next was an amazing feat.
In 5 minutes, all 3 heavy boxes were securely in place, balanced and strongly tied to my bicycle in an ingenious fashion.
He stepped back and smiled at his work.
The attendant looked smug.
I was stunned.
“That’s great!” I told him. “I really had no idea how to do that. Thank you so much!”
He said it was nothing, although he was obviously pleased to have helped the clueless foreigner.
I quickly hopped on my bicycle. He and the attendant gave my bike a gentle nudge to send me on my way. I then waved and called out a final “Thank you!”
And their reply?
A very heartfelt, endearing, "Man zou!"
From Chengdu, here’s wishing you all “Man zou (Go slowly)”, and and additional “Ping An!” (Peace), throughout your busy day.
This evening, Catherine (Yin Ying) will be arriving here from southern Luzhou city (loo-joe), my former teaching placement with the Amity Foundation. I taught at Luzhou Vocational and Technical College for 5 years and will be returning there once again after the summer. In order to do so, Catherine (the college’s new foreign affairs director) must submit my documentation to the provincial government office here in Chengdu. After 20 days, a formal invitation letter to teach in Luzhou will be issued to me. I then return to America to apply for a Chinese work visa. Work visas can only be issued outside of China, thus the return to America is necessary.
Here is a good time to introduce you to the Luzhou Vocational and Technical College so you’ll have a little understanding as to where I will be returning in August, especially if you are followers of this site. (To learn more about Amity Foundation teachers, check out the website: www.amityfoundation.org.)
Location
Luzhou Vocational and Technical College (LVTC) is located on the outskirts of Luzhou (loo-joe, pop. 3 million) in southern Sichuan Province. The small campus is directly next to the Yangtze River and rests on a high bluff. In other words, it’s a very nostalgic, traditional view of China and there’s no fear of flooding as we’re so high up.
History
The current school is a 2002 merger between three colleges in the city: Water Resource and Electrical Power College, Luzhou Educational Institute and Luzhou Teacher’s College. Two campuses were sold and the last, along the Yangtze, is the current one which is used today. It is where the former Luzhou Teacher’s College was located.
About 3-year Colleges
Colleges in China are divided into many categories. Luzhou Vocational and Technical College is a 2-year and 3-year institution, meaning that it gives certificates of graduation, not degrees. Only 4-year universities/colleges in China can give degrees.
Years ago in China, only the top students who had high entrance examination test scores could attend higher educational institutions, which were namely 4-year universities. The government likewise paid for their schooling. Now, however, students entering universities must pay themselves ($800 – $1,000 per year). Also, because a greater number of students is being admitted to universities, test scores do not have to be quite as high as before although they still must be high enough to pass the given university entrance examination cut-offs.
The 2-day university entrance examination, taken by high school seniors, means everything. A poor test score leaves one with little choice but to take the test again the next year or choose a lower-rank school.
Many students in China from countryside schools, which offer a poorer quality of education, or those who have difficulty taking standardized tests, are left with very low entrance examination scores. It’s impossible for them to attend a university so they settle for 3-year schools. Some students also have no intention of going on to study after high school but their parents force them into it, insisting they need more education to get a better job. Therefore, they end up at 2 or 3-year vocational schools to study a trade.
The students attending colleges such as LVTC are often not the best or the brightest. Some work extremely hard in their studies and do very well; others just float through in disappointment at their “bad luck” in attending a low-level school. Still others don’t really care about getting an education so this becomes their “play time,” so to speak.
Students at these colleges are also among the poorest in China. At LVTC, a majority of the students are from the countryside. Their parents are farmers who make as little as $50 – $70 a month. They have saved and borrowed money throughout their entire lives to see their child enter school, especially as many parents are illiterate. In some cases, my students in Luzhou said their parents had only a 4th grade education or none at all. In fact, they are the very first child in the family’s history to have an education.
While costs for LVTC are comparitively lower than a well-known 4-year institution, they are still a great financial burden on farming families. Depending on the major and field of study, tuition costs are 3,000 – 5,000 yuan per year ($430 – $714), not including housing, books or food. English majors in education pay 4,000 per year ($517).
Amity Teachers Teach Only English Education Majors
There are many areas of study to gain a 2-year or 3-year certificate. These include industrial arts, mechanics, art, computer, management, business, dance, music, and teaching.
Amity Foundation teachers only teach English majors who will one day be teachers themselves. Currently in China’s city schools, 4th grade to sophomores in university are required to study English. In the countryside schools, currently junior high and high school are required to have daily English classes. However, with new reforms, this will change to include the lower grade levels as well.
Why is English so important? Currently in the world, English is the main language for business ventures, international consulation affairs, medical and scientific field research, and computers. To produce young people to enter such fields and excel, China is fully aware they must start young. Also, the university entrance examination has a large testing portion on English language ability. Due to this, the teaching of English in China is extremely important, especially for those in the lower grade levels. A strong foundation in studying English with a good teacher will only increase their chances to eventually receive better test scores and better opportunities in their future.
This is why the government is pushing to improve the education level of new and veteran English language teachers. Amity Foundation teachers, being native speakers and qualified in their fields of education, are needed much more for these education majors than for English business majors or others studying English for other purposes.
Teaching Certificates Awarded: 2-year and 3-year
In Chinese gradeschools, one teacher does not teach all subjects him/herself but specializes in one subject only, as they do in U.S. grades 7 – 12. English majors, therefore, will only be teaching English to their students.
There are several teaching certificates awarded in China. As I understand it, a 2-year study of English will allow a graduate to teach English in kindergarten, usually with the many after-school private language schools that are popping up all over the country. Parents wanting their kids to get a head-start in language learning usually enroll their children in these evening or weekend programs.
A 3-year certificate, however, allows graduates to teach in public grade schools and some junior high schools. High school teachers are required to have a BA degree but because many of those enrolled in LVTC are from the countryside, they most likely will return to their hometowns to teach even at the high school level. No BA degree holder is going to want to return to his/her hometown where conditions are poor and opportunities to make money are nearly impossible. Thus, many in the LVTC English department’s teaching program will teach in high school in their hometown schools, only because there is no one else to do so.
Stats For The College
1) Current student population: 8000
2) Number of students living on campus: 5500
3) Number of students living off campus: 2500
4) Number of faculty on campus: 345
Stats for English Language Department
1) Number of faculty in the English department: 35 Chinese English-language teachers, who are required to teach English to all 8,000 students, not
just English majors (Remember, English teaching is a requirement of all institutions up to sophomores in college or university)
2) Number of native English foreign language teachers: 0
(For over a year, there has been no native speaker to help with teaching, curriculum
development or extra-curricular English language activities. This is the major reason
why I requested a return to Luzhou)
3) English Majors in Education: 500
4) English Majors in Business: 100
In Closing
There are thousands of colleges such as Luzhou Vocational and Technical College throughout China, all of them struggling to snatch up high school graduates to come to their institutions. Years ago, the government assigned jobs to individuals but now in China, you’re on your own. Finding a job in your field is now becoming extremeley difficult. Many with university MA and BA degrees can’t find a decent position due to the competition. Some wind up as shop assistants or even street cleaners. For those in vocational schools, it becomes even more difficult as they search out positions which are easily filled by millions of others who have similar college certificates. Luckily enough, our English majors in education will always be able to get a job somewhere in a small community but it’s a hard life. The pay is extremely low ($70 – $90 a month), the classes are packed (70 – 90 students), the workload tiring and the hours long, plus the school conditions are poor (only desks and chairs in the classroom, no computers or tape recorders and certainly no necessary supplies to supplement curriculum).
Despite the difficulties, the dedication of many LVTC students wanting to enter the teaching field is truly touching. They honestly feel they can make a difference in the lives of their students and their country. This is probably the one reason why so many of us in Amity feel moved to teach in such smaller institutions. Our students motivate us, making us better teachers and better people for having known them.
From Chengdu, soon to be moving on to Luzhou, wishing you an evening "Ping An!" (Peace)
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