TheBanyanTree: Transition to the Real China, Part 7

[Pat M]

Transition to the Real China, Part 7



All meals are provided for me at the college, but I choose to eat breakfast
in my apartment.

During my first shopping outing, Amy steered me toward purchasing an instant
breakfast cereal called 'Worshipful" whose English slogan reads, "The
Flavour Ramains."  When I opened the package, I was surprised to see it
consisted of individual serving packets of black powder that when mixed with
hot water became a black sludge as unappetizing to the eye as to the palate.
After forcing it down for a couple of mornings, I gave the rest to Amy and
purchased another bag of cereal.  From the picture on the package, it looked
like instant oatmeal but when I opened the bag, it, too, was unidentifiable.
It was white and flaky, very sweet and contained milk powder—but it wasn't
oats.  Although it tasted peculiar, after a few days, I found myself
acquiring a taste for it—it certainly was an improvement over the black
porridge.  What I really longed for though were crushed oats, the type I was
used to, to make porridge.  I'd scouted out the entire aisle of breakfast
cereals and hadn't been able to find any.

Because I can't read Chinese, shopping for food is challenging.  Often, I
must go by the pictures on the packages.

Like Guatemala, eggs are not sold in cartons but in plastic bags. It is a
given that some get broken on the way home.

China's yogurt is the drinkable variety and is packaged in small plastic
bags with sharp-ended straws to jab into them.

There are many types of dried meat, seafood and fish; in fact, there is an
entire aisle of them. When I first arrived in China in July and traveled
with my friends Joyce and Mao, they introduced me to foil-wrapped cubes of
corned beef that were tasty and convenient to carry when traveling.  I
hadn't been able to find the same product in Yangshuo so sought it out in
Lintong. There was none to be found.

In Canada, I sometimes eat beef jerky.  I scanned the shelves and picked up
a package of dried meat.

"Is it beef?" I asked Amy, about to drop it into my cart.

"No, it's dog," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," I said, just as matter-of-factly.  Masking the disgust I felt, I
quickly put it back on the shelf and decided right then that I would never
purchase any meat unless I had someone to identify it for me.

"It is very different in the west," I said respectfully.  "In our culture,
we do not eat dogs.  They are pets.  Some of them are treated like members
of the family and live better lives than some people."

"Dog is very good.  It keeps you warm," Amy replied.  "In the north where it
is cold, people eat a lot of it."

Supermarkets in China have an over-abundance of clerks in each department,
and while I shop a throng of them often follow me.  They don't speak English
but they continually try to 'help' me by guessing what I 'might' want and
then thrusting it in front of me with a spiel of rapid Chinese. Most of the
time I am in good humour and they don't irritate me, but occasionally I want
to tell them to get lost.  Instead, I avoid eye contact, shake my head and
keep walking.

No matter where I go, there are always people who have never seen a
foreigner, and they gaze at me with wonder in their eyes. The grocery store
is no different; parents with young children in tow search me out and point
to me, while telling their little ones something in Chinese.  I can only
imagine they are saying something like, "Look, a foreigner.  Look at her
white skin and yellow hair."   Here in China, it is as if I am a rare zoo
animal.  I get tired of it.

On particularly bad days (luckily there aren't too many now), I have had the
childish impulse to stick my tongue out at the gawkers, but of course, I
don't.  I am a teacher from a foreign country, a pioneer in a sense, and how
I behave influences how these people will view all foreigners. My most
aggressive action and only defense is to stare right back at them as if they
are 'unusual' and not I, hoping to shame them into looking away—but they
don't. They use the opportunity to get an even better look.

When I leave one area of the store, the clerks from the next department take
up the vigil.  Many items are weighed and priced in their department before
going through the checkout—fruit, vegetables, noodles, dried fish etc.  The
one and only advantage I have while shopping is that the clerks at the weigh
scales always put me at the front of the line.

By my third week, I had learnt to ignore the curious throng who followed in
my wake, and I spent time trolling up and down the supermarket's aisles
looking for anything recognizable. I eventually found oatmeal imported from
Australia with the baby food.  According to Mrs. Zhang, China does not grow
it or eat much of it.

Nearly always, I eat lunch and dinner at the college.  In the south of
China, rice is an every day, every meal food, whether it be steamed or in
the form of porridge or rice noodles.  Here in central China, products made
from wheat flour are more common.  Mrs. Zhang often makes wonderful noodles
from scratch.  She also makes jowdza (small dumplings) and bowdza (large
dumplings) that she fills with chopped garlic greens and tofu and serves in
a delicious brown broth. Steamed bread is served at every meal along with
plates of cooked vegetables such as lotus leaves, spinach, lotus root,
Chinese watermelon, grated potatoes (one of my favorites) and many others I
can't identify. Mrs. Zhang uses a lot of garlic in her cooking and with some
dishes includes raw garlic cloves to chew on.  Uncooked vegetables and
salads aren't served.  Sometimes, plates of cooked mixed vegetables include
an edible purple, jelly-like fungus that looks like ribbons of seaweed.  It
is surprisingly tasty as are the countless unfamiliar varieties of edible
mushrooms that Mrs. Zhang uses in her cooking. Another staple now that the
weather has become cooler is a type of rice and cornmeal porridge that Mrs.
Zhang sometimes makes for lunch and supper.

Both Amy and Mrs. Zhang love very spicy food. During my first weeks here, I
often had heartburn (unusual for me).  I'm used to a milder diet and was
glad I'd brought some antacid from Canada 'just in case'. Initially, Mrs.
Zhang used so much hot pepper in her cooking that just breathing the fumes
near the kitchen nearly suffocated me and sent me into a fit of
uncontrollable sneezing and coughing.  I don't know how anyone can eat food
that highly spiced.  Now, Mrs. Zhang uses only a little hot pepper in her
cooking so I can eat it.  She and Amy enjoy munching on pickled hot peppers
with their meal because the food my stomach can tolerate is much too bland
for them.

The college's monthly food budget of $65.00 does not include enough money to
buy meat, except maybe twice a month.  Then, Mrs. Zhang buys a small piece
of pork that she chops very small, fries and mixes with the cooked
vegetables.

After several weeks in Lintong, one of my students told me about another
supermarket, larger and better than the one Amy had showed me. It turned out
I had walked past it numerous times but because I can't read Chinese and
hadn't been able to see inside it from the street, I hadn't identified it as
a grocery store.  I was keen to visit it to see if it had any more familiar
products. To my surprise and delight, it sells cooked meat including roasted
chickens and ducks (with the heads on unfortunately), legs and thighs,
cooked chickens' feet, pig's feet and roasted pigs' heads. On my first
visit, I happily purchased four legs and thighs, one for Mrs. Zhang, Amy and
myself, and one extra to share. They cost me about $4.00. Amy told me she
couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a whole piece of chicken.  Now,
I regularly bring in chicken for everyone.

At the end of September, Amy accompanied me to the Agricultural Bank of
China to set up an account so my pay could be deposited.  On the way, she
confided that Mayo, the previous teacher, was paid 4,000 yuan per month, ten
times her salary.  I earn 4,500 yuan a month and receive an allowance of 200
yuan to help pay for my apartment utilities, or about $600.  By Canadian
standards, it is nothing.  Here in China, however, it is a decent wage.  I'd
been told that Chinese teachers don't earn much--perhaps 1,000 yuan a month,
so it came as a nasty shock to discover that Alice paid Amy only 400 yuan a
month ($50) and Mrs. Zhang, 300 yuan per month ($38).

"When are your days off?" I queried.  "You've been at work every day since I
got here."

"We don't get any," Amy said.  "I've worked over a month without a day off."

A knot formed in my stomach.  The discrepancies between our wages, working
and living conditions upset me.  In my mind, we are all equal and should be
treated accordingly.

I have a beautiful new apartment of maybe 1,000 sq. feet with white marble
floors, air conditioning and all modern amenities.  Amy and Mrs. Zhang each
have a tiny room in the college without air conditioning or a heater.  They
do not have a television to watch or even a radio to listen to in the
evenings.

"That's not fair," I said.  "You should be able to have two days off a week,
and Alice should be paying you more."
I'm an idealist, and I came to China aware there are serious human rights
issues here but somehow didn't think they would be so blatant at an English
college.  Now, I must come to terms with the injustices I see; I must accept
that I can not change my friends' lives significantly while doing what I can
to help their situation.

***