TheBanyanTree: Transition to the Real China, Part 9 (long)

[Pat M]

Transition 9



I was sitting on a child-size plastic chair soaking up the sun outside the
college when Alice drove up in her zippy little white car.

"Hello Patricia," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm great! Isn't this sunshine nice after that terrible cold weather?" I
said with a smile.

"Yes, it's beautiful," she said. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," I said and followed her upstairs to her office.

"Sit down," she said.

She poured me a cup of steaming water from the water cooler/heater. (In
China, people often drink boiling water instead of tea or coffee.)

"I would like you to consider working at one of the middle schools in Xian
for two days a week," she said. "I need to make some money so I can pay
you."

That rang true; because of low enrollment, the college had to be losing a
lot of money every month. Middle schools, however, often had upwards of 60
students in a class. Alice knew I had chosen to teach at Buckland Lintong
English College so I didn't have to teach large classes, so her suggestion
surprised me.

"Hmmm…," I said, caught off guard. "You know I don't like large classes." I
paused to consider the possibility. "How many students will there be?" I
asked, thinking at most, a hundred.

"Maybe two hundred," she said.

"Two hundred!" Butterflies took flight in my stomach. Me, Pat Martin,
lecture classes of 200 Chinese students? Was it even possible?

"Don't worry; I can get you a little clip-on microphone if you like."

"I don't know," I hedged. "I know I'm a good teacher with small classes but
I don't know if I'll be a good teacher with large classes."

"Of course, you'll be a good teacher. You're the best. Everyone loves you."

She was trying to butter me up and it wasn't working.

"Hmmm… if I'm going to have to teach large classes, maybe I should change
jobs." (Teaching for a public school would provide me with many more
benefits such as a regular teaching schedule, many more holidays and no
evening teaching.)

"I'll pay you more," she said.

"It's not about the money."

"I'll drive you there and back. We'll be together. It will be easy. We'll
teach for half a day and after that we can play in Xian (play meaning 'do
something fun')."

"I'm going to have to think about it."

"Why don't you just give it a try," she cajoled. "If you don't like it, you
can stop."

I hesitated. I was really nervous about teaching huge classes and having
Alice there with me while I gained confidence was an ideal way to start. I
envisioned myself in front of a sea of Chinese faces. It was scary but oddly
enough, it was also very exciting.

"Okay, I'll try," I said, realizing I was up for the challenge.

A week later, Amy and I took the bus to Xian to meet up with Alice. Alice
wanted to take me out for lunch to a restaurant that served western food. I
was sure Amy and Mrs. Zhang had reported that I had lost my appetite and had
only been eating tiny portions for a couple of weeks. What none of them knew
was that I was constantly suffering from a burning stomach and 'Montezuma's
Revenge'. I had identified one unknown Chinese vegetable that was causing it
and had stopped eating it but there were obviously more. Everyday, I was
eating vegetables, mushrooms and edible fungi I had never seen in the west.
Mrs. Zhang did not use purified water for rinsing fruits and vegetables and
she didn't have a dish sterilizer like the college in Yangshuo.

Alice also wanted to take me to Xian Middle School No. 4. Her friend was
head master there, and she wanted to introduce me to him and chat with him
about hiring me to teach there.

Amy and I disembarked at the bus station next to Xian's huge train station
just outside the city wall's north gate. Hundreds of people milled around.
As we wove our way through them Amy said, "I hate it here. It isn't a good
place. Be careful with your purse."

After my experience with pickpockets in Guatemala I didn't need to be
reminded. My small backpack was already slung over my chest and a protective
arm rested over it. No one was going to get my purse! We walked several
blocks to catch the city bus that would take us to Alice's apartment. Amy
and Alice were in constant contact on their cell phones so when we finally
arrived at Alice's apartment, she waited for us outside next to her car.

"Hello Patricia," she said. (even though I told everyone I go by 'Pat', they
continue to call me Patricia because they like the sound of it. Amy and Mrs.
Zhang have nicknamed me Shasha.)

"Hi Alice,"

"Let's go," she said.

I got into the front seat and Amy got in the back.

Alice looked in her rear view mirror. She giggled.

"One of my friends, Mr. Zhong, wanted to meet you so he's coming along with
us. We will go dancing later and he is yours."

A stone dropped in my stomach. I felt I had been ambushed but was powerless
to do anything about it. I glared at her.

"It's a joke," she said, but I knew it wasn't.

Previous to this, Alice had told Amy (who told me) that she wanted me to
stay in China forever to teach for her and reckoned the key to keeping me in
the country was to find me a boyfriend.

A slightly balding, middle-aged Chinese man who must have been waiting in a
nearby parked car, climbed into the back seat with Amy, and Alice made the
introductions.

"He doesn't speak English," Alice said.

I felt very uncomfortable. How on earth did Alice think a boyfriend who
didn't speak English was even a possibility for me?

We went out for lunch first. The restaurant was packed with Chinese patrons
and I was again, the only Caucasian there and an object of much interest. I
ordered a steak dinner but was disappointed when it arrived with a thick,
spicy black pepper sauce all over it. Nevertheless, it was the first western
food I'd had in over a month and I enjoyed it.

Mr. Zhong sat across from me. At the end of the meal he pulled out a package
of cigarettes and lit one. Nearly all of the men in China smoke; it's part
of the culture. Cigarettes are very cheap here. It's uncommon for women to
smoke, though. Owen Buckland, the CEO of the Buckland Group in Yangshuo (my
employer) told us a story during our teachers' training about a female
teacher who arrived at the airport and was met by the principal of the
school she was to teach at. After her no-smoking flight, she pulled out a
cigarette and proceeded to smoke it with great enjoyment. The principal
immediately phoned Owen to say he did not want this teacher.

Owen said, "In China, if you (women) smoke, people will think you are a
prostitute."

After lunch, Alice drove us to Xian Middle School No. 4. As soon as we
walked into the school, I was swarmed by excited teenagers eager to practice
their English. A very friendly boy whose English name was Tony asked me to
visit his classroom to say hello. It was during the break but Chinese
students are so burdened with homework that they must use virtually all of
their spare time to do schoolwork. (I'll be writing about the school system
later.)

"Okay?" I asked Alice. She nodded.

When I stepped into the classroom with Tony, I was greeted with cheers,
smiles and giggles. I felt like a celebrity. For most, if not all of these
students, I was the first foreigner they'd ever seen. The classroom was
packed. Like all Chinese classrooms, there was a cement platform at the
front of the room for the teacher to stand on. I did not like the platform
which set me apart from the students but I had to use it; it was the only
free space.  Tony was so excited that he introduced himself to me three
times and shook my hand each time. The other students roared with laughter.
I told them a little about myself, and then they asked me questions. A
common pronunciation problem that Chinese students and most Chinese English
teachers have is that they do not sound the 's' at the end of plural words.
I gave them a quick mini-lesson on the board. A few minutes later, Amy
signalled to me from the doorway, and I said my goodbyes to cheers, clapping
and the buzz of excited conversation. After such a warm reception, I
realized I no longer felt afraid to teach large classes.

Amy led me to an office down the hall. There, Alice introduced me to the
head master and some Chinese English teachers. I sipped green tea while they
chatted in Chinese. After about 15 minutes, Amy said, "They want you to meet
the students. Let's go."

The head of the English department, a thin intense-looking man led Amy and I
outside through beautifully landscaped grounds to a five-story building of
classrooms.

"How many students are there?" I asked.

"It is a very small school; there are only about 3,500 students," our guide
replied.

"Do they all live here?" I asked.

"Yes."
I was expected to go into every classroom and after Amy provided a short
introduction, give an impromptu speech. "I can do this," I told myself.
Anything impromptu doesn't come easily for me; I'm a planner so this was a
big challenge. My throat became very dry, so dry that I could hardly speak
and I was glad of the bottle of water I carried with me. In every classroom,
I was applauded and cheered as if I were famous. We worked our way from the
ground floor to the top floor. I have no idea how many classrooms I visited;
it just went on and on. By the time I was done, I was exhausted.  I was also
counting my blessings that I hadn't known in advance I'd have to do this, or
I'd have lost a lot of sleep worrying about it.

Back in the office, I sat quietly as Alice wrapped up her discussion. Before
leaving, I needed to use the W.C. (the term used for washrooms here). It
wasn't far from the office and I was able to find it easily by the stench
lingering in the hallway. The school was supposedly a 'good school', one of
the best, but I was horrified by the condition of the washroom. It reminded
me of a barn; it was that filthy, and it reeked. I wondered when it had last
been cleaned. If I teach here, I thought, I'm going to clean it myself. I
envisioned tossing buckets of hot water and bleach over the entire floor,
not only the in-floor squat toilets. Anyone would think I'm a compulsive
cleaner, but I'm not. I do, however, have my limits and the W.C. far
surpassed 'disgusting'.
       Then, Alice drove us to a club to dance. In Xian, dance clubs are
open during the afternoon. We went downstairs into a very dark room where a
strobe light pulsed. Surprisingly, it was full of people and they were
walking in a circle around the room while dancing an unfamiliar step. Alice,
Amy and I danced together first while Mr. Zhong watched our purses. Then,
Mr. Zhong asked me to dance the circle dance. I felt very awkward as I tried
to follow his lead and even more uncomfortable because I knew that Alice was
playing matchmaker. I didn't speak Chinese; he didn't speak English. Romance
wasn't an option.

*****
New photos can be viewed at http://picasaweb.google.com/Ms.Pat.Martin/China2


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