TheBanyanTree: February 2009

[Pat M]

In the beginning, I was blissfully ignorant of the tension between the
workers and Peter but it wasn’t long before Alex and Jessica began to
confide in me. Not only were they unhappy with their wages, but they had a
list of other complaints-the most serious (to my way of thinking) was that
he beat the children. On numerous occasions they said, “We no like Peter.
Maybe we no come back after Spring Festival.”

I’d seen or heard nothing to indicate Peter hit the kids, and wondered if it
was true.

Around this time, Peter began to share his feelings with me. One evening he
said, “When I asked the children what they thought of me, they told me they
were afraid of me because I beat them. “  His face twisted into a look of
profound disbelief. “I only did it maybe eight times and it destroyed so
much.”

 “Yes, hitting does that.  I knew about this, and I’m glad the children told
you. Now you can work on changing,” I said.  “I don’t believe in hitting.
There are better ways to discipline.”

When I invited the new workers Doris and Carol to go for a walk outside the
compound with me, I discovered they also had issues with Peter.  Doris, the
older sister, told me that Peter had not welcomed their arrival (which had
been organized by Ron) and both he and Auntie Hua had been unkind to them
from the get-go.  Doris had been the leader at an orphanage in Henan
province and suspected Peter was worried she wanted his job.

Peter’s days as leader would soon come to an end though. Before long, the
rumour mill had it that a young couple from Shanghai were coming to take
charge of the place.  I’m sure this was very upsetting to Peter, but to save
face he told me he would rather wipe the children’s dirty noses than to be
the leader.

During Spring Festival, which started in mid-January, Doris returned home
but Carol stayed at the orphanage in case I needed help (without me asking
her to).  From the beginning, she had been the quieter of the sisters but I
discovered that she knew more English than I’d realized and hadn’t spoken
because of shyness rather than lack of ability. Carol is the girl the older
worker Auntie Hua had bullied. She is only nineteen. After the blow-up, I’d
counselled her telling her that because someone was unkind and said mean
things didn’t make them true. By fighting back, I said, she was lowering
herself to the other person’s level.

When I’d gone to live at the language school for two weeks, Carol had wept
uncontrollably. I’d worried about her and had promised we’d meet in Pingguo
and go shopping together when I was feeling better. While I was away, we’d
kept in touch through text messages and when I was finally well enough to
invite her to go shopping with me, she wrote, “Yesterday my menstruation
came and I cannot go out a week because I cannot take shower, and I can not
to walk long time at the week.”

Chinese women still believe the menstruation taboos of my grandmother’s
generation.  They won’t eat ice cream or drink cold water when they have
their period and also don’t bathe. They don’t go swimming or exercise. I’ve
considered broaching the subject with my friends to tell them that
westerners used to believe those things too but have discovered them to be
false. Still, would the effort be worth it?  Would they listen?  I doubt it,
so have said nothing.

While I was away from the orphanage in early February I knew the tensions
between Peter and Carol had escalated.  A few days after I returned, Carol
appeared at my door.

“I am going home, Auntie. I resigned before he could tell me to go.  Also,
my older sister will not return.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I was just getting to know you. I’ll miss you.”

“I will miss you, too.”

Later, Alex and Jessica came to my room.  “Do you know the girl is going
home?”

“Yes, she was here earlier and told me,” I said.

“We are worried about her. She needs help to go and Peter told us we should
not talk to her now. He will be very angry if we try to help her. “ Alex
frowned. “I very angry with Peter,” she said.

I couldn’t quite believe my ears.  Peter is a devout Christian and he
studies the Bible every day. Whenever I speak with him, he inevitably brings
God into the conversation. If what they were saying was true, his behaviour
certainly wasn’t in line with the teachings of the Bible. Just then I
received a phone call from Doris (the older sister calling from Henan
province) who asked me to please help Carol.

“Peter say the workers cannot help her. She need send things home and buy
train ticket.”

“Of course I’ll help her,” I said.  “Don’t worry.”

I seethed for a few minutes and then went looking for Peter.  I found him in
the office.

“What kind of place is this?” I snarled.  “Did you tell Alex and Jessica not
to talk to Carol?”

“Yes, I did.”

“She needs some help to buy a train ticket and to mail her bags,” I said.
“I’m going to help her. Will you ask Grandfather to drive us to Pingguo
tomorrow?”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly, and I felt certain that without my intervention
Carol would have been left to her own resources. A nineteen-year-old in
China is nothing like a nineteen-year-old in the west.  They are still
children and very dependent on their parents. Most have not even started to
date.  The thing I’d noticed most about the two sisters was their inability
to ask for what they need or to stand up for themselves.  They lived
together in the same room and each of them had been given a thin quilt and
was cold at night. Instead of asking for another, they pushed their single
beds together.

“I feel really disappointed,” I said. “You are Christians, yet everyone is
talking about each other all the time. Before the sisters came, everyone was
talking about you and I refused to listen.”

“I think God is also disappointed,” he said. “Yes, everyone hates each other
but we all love the children.”

“I don’t think Carol was given a fair chance. She was assigned jobs she’d
never done, not trained and then criticized because she didn’t do them well.
“

“That is your opinion.”

“Yes, it is.”

The next day, Peter, Grandfather, Carol and I went to town.  On the way, we
were stopped in a road block and were detained for a long time. It seems the
van needs a safety inspection and the police issued a warning.  Afterwards,
we mailed Carol’s bags at China Post and took Carol to the train ticket
office.  Grandfather and Peter left us in Pingguo so Carol could buy a
backpack and a fanny pack for her two-day train journey.  We found what she
wanted at the market. I did the bargaining and got very good prices for her.
 Then, because the temperatures had skyrocketed (upper 30’s c), I needed to
buy some light clothing and pajamas.  All the women’s t-shirts were either
too small or had a blaring print or sequins on them, and I wanted a plain
one-colour t-shirt—red, black or blue. With Carol’s help, I found what I
wanted in a tiny shop that sold men’s clothes.

After we finished shopping at the market, I took Carol out for a nice
farewell lunch at MFC (My Favorite Chicken) where the food is similar to KFC
and the prices equitable. The majority of the locals including the workers
at the orphanage cannot afford to eat there. We enjoyed a greasy
feast—deep-fried chicken, fries and some egg custard tarts—then did some
grocery shopping in the supermarket next door before taking a motorcycle car
back the compound.

Carol was staying at the orphanage for a few more days until her sister’s
friend from Guilin could come and help her. She had no experience traveling
alone.

 Two days before she left, she came to my room with 200 yuan in her hand
(1/3 of her monthly wages).

“Auntie, you helped me. You are like family. You don’t make any money and
you give so many things to the children. I want to help you.”

For a moment, I was flabbergasted.

“I am your friend,” I said. “You don’t need to pay me. I wanted to help you.
That’s what friends do.”

She said, “Don’t refuse me.”

“No, no, no. I can’t take your money.”

I wasn’t sure what a refusal meant in Chinese culture and wracked my brains
to find a way out.

“I have money in Canada,” I said. “Your parents are caring for many orphans
in your home. It would make me very happy if you would use the money to buy
fruit for them.”

“Don’t refuse me,” she said again.

After a good ten minutes of this, she left but she hadn’t given up.  The
next day, she came to me again, and I again searched for an excuse not to
accept her money.

“Maybe one day I will come to visit you,” I said. “If I do, you can take me
out for a meal.”

“Auntie, don’t refuse me.”

And so it went on.

Finally, I said, “If you want to give a gift to me, you will remember what I
told you after the fight with Auntie Hua. The next time someone is unkind to
you and you want to fight back, you will (I gestured as if zipping my lips)
not say anything and walk away.

When I was your age, I didn’t know that I could choose how to feel.  I
thought feelings just happened, but I am old now and I have learned that you
don’t have to allow people to hurt you.  If they say mean things, it doesn’t
make them true. You don’t need to fight. You are better than that.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

After a little more convincing, she put away her money.

“You are welcome to my house anytime, Auntie. You are family.”

“Thank you.”

The next day, she and I took a motorcycle taxi to the bus depot in Pingguo
where we met her sister’s friend.  Carol and I hugged goodbye.

“Don’t forget what I told you,” I said. “Next time you get angry, think of
me and walk away.”

“Okay. As soon as I am home, I will write you with my address and new phone
number,” she said.

“Okay, bye.”

As idyllic as the orphanage is for the children (who are living much better
than the children with two parents in the villages outside the gates), there
are many problems here between workers. And the Chinese deal with problems
in a completely different way than in the west.  I believe in confronting
problems through direct communication—that is, I believe that talking is the
best way to resolve things. The Chinese do not. It seems they talk to
everyone except the person they have a problem with and expect others (I’ve
been told by some Chinese) to solve their problems.
I’ve much to learn about Chinese culture and ways to really understand the
Chinese. Some people who have been living in China for years have commented,
“I’ll never understand them.”
I wonder if I’ll be saying the same thing in time.
*****

Check out my new photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/Ms.Pat.Martin/Pingguo
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The rains are starting and the water buffalo have been put to work.