Top 5 People I'd Rather Hit Than My Students

One of the teachers recently told me that she does not believe I’m strict enough with the children. I find this interesting because when compared with Kayleigh, Sam, and Elena, I fear I’m going to be labeled the “American Bitch.” They’re all so much calmer than I. I yell. I’m a yeller. But you see, to American ears, Chinese people speaking to one another always sounds like they’re yelling and fighting. Really they are saying “I love you,” and “pass the chili.” When I told a Chinese teacher about the trouble I was having with Harry, she said “oh yes, I hit him all the time.” Hitting. Cultural differences. Not quite my style, however I’ve made a list of the top five people I’d rather hit than my students.

Top 5 People I’d Rather Hit Than My Students

1)            I’m not exactly sure who is giving the children their English names, but I really wish I could find her, flick her in the head, hand her a RECENT book of baby names, and tell her that if she names one more girl “Betty” I will beat her.  If I am lucky enough to have two girls in one class, one will always be named Betty. The other will be Kitty. I have a class of six with James I and James II. I have a class of eight with Big Jerry and Little Jerry. Big Jerry haunts my nightmares…. All the American Susans and Bettys are at least fifty. “Hanty” is not a name. I don’t think any Esters survived World War II. And all non-Hispanic female Angels are prostitutes. I even have a boy named Zoe. Truly terrible kid. Refuses to participate, and gives you this glare like he’s going to eat your family. Seriously, his glare is worse than mine (which is really saying something for those of you who know me.) My theory is that a teacher he terrorized named him Zoe as payback. For my last day of teaching I received the most wonderful gift a teacher can get: a student named Slytherin.

2)            Those people who don’t put diapers on their babies, then have them pee in the middle of walking streets.

3)            The asshole at Volkswagen who invented what I like to call “seatbelt blockers.” Fancy looking sticks with the VW logo, that you can put in your buckle to prevent belts from going in.  According to my host family, “you only need a seatbelt on the highway.” Not on the crazy deathtrap city streets, where cab drivers swerve like madmen, walking paths are driving lanes, and one-lane streets exist but no one-way streets. I miss suing culture.

4)            People who drive on the sidewalk, then beep at you to get out of their way. THEY’RE THE ONES IN THE WAY!!

5)            We’ve all seen them. They swarm into rest stops and devour everything in sight. They aggressively weave through the most touristy attractions, while all wearing the same hat. Under the command of a ferocious woman with a flag and a microphone, they follow blindly. They make it impossible to actually see the tourist attractions because they’re so busy holding up peace fingers and taking pictures in front of them. You know what I’m talking about. Chinese tour groups. And somebody, I’m not sure who, thought it would be fun for us to be a part of one. Outside, in the 40 degree Celsius weather. Well…I mean…it's a cultural experience.

One of the company’s excuses for paying us so little to work so hard was that we would receive a free cultural trip at the end. So here I am in Phoenix (tourist trap hell.) It’s like Paris: there are lots of different bridges for crossing the river; it’s packed with tourists; things are waaaaay more expensive than they should be…okay that’s where the comparisons end. It’s basically an old minority town, where the natives sell cheap knock offs of their traditional jewelry, and tourist can dress up in their traditional garb and take pictures along the river.  The bridges I mentioned are actually terribly precarious logs slapped together. They’re about 3ft wide with tourists aggressively trying to pass each other on both sides. After the first day we’d had enough of the heat and the tour group (without an English translator.) We turned ourselves nocturnal. The second day we slept all day, and pa…went to museums all night.

On the bright side, I picked up some beautiful jewelry and saw a weird ass magic show. One magician claimed to have hypnotized a chicken. (I think the chicken was just well trained.) Another magician not only swallowed fire, but put it all over his body. And I mean ALL over his body. It was totally worth the 6-hour weakly air-conditioned bus ride. Not to seem ungrateful… but Person Who Planned This With No Thought At All: you’re number five.

I actually do love being in China…if that doesn’t come across in this post. 

Coke Zero

I really hope that I am making some sort of impact at the school. If just one student walks away pronouncing “the” as “the” instead of “zhe,” or maybe gets to university in London and understands when someone tells her they pulled an “all-nighter,” I’ll be happy.  Right now I suppose I’ll have to settle for knowing I truly affected the school in one way: Coke Zero.  My first two weeks in Changde I thought the only place to buy Coke Zero was Walmart. THEN suddenly one magnificent day, there was a single Coke Zero at the small store beneath the school. I eagerly went up to buy it, but OH NO! it wasn’t for sale! I guess it must have been the storeowner’s personal drink. But the next day something MIRACULOUS happened! The store was selling three Coke Zeros! Sam and I (let’s be honest) frantically purchased them. Teaching is exhausting; we began buying two a day. And then it spread like wildfire. All of our students began buying them. The store fridge now contains just as many Coke Zeros other drinks. The storeowner knows me. He always hands me the delightful beverage before I can even ask for it. Someday Chinese scientists will be studying the aspartame cancer outbreak that struck Changde’s children the hardest. That was me boys, that was me.

I mean “girls.” That was me GIRLS, that was me. In a previous post, “These things look weird without a title,” I wrote about how the boys greatly outnumber the girls in my classes at the very expensive school. In contrast, the less expensive school has a much more even boy-girl distribution. After consulting with one of the Chinese teachers, Nicole, I concluded that it was gender discrimination. However, a recent conversation with another Chinese teacher, Magic, made me wonder if I hadn’t jumped to conclusions. She said that girls are simply easier, therefore parents don’t have to spend extra money on the expensive school. The boys need the small class sizes; they need someone constantly making sure they are paying attention. Girls will pay attention in the big classes, so there’s no need to pay more for smaller class sizes. She told me that gender discrimination doesn’t happen anymore in the cities. I didn’t really know what to think. Nicole had told me herself that it was gender discrimination, but Magic seemed to have a point. The few girls in my classes were always so much better behaved and focused.

Then a new school appeared on my schedule. It was a kindergarten, the only one run by the company. Since there is only one English kindergarten, there are no price options. My first day at the school I was terrified. What was I going to do with a class of thirteen four-year-olds??? What I didn’t expect was that in a class of thirteen, I  would have only two girls. I don’t want to make assumptions anymore…so do with those numbers what you will.

The teachers at the kindergarten were such sweethearts. On my first day two of them shyly asked if I would have lunch with them. They bought me way more food than I could ever eat, and refused to let me pay for anything. I was surprised because most of the teachers at the school in which I usually teach seem a little wary of me. Perhaps it’s because I’m always with the other Americans. Perhaps we’re much more approachable when we’re alone. When living in homestay, it’s so nice to take a break and just talk to someone in rapid-fire English (who totally gets it) for a few hours a day. But I think in being together at school so much, the Northwestern teachers made ourselves unapproachable. To truly immerse oneself in a culture, and make the most native friends as possible, perhaps one has to forgo some of that rapid-fire English time. 

5 Senses

Asia I’ve found (well at least China, India, Cambodia) is constant sensory overload. I love it.

Seeing

It’s not an uncommon experience in the US to walk down the stairs and catch someone drinking straight from the milk or orange juice carton. You make a little awkward eye contact. They giggle. You role your eyes because it’s not really your place to tell them to stop. I had a very similar experience with my host grandfather. The only difference (and I kid you not) was that he was drinking straight from the teakettle.  Seriously, spout in mouth straight from the pot.

Smelling

I was walking to lunch with a teacher whose English name is Magic. I took a breath, and all of a sudden I was coughing and chocking.  I didn’t understand what was happening. My eyes were burning and I was chocking on air! When I was finally able to compose myself, Magic pointed to a giant pile of hot peppers across the street from us. “Those are very very spicy,” she said, “we won’t take this street back.” The air is too spicy for me here. THE AIR!  That’s it. I’m going back to America.

Tasting

You know what’s delicious? Cold, sweet, green (mung) bean soup. No one at home believes me, but I swear to God it’s amazing! It’s so refreshing on a hot  40 degree Celsius (boy did I pick the right time to come to China) day. Who would have thought that my new food obsession would be literally translated as “green bean mush.”

Hearing

Fireworks. Every night. Can’t see em because of all the apartment buildings. Apparently it’s a tradition to set off fireworks when someone dies. It’s depressing that someone within my hearing radius dies every day.  This sound really freaked me out until I asked what it was.

Touching

A Chinese friend of mine, Sophia, took me for a traditional Chinese massage yesterday. As I go through this I want you to keep in mind that I spent $11 USD. Before the massage could even start I had to take a tea bath, and let me tell you: a traditional Chinese tea bath is even more complicated than a traditional Chinese tea ceremony. I had to bathe, then get out, then wait for them to change the water, then get back  in THREE TIMES! While I was in the tub I would scrub my front with a giant teabag, while the masseuse scrubbed my back. Fortunately I read enough South American novels this summer to be moderately okay with being bathed.  Each time I got out of the tub I would have to put my slippers on to walk 1ft to the bed. Then I would lie down and the masseuse would dab the sweat and tea off my face with tissue, and feed me sips of tea, never allowing me to hold the cup myself. During the second and third baths the masseuse fed me sips of a different sweet red liquid. After the last bath I  could feel my pulse throughout my whole body. It was like the feeling you get when you know you’re going to get into deep trouble, or after just having run the mandatory school mile. I wanted to jump out of my skin I had so much energy. It turns out that the red drink was a natural Chinese energy drink. Between that and the tea I’d been soaking in I was hardly ready for a relaxing massage. I was in the mood to dance the night away.

Once in the massage room, the masseuse calmed my pulse by rubbing essential oils on my face.  Then she proceeded to comb my scalp with a wooden comb. It was slightly less than pleasant. The whole first half of the massage was focused on my scalp and face. The focus of the entire second half was on my back. Apparently it’s only supposed to hurt if you’ve messed up your muscles. I most definitely had. They also noticed the different heights of my shoulders, which I tried to explain to them was scoliosis. The massage concluded with masseuse rolling a hot grooved rolling pin-thingy up and down my back.  Oh and more tea.

After the massage, Sophia explained to me that my back might turn red in the next few days. If it did, that would be the toxins leaving my body. Today I am sore as hell, but not muscle sore, burn sore. My back is covered in red splotches…attractive.

No Buy, No Go Home

If I had to compare Changde to a city in the US…I would probably say Hartford, Connecticut.  It’s not even the main city in the Hunan Province. The main city is called Changsha. It’s about a two and a half hour drive away. I would compare Changsha to Cleveland, Ohio.

Last weekend my host family went to stay in their house in Changsha, and took me with them. Going on a road trip is a big step to take with a homestay family. You reaaaally get to know their weak spots, their pressure buttons. For my particular family it was parallel parking. My homestay father would get out of the car, and scream at his wife. My homestay sister would also get out of the car, and whine/scream at her father. My homestay mother would be silent at the wheel, proving all sorts of Asian stereotypes. The process could take up to fifteen minutes. Now I understand what it must have been like for Au Pairs who took vacations with my family. Sometimes you have to take a page from The Princess Bride and take your mind away.

The purpose of the trip was shopping. I bought a blouse they said made me look, “very white.” This is the highest of compliments in China. Betty’s (my homestay sister) only-child-syndrome came out in a major way. There was a pair of shorts her mother really didn’t like, and when Betty was in the changing room she exhaustedly turned to me and said, “I don’t like. But Betty fourteen. No buy, no go home.” That’s the biggest problem with the One Child policy (besides the rights violation): it creates a country full of only children.

Even more than the shopping, my family was excited about the restaurants. The first night they were thrilled to take me to a “Western” restaurant. There I watched people eating spaghetti with chopsticks and ice cream out of bread bowls. And the funniest thing happened. (I should preface this with saying that I eat A TON of street food.) For the first time since I’ve been in China, the food didn’t quite agree with me.  

The next day my family took me to an all you can eat buffet. Direct quote from Betty: It’s very expensive, so we have to eat a lot. And let me tell you, they took all you can eat as a personal challenge. Okay I stole that phrasing from Malcolm in the Middle. But they did! I did my famous/infamous disappearing act with steamed shrimp dumplings. I watched my homestay father eat six pieces of pizza, four pieces of lamb, and least eight salmon sashimis, and four bowls of Haagen-Dazs. And those are just the items I can remember!