conversation practice

Taught a group of juniors (here that means 11-13 year olds) today for the first time.  They were incredibly shy and reluctant to join in the activities that we’ve been instructed to prescribe to them.  I imagine they aren’t used to the animated chaos of some Western teaching methods – either that, or the icebreaker activities that my partner and I used just proved that we are idiotic teachers.  But I think I can still point to the kids on this one: while doing a musical chairs icebreaker that had each student arranged in a circle around a single student in the middle, we asked the single student to recite his or her name in English and either a personal characteristic or an activity that he or she enjoyed.  Other students who shared the characteristic or hobby were to abandon their places in the circle and find another one, and the speaker would also dash towards the safety of a seat.  The one person at the end without a place to go to would become the new person in the middle.  With all this understood and in place, “Mike” went up, introduced himself, and shared that he enjoyed eating.  Every other student then proceeded to deny that he or she liked to eat.

We eventually achieved success (I went into the circle with the prompt “I am Chinese” – ha, you little goblins, I got you) and the class opened up a bit more, making for a surprisingly enjoyable experience.  I will report more on that later, but I want to describe some more adventures in broken Chinese first.

At lunch, I met one of the other sole ethnics among us, an Indian (or so I will hazard to guess) girl named Kamolika.  Together we tried to find something to eat but quickly got lost in Beijing University’s gigantic campus.  Kami found her lunch before I did, and started into it while I puzzled over a map on the sidewalk.  Giving up, I decided to finally resort to what I had been dreading.

Two Chinese ladies passed us by.  “Please, do you know where we are?” I called out, pointing to my map, to which they replied “We are on blah blah street.” I adopted a sad smile and said “I don’t know where that is.” The more compassionate of the two came over to point at the map.  Kami looked at me and sincerely complimented my Chinese.  My ancestors turned over a bit in their graves.

Afterwards I went in search of a new book bag, as the one I had brought from the States had turned out to be too small for my textbooks.  Kami followed, but stayed on the steps outside the shop to finish her lunch while I went inside and downstairs to finagle the transaction.  Only when I was inside did I realize the full magnitude of what I had just done: I had exposed myself to the Chinese locals without my insulating retinue of white people for the first time.

I found a briefcase, approached a girl at the counter who didn’t seem to be paying much attention and gave it a shot.

“Miss, where do I pay for this bag,” I asked.  Or at least attempted to ask.

“Oh, blah blah blah pay for it here,” she replied.  This seemed encouraging – not only had I received a response, but I had actually understood it.  Well, all the important parts, anyway.

“Ah, okay.  Thank you.  I am sorry that my Chinese is not very good,” I hedged.

“Oh your Chinese is just fine!” she lied politely.  “Are you blah blah?”

“What?”

“Are you a blah blah?”

“Um…sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Here, I will write it for you.” She excitedly scribbled some Chinese words on a piece of paper.  Another female coworker scowled at her.

“Here, can you read it?  Blah blah.”

“Oh no…I’m from America,” I guessed.

“Waaaaah!” she enthused.

She then proceeded to gesture to her other bored coworkers to hurry up with the change, and excitedly whispered to them “He’s American!” In a pique of bored annoyance one hit her shoulder in admonishment.  She turned back to me and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I am an English teacher.”

“Waaah!” I took my bag, and another exasperated coworker hit my conversation partner again.

“Thank you,” I managed.

“Bye, teacher!” she giggled.

I rejoined Kami at the steps.  “I think I was just being hit on by a shop clerk,” I offered.

****

Later that evening I decided to try my luck again, and entered Beijing University alone.

The guard immediately asked me for an identification, something he hadn’t done previously when I had walked in with the other CTLC teachers.  I actually didn’t understand his grunting order at all, but I had taken it into consideration before I had left, and so I pulled out the teacher badge I had tucked into my bag.  He nodded and I entered.

I walked for a long time without anybody so much as giving me a sideways glance.  That hadn’t happened at all in the last few days.  I may get a lot more shit and endure some unique problems that the other teachers won’t ever deal with, but I can do one thing better than they’ll ever be able to.  I had blended into China.

…which I didn’t expect would really work, so I did my best to keep my mouth shut and wait till I could hear somebody talking shit behind my back.  Either nobody did or I just don’t know what shit sounds like yet.

I wandered around until I found what I was looking for – the only money exchange place I was willing to try, as it had been recommended by the program coordinators.  And next to it, the phone card stand.  The bank was barred shut for the night, so I walked over to the phone guy and tried again.

“Hello, I have a phone but no card.  Can I get one here?” I tried to ask.  However, I believe that it came out more like “Hi I have a phone but I don’t have a blah blah.  Can I buy a mumble mumble here?” I should probably learn the word for SIM card.

He was game, though.  “Yes, you can blah blah.  Will you be using it throughout China or blah blah just in Beijing?”

“Just in Beijing.”

“How long will you stay in Beijing, and will you be coming back?” He was very polite in merely assuming to his knowledge of my alien status.

“Two weeks; I won’t come back.”

“Alright.  I need you to look at this blah blah.” He shoved a pamphlet over to me.

“Sorry, I can’t read it,” I offered.  He waved his hand.  “I will tell it to you.” He took the pamphlet back and began writing English words very carefully on the back.  200 minutes for 200 RMB.

“I don’t have much money because the bank next to us is closed.  I will have more tomorrow,” I think I said.

“Well, I can give you 150 minutes for 150 RMB,” he bargained.

“I only have 100 RMB.” I really, really hoped that I did indeed have that much in my wallet.

He grumbled a few incomprehensible things about only getting 80 minutes for that and then did some phone magic.  I handed him my 100RMB.

“Duo xie,” I thanked him.  “Duo xie,” he grunted back.

I walked back towards the hotel wondering how badly I had just been ripped off.  I noted to myself that if I were to ever try a transaction again in Chinese, I would have to model the circumstances more around my first conversation of the day and be careful to pick nonattentive and slightly overweight young girls with ridiculous pigtails and an American fetish as negotiation opponents.

China will make me a better person.  Sure.