Foreign Friends

I have been to Beijing’s Botanical Garden about 6 times in my life, each time with different groups of friends, acquaintances, sometimes even with strangers.  The garden itself is no joke, covering more than 564,000 square meters and boasting more than 6,000 species of plants (most of which I am unable to name besides the obvious tulips, pansies, and roses–I never studied flora or fauna extensively in school).  It lies in the NW corner of Beijing near Fragrant Hills Park.  A botanist’s paradise, it is superbly landscaped with mountains in the backdrop and an enormous tropical exhibition in the center.  I’ve never personally been inside the tropical exhibition center, but I have hiked within the forests on the small mountains behind the gardens.  One of my former students from Jiangxi^W, whose English name is “Beautiful,” courageously came to Beijing to visit me on her own.  We spent a day exploring the Botanical Garden and actually had the good fortune to get lost in the wilderness on the mountains–a feeling I never expected to experience while in Beijing.  Calm and serene, the shadows of the trees cast themselves around us as we crunched our way over the leaves and dirt, all but forgetting Beijing’s polluted air.  Eventually we found our way to a road that led back to where the people were.  They were never too far away. 

Fun and Games

On another visit I was asked by a former Jiangxi colleague to visit Beijing’s green island with some students of his.  This former colleague, Page, had recently moved to Beijing and begun a management and teaching position with an English language training school called, “I Speak English.”  While the school’s name may have been lacking in creativity, Page’s ambition was certainly in full force.

“If I do this right, I could be a millionaire in the future,” he said.  His zest for business and genuine vested interest in his students was inspiring to me.  I’ve never met anyone in the US who thought they could become a millionaire through teaching Mandarin Chinese.

Before Page invited me to go to the garden with him and his students, he assured me that it would be just for fun and games.  He just wanted some foreigners to accompany his students to the gardens and chat with them in English about their surroundings, etc.  Just simple conversations. No real responsibilities.   A little bit of, “Ohhhh….look at that beautiful tulip,”  along with, “there’s a lovely pansy,” and what about, “that fragrant rose?”  The visit wouldn’t be about “marketing” his new school at all, he assured me.  Fun and games.  On the day of the drive, the sky was overcast and heavy–the way my stomach feels after a meal of dumplings.  The possibility of rain was 100 percent definite.  I met Page, some of his students and their parents, and other teachers and volunteers Lotus Supermarket parking lot.  Upon arrival, I was handed an “I Speak English,” t-shirt to wear for the day.  All of the other teachers and volunteers were sporting the same shirts.  As we mounted the bus, I realized that this trip to the gardens would be anything but “just fun and games.”  I was promptly given a list of the names of the students I assigned to “lead” through our tour of the garden, along with a list of many names of plant species that were unknown to me previously.  I was supposed to teach these during our walk through the garden.

Upon arrival to the garden, there was another group of students and parents waiting for us with a gigantic red banner that read, “I Speak English.”  With a smile on my face, I rolled with the punches and warmheartedly agreed to be in any and every picture.  Best to go along with the cards already dealt to me by the dealer.  As we exited the car, I made brief eye contact with Page.  He looked away and quickly began engaging some of the younger students in English conversation with his superb, almost American accent.  The skies darkened in the background, getting ready to erupt with torrents of rain.  We would only have a half hour to admire the pansies and roses before the downpour began.  I ran with my students to a covering already filled with shivering Chinese children, their parents, and some of the garden’s workers.  Page looked embarassed.  He glanced over at his wife Dorothy, and then his eyes lit up.

“Why don’t some of you do some performances?  Jeffrey, I know you brought your nunchakus?” In my morning excitement, I had packed away the weapon in my bag, deceiving myself into thinking that I might have some private time to escape into the forest to practice.  Unfortunately, I would have no such luck for privacy on this day.

I agreed to give them a short performace of my amateur nunchaku skills.  The audience erupted in applause.  Before I knew it, other foreigners were being called out to sing songs, recite poems, or give a little dance.  100 percent fun and games.  While watching one of the performances, one of the fathers of an “I Speak English” student pushed his daughter over to me and said very forcefully, “SPEAK ENGLISH TO HIM!” in Chinese.  We proceeded to have one of the most forced and uncomfortable English conversations of my life, his daughter sweating it out under her father’s brow, afraid of making the slightest English error.  The performaces around us continued.  Page searched for new games to begin.  The rains came down.

After about half an hour, we made a break for the entrance and got on the first crowded bus that came our way.  Back to the city, Page commented on how seldom it rains in Beijing.  He was clearly embarassed by the turn of events, but managed to keep his head up throughout the whole affair.  We made it back to the city and he took all of us out to lunch.  Upon parting, he shook my hand, thanking me.  In his handshake he handed 200 RMB over to me with everyone looking.  I looked at the money and tried to give it back to him, feeling extremely confused about what was happening.  He wouldn’t accept the money.  For fear of making a scene, I took it and immediately felt indebted to him.  I walked back to my apartment feeling mixed up, splashing through the puddles on my way home.  The next time I went to “I Speak English” numerous pictures of our day in the Botannical Garden were inframed in the front office.  Each picture contained no less than one foreigner in it.

Mr. and Mrs. Niu

Mrs. Niu lives next door to Chinareflection’s former office.  She and her husband are the ideal neighbors.  They are the kind of people who give, give, and give, often inviting my friends into their little home.  Their residence is a world unto itself with a history of more than 100 years.  Tucked behind the street, Mrs. Niu and her husband live in one of Beijing’s few remaining street level hutong houses that contain so much history.  They have a daughter who currently lives in Shanghai and works in a bank.  She speaks excellent Japanese, having lived there for a number of years.  Mr. and Mrs. Niu make some of the best dumplings I have ever eaten, often mentioning that I can come over at any time whenever I feel hungry.  Mr. Niu is retired and spends his mornings exercising with his dog, climbing Jingshan Park^W which is located just behind the Forbidden City.  Mrs. Niu works as a teacher and administrator at an elementary school in Beijing’s Haidian District.  When she asked me to help her by agreeing to visit the Botanical Garden with her and her students on a Sunday morning, I was happy to oblidge.  I knew what I would be getting into, and I even looked forward to the fun and games that would come my way.  What I didn’t expect was her second request.

“It would be best if you could get at least 2 or three other ‘foreign friends’ to come with us, too.”  We would meet on a Sunday morning at 6:15 and spend the day with more than 300 primary school students.  The search was on…

Countdown    

As the day of the Botanical Garden excursion approached, Mrs. Niu became ever more anxious, in addition to becoming increasingly direct with her requests.

“Jeffrey, you definitely need to bring at least two ‘foreign friends.’  There will be so many students there waiting for you, and I’ve already told them that you and your friends are coming.  There’s no other option.”  I could understand her plight, and I also knew that it wasn’t her that was applying this pressure on me to produce white people.  The pressure was certainly coming from the organizors and headmaster at the school.  As the days went by, I slowly went through my pool of Western friends (not that many), and acquaintances (even fewer).  Some of them seemed interested when I first mentioned the prospect, but then they suddenly became busy when I told them that it would be at 6:30 am on a Sunday.  Everyone shrank away from view.  I guess I didn’t blame them.  Mrs. Niu told me that the participants would be paid, but I didn’t make any mention of money to my friends.  I didn’t want people to come for payment.  I would let Mrs. Niu tell them directly about that side of the event.  When my connections with the Western World seemed to have run their course, I turned to my tried and true…the face of Chinareflection, “Simon from Switzerland.”  He, along with my French friend, Pauline, agreed to join in for the fun and games.  Pauline was attracted mostly because she had never been to the gardens before.  Simon?

“I come only for Mrs. Niu,” he said.  Once again, she is the ideal neighbor.

300 mouths to feed

In the morning when I arrived at Mr. and Mrs. Niu’s house, Simon was already inside waiting for us with breakfast rolls and milk sitting in front of him.  The three of them seemed like old friends–Mr. and Mrs. Niu and their distant Swiss relative.  I almost didn’t feel like disturbing them in the middle of their harmonious morning meal.  Pauline hadn’t arrived yet.  Mrs. Niu checked her watch.  I received a message from her saying that she was within minutes of arrival.  We headed out the door and went out to the street where a car waited to pick us up.  Within minutes, Pauline’s taxi pulled up behind us and she exited the car.  I met Pauline through the improv comedy group that I sometimes take part in.  She is the kind of person that carries an international bubble wherever she goes.  Just by talking with her, I can tell she’s been places and has a worldly perception of her surroundings.  We got into the car and made our way towards the school.  Mrs. Niu began to brief us.

“The students are all waiting for you.  Each of you will be helping Chinese teachers to lead groups of about 60 or so students.  We’ll have you separated so that many students will be able to talk with you.  Just say whatever comes naturally to you.  Talk about the plants you see, the colors, etc.  Some of them might be shy.”

When we arrived at the school, we were immediately ushered past the large group of school children lining up with their teachers.  Different groups and classe wore matching hats so as not to get separated from their leaders.  It reminded me of huge tour groups that I often see when I run past Beihai and Jingshan Park in the morning.  We went inside to have a glass of water and prepare ourselves for the onslaught of children.

After the parents said their goodbyes, after all of us were lined up, after the latecomers had arrived, we mounted the buses and took off for the gardens.  I sat next to a quiet boy towards the back of my bus.  There was a young, energetic boy sitting in front of me whose English name was “Tiger.”  He coninued to turn around in his seat and ask me questions in quite clear English about where I was from, how old I was, etc–he seemed quite uninhibited by the possibility of making mistakes which was refreshing.  Our bus slowly made its way out of the city, past the 3rd and 4th ring roads.  After a while we passed the area where I go for my accordian lesson.  We turned West until we came upon a large shopping complex.  Unexpectedly, the bus in front of us turned into the parking lot.  Our bus followed, as did the bus behind us.  I didn’t know what was going on.  Were we going to exit the buses and see some on the way site that I didn’t know about?  The children began to get curious, some of them standing on top of their seats.  I looked out of the window on the right.  It was only then that I noticed that we had parked next to a KFC.  4 KFC employees were pushing loaded carts out towards our buses.  When I saw the first employee stop at the bus in front of ours and begin unloading the cart’s contents to the teachers on the bus, it became clear that this was going to be our meal for the day.  I knew that a meal was included, but I never expected it to be a KFC lunch that would surely turn cold and clammy by the time we would be eating (it was still not even 9am).  The workers approached our bus and regurgitated their cart’s contents into our teachers’ hands.  Each child was given one KFC bag, as was I.  Luckily, I had told Mrs. Niu to prepare a vegetarian meal for Pauline.

“Don’t eat any of your lunch now on the bus,” one of the teachers warned the students.  The smell of 60 fried chicken sandwiches was almost too much to bare, and I couldn’t imagine that the students would have the willpower to make it to the garden.  The driver turned the key in the admission, and we slowly made our way onwards.  I turned around in my seat to say something to one of the teachers and noticed that she had already opened her chicken nuggets and was stuffing one of them into her mouth!

When we arrived at the garden, we slowly made our way from the buses to the main entrance.  In a school group, everything moves in slow motion.  After entering the park, the teachers announced we would be making the first of many bathroom breaks.  Simon and Pauline’s groups followed ours.  300 children using the toilet at the same time.  I was having a blast and actually felt quite relaxed.  No one was hanging on me or hitting me.  Tiger and I were having some good chit chat concerning the tulips and pansies.  I even taught them the name of my favorite flower, the narcissus.  It’s a small one that gives off quite a fragrance.  I came to know it from my time studying ikebana during my year in Japan.  I looked back at Simon and noticed that he was not quite so fortunate.  A couple of kids had taken quite a liking to him and would pull him back and forth, his arms serving as their playthings from time to time, as if he were a living doll.  One of the kids was named “Tony,” the other, “Larry.”  Simon was in the middle, smiling the smile of tortured good sport.

We inched our way throught the tulips and pansies, past the cherry blossoms, until suddenly at about 10:30 it was already time for lunch.  Students found spots near clumps of cherry blossom trees and plopped themselves down on mats that teachers had brought with them.  They frantically opened their KFC bags and began stuffing chicken sandwiches and nuggets into their faces.  I reached into my bag and pulled my own standwich out.  A large dollop of mayonnaise dropped from my sandwich onto the ground.  Surrounded by the youth of China, my foreign friends, and “Superneighbor” Mrs. Niu, I bit into my clammy fried chicken sandwich and took in the harmonious scene of Child and Nature coexisting as one, united by a corporate American fast food chain.  There would be fun and games in the afternoon, but for now all was calm, save for the sound of the smacking of lips and burping of sodas.  Blissful picnic.

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