Welcome Foreing Teacher to our school

No, that's how they spelled "foreign" on the banner.

I noticed it hanging above the entrance while we were taking pictures in front of the building. The kids were still milling about, some making last-ditch efforts to gain my attention--or at least to get the candy I had in my pocket. I can't say I felt used, although there isn't a better way to describe it, really. 

I should back up.

Two weeks ago, the head liaison (and quasi-friend) from the Dept. of Foreign Affairs at my school asked me if I could do him a favor. "A friend of a friend is opening an English school, and he wants a foreign English teacher there." I knew where this was going, but I thought it'd be an adventure, something I knew I could tell friends and family and therapists about later. So I said yes. 

In China, this means several things. It means I'm doing my liaison friend a favor, because his friend is helping his friend who is helping his friend. It also means that my liaison friend's friend is getting a favor from me, because his friend's quasi-friend is helping his other friend. I'm helping this friend too (the friend of the friend of the quasi-friend) because I'm going to be at his school. Simple. 

This is called guanxi. In short, it's the complex network of relationships established between businessmen, officials, coworkers, and acquaintances in China. Basically, it's how you get anything done, particularly in the business world. Your success in China depends on good guanxi--it's all about who you know and how you use it. And it can get thick. Complex. Intricate. Need a visual? Just take a look at this picture below:

It's a picture of the central metabolic pathways in humans (yes, nerdy biology reference). I chose this because I can think of little else in this world that displays a more complex, incomprehensible, convoluted set of connections. This is the sort of mess I imagine guanxi might look like if it were mapped out (and then multiplied a few hundred million times). Or perhaps this other picture gives you the idea:

Again, another nerdy biology reference (the connections in some bacterial protein-DNA genomic pathways, I think). You get the point--guanxi is an impossibly elaborate web of connections. 

Another thing you should know about the request to "have a foreign English teacher" at this school is that it perfectly illustrates a common Chinese mindset: as long as it looks good. No matter if it's built on mis-representations or shoddy workmanship or lies--if it looks good on the outside, it doesn't matter what it's like on the inside. And you see this manifest itself everywhere. All these new apartment buildings, everywhere, are empty--but at least it looks good for "progress" to have lots of new buildings constantly popping up!... This building is five years old, but looks like it's 20 years old inside, but no matter! We just painted the outside... Tackle the major civic and social ills? No, let's pour all our time and money into redoing the highway, again and again. Foreigners use this road!

And so it goes with that school. Never mind I've never been to this English school, nor heard of it until two weeks ago. Never mind I teach college students in a class of 20-30, not 10-12-year-olds in a group of 100. If there's a foreigner there when the parents come by, it'll look good. Why it seems that no one will question these sort of things, I don't know. Hey, what happened to the foreigner? Wasn't there a foreigner who was going to be teaching here? (The response: What?! What gave you that impression? Because the first time you came here to this new English school you saw your child being taught by a foreign English teacher? You assumed that meant the teacher worked here? Your mistake!)

I'm used to it though. That's why schools all over the country (including my college), from primary up to college, hire foreign teachers like me. You think it's because they want us to teach their students English? Maybe. Often it's mostly, if not entirely, about looking good. A school has a good reputation--swagger, if you will--if it has foreign teachers. But it only has to "have" them. That doesn't mean they care about what or how the foreigners teach. Sometimes I feel like a show horse, but I don't care. I came here to build relationships with students, and that's exactly what being a teacher here allows me to do. And to be honest, I like having complete, absolute autonomy in my classroom. I can do anything I want. Anything. (But I still take the job seriously, of course. I'm hitting those students with some knowledge.)

So back to Saturday morning, that day of the favor. The man who owns the school and his friend (the friend of my liaison friend) picked me up at my apartment building in a van and drove me the 30 minutes to his school. 

Mr. Shi, the friend of the school owner: "So you were told about the two hour lesson you'll be teaching, right?"

Me: "Ah, no. No one told me that." Even after I had explicitly asked my quasi-friend what I'd be expect to do. When I did, he gave me a wishy-washy fizzle of an answer. But I'm not surprised that something like this happened. 

Let me elaborate. Many Chinese (or at least from what I've seen) have this incredible knack for not really explaining, at all, what certain favors or requests entail. Things like this. Things that would normally require significant preparation. Many Chinese also have a knack for asking people to do things on the spot. Things like sing a song in front of 300 people, or, in this case, teach a two-hour lesson to a group of 100 10-12-year-olds with no preparation and zero experience in that area of teaching. I don't get it. I just don't. And I feel like it happens a lot to foreigners. Maybe I'm coming from a very biased perspective (well, not maybe. I am coming from a biased perspective), but I sometimes wonder if many Chinese have this misconception that foreigners can just simply do anything at any time with no preparation required (which we can't). I've resolved to learn a repertoire of songs I can refer to when I'm asked to sing for a group of people (which happens all the time. The Chinese LOVE singing. They love, love, love it. Specifically, they love asking others to sing for them. Even more specifically, they seem to love asking foreigners to sing to them). I've learned how to read group dynamics and can usually gauge when I'm in an environment that will yield singing requests. I've also learned to pre-empt such public singing disasters by clearly explaining up front that I will not be singing, no matter what. 

Look, I like singing. I do. But not like this. Not an impromptu solo without accompaniment in front of a large crowd, most of whom wouldn't fully appreciate "Let It Be"--or the one verse that I can remember, at least. 

I digress. Back to the van:

Mr. Shi: "Yeah, you'll be teaching a group of students. Not a big problem. Just talk to them. Maybe you can play games."

Me: "Ah, ok. How old are the kids? And what's their skill level with English?"

Mr. Shi: "They're 10-12 years old. Their English is, uh, maybe it's only a little. Like maybe what you'd have after just a little bit of English study. Maybe two years? Something like that."

I assumed it was too much to ask that I'd have time to prepare. My mind raced to think of what I might do, but my wealth of teaching topics is geared toward college-age students in a class of 20-30 students. Will they have paper and pens? Will I have a blackboard? Will I even have a classroom? 

The answer to these questions was no. I walked into the medium-sized room and found a group of children who had been waiting just for me. All fears aside, I was excited to see 100 or so Chinese children cheering and smiling at the sight of a foreigner. They kind of went nuts--in a good way. I felt like a rockstar. Kids are the best, ever.  

But then everyone was watching me, waiting for me to do something. Fortunately, one of the teachers soon approached me and informed me that she had a few plans. Unfortunately, those "plans" were as follows:

1. Teach the kids some words.  

2. Teach the kids some sentences. Maybe about food?

3. Teach the kids colors. 

4. Play a game where you point to colors and the kids say the correct word. 

5. Teach them some words for body parts. 

6. Play a game about body parts, like the one with the colors. 

7. Teach them some new words. Maybe about sports?

8. Play a game: act out the sport and have the kids guess.

9. Break

10. Repeat the words and sentences from before.

11. Sing the ABCs.

12. Take pictures with students. 

The whole time I'm standing in the middle of this crowd of mystified children. Is it really a foreigner? How will my excitement, confusion, joy, and/or awe about this foreigner be manifested physically or verbally? What should I do with this?

At first they listened and repeated, awe-struck. Then they settled back into the normal habits of childhood: short attention-spans and a need for attention. Those that didn't check out and migrate to the outer edges of the blob of children inched ever so close to me, desperately hoping I'd chose them to be the volunteer in the game. Their earnest looks, coupled with their silent but powerfully inquisitive gazes, made it difficult for me to remain focused. I'd have much rather just stared at their beautiful little faces. 

This was the moment I decided that Chinese children are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. All hyperboles aside, I can't believe how cute this kids are. There's something about a tiny, silent, deep-eyed little Chinese girl staring back at your that makes you believe there is nothing wrong with the world. 

But then the ugly side reared it's head. 

During the break, "questions for the foreigner" gave way to "get a signed piece of paper from the foreigner," which gave way to "crowd around the foreigner in hordes," which gave way to "push and shove and do what it takes to get to the foreigner." I was surrounded by scores of loud children, some of them pulling my arms and shirt, each holding out a piece of paper for me to sign--or that's what I had assumed. I figured they wanted me to write something in English, and so I did initially with noble intent: "Hello! My name is Justin. It's nice to meet you!" To meet the needs of this horde, and because I couldn't possibly write that much legibly while I was being jostled and pulled at, I quickly shortened my words. Sixty-seven children now have a piece of paper that reads: "Hello! Justin." 

Reflecting on this moment, I am a little disappointed. The peaceful, beautiful innocence of their faces and demeanor quickly gave way to a darker side, an uglier side. Shoving, elbowing, and pushing became the method of choice for so many. Where did their softness go? Who were those yelling little kids crowding around me? A lack of civility isn't quite how I'd describe it, but I wonder what else would. Are children even old enough to exhibit civility or the lack thereof? Why did these children so quickly surrender their better selves? Where does one learn this behavior? Is it learned and then it eventually takes over a natural disposition to be gentler? Or are we naturally this rough and only defeat it by learning to live gently instead? 

Maybe I am just saddened that someone so young, someone too young to act like a selfish and cold adult, was exactly that (ah, except for the adult part). But I suppose it doesn't always matter what ugly looks like. Ugly is ugly. 

After the "lesson" finished we knocked out a few pictures of me with the kids (which will probably end up on all their promotional publications or something), I was given the brief tour and said goodbye to the kids. I wouldn't say they were sad to see me go. More like, they were loud to see me go. I just heard lots of yelling. And some renewed attempts to get my autograph...and a few attempts to snag the leftover candy in my pocket I had from the games earlier. 

I don't regret the experience. I did enjoy it and I learned a lot, especially about these types of schools, which are fairly common in China. I'm always looking for insights on the Chinese psyche as well, and this experience was certainly a mind-full. It's amazing what things you can learn when you spend enough time living in a place. Even so, the complexity of the Chinese people and their culture is still such a mystery to me. I find myself constantly asking "why?" Things never make sense. There's even a saying: If it doesn't make sense, you must be in China. You wouldn't believe how often I think of that. 

And despite its grand mysteries, its perplexing attitudes, its mindsets, behaviors, and smells, I can't leave. I won't leave. There is something about this place that keeps me coming back for more. Yes, things are frustrating and annoying and aggravating sometimes, but that's just the way my life is going to be while I live in another country. And for every one of these difficult moments, there are just as many wonderful and amazing moments. Skimming through this post, and through previous posts, I realize that a sometimes cynical, pointed, or snarky tone emerges. (Only sometimes, right?) It may seem that I only write about the crazy, strange, upsetting, frustrating things. I suppose that's true. I don't spend so much time writing about the normal experiences. The experiences that don't paint China as a sometimes nutty and backwards place. I should do a better job, but let's be honest--that doesn't always make for the most interesting or humorous writing. And when you experience the crazy things I do in this country, you have to write about it. It's therapy. 

So I say "Meh" and move on. It's part of living in China. It's part of the adventure.