Teaching
Isn’t As Easy As A-B-C
But I’ve Learned a Few Lessons About Chinese Traffic and Smog
XIAN,
China, Oct. 19 — The People's Republic of China has a fairly
long list of laws and policies that the average American would consider
oppressive, but there is one seemingly outrageous statute that I have
found to be quite thoughtful: Foreigners are not allowed to drive. In
fact, after five days here in Xian,
a manufacturing town of 6 million, I would not even object if foreigners
were prohibited from crossing the street unaccompanied by a Chinese citizen.
Let me tell you: It's scary out there.
China has a population of 1.2 billion, and from what I have observed, not a single one is afraid of making a left turn directly into oncoming traffic. The Chinese will drive three abreast across two lanes; they will drive on the wrong side of the street; they will bicycle in the center lane; they will even bike on the wrong side of the street in the center lane — while smoking a cigarette and/or talking on a cell phone. The Chinese act as if red lights are street decorations and car horns are lovely musical instruments.
This afternoon, my taxi driver got so fed up with the traffic that he hopped onto the sidewalk, plowed his way through a throng of pedestrians for a block, then jumped back down onto the street, at which point he whipped out a quasi-pornographic newspaper and began perusing it while weaving around cars, scooters and bicycles. I did not know whether to be terrified or impressed.
Fortunately, my teaching assignment here has been far less treacherous, although I have encountered no shortage of obstacles.
I am here with Global Volunteers, a Minnesota-based organization that dispatches volunteers around the world to "wage peace and promote justice." My group — 10 volunteers and one leader — are staying at the Orient Hotel Xian, which I am pleased to report has a first-class toilet in every room.
What the Orient Hotel does not have, however, is heat. By some edict of the Chinese government, no building in China has heat until Nov. 15. I have been sleeping in flannel pajamas, a fleece pullover and wool socks, bundled under a heavy comforter. (Despite feeling like Nanook of the North, I have slept exceptionally well, as has my amiable roommate, 28-year-old Julie Michaels of Minneapolis.)
 For a reason that no one could explain, Chinese schoolchildren hold up two fingers every time they are photographed. |
On our first day in Xian, our group was sequestered in a hotel conference room and subjected to one of those "team-building" sessions that, inexplicably, have become popular among U.S. organizations and corporations. During the session, which was conducted with the gravity of a NATO summit, the 11 of us decided that our values, as a team, included "sharing," "caring," "cooperation" and "trust." We then worked as a team to identify our goals here in Xian, which included "being useful," "experiencing Chinese culture" and "having fun." Why this discussion took an entire hour is beyond my own personal comprehension, but I do suspect that someone has made enormous sums of money teaching corporate American the principles of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.
Despite our exercise, our group does not actually function as a team. Each day we are sent off, either alone, in pairs or in small groups, to various schools, from elementary through college. My day begins at 9 a.m. when a bus comes to retrieve me, Julie and two retired pastors I will call William and Fred. Our driver proceeds to spend the next 45 minutes honking nonstop, even when we are well out of the city and on the practically deserted country roads leading to the boarding school.
During our drive, conversation inevitably revolves around the most astonishing aspect of Xian: the air pollution. I am not talking about the kind of smog that has given L.A. a bad name. The smog in Xian — one of the world's 10 most polluted cities — is so thick that you can actually see and feel it around you, like the dry-ice fog on a dance floor. Some residents wear white face masks outside. The sky is never blue in Xian. The sky, in fact, is never visible.
Just before 10 a.m. our bus drops us off at the Boai school, a series of grim concrete structures that house and educate 800 students from primary grades through high school. You may wonder how a two-week teaching assignment can possibly be useful, especially since we rotate classes and may not see the same students twice. I wondered the same myself, but I have been assured repeatedly by the program organizers — both Chinese and American — that any exposure these students get to native-English speakers is valuable, a step toward educating the next generation of Chinese in the language of the Internet and the global economy. Most of the English teachers here are native Chinese, and many can only read and write the language, and, in many cases, only at a rudimentary level.
Not
that I can brag about my Chinese skills. During our orientation we were
taught a few key phrases, including "hello" ("nee-how"),
"bye-bye" ("tsai-gee-en") and "I'm sorry" ("dwee-boo-chee").
But every time I try out one of these phrases on a Chinese person, I get
a blank stare, as if I had just said, "Matzoh ball soup."
Our mission in the schools is to teach "conversational English," but from initial meetings with the teachers at Boai, it was clear that any conversations with students would be quite limited. Somehow, this message was lost on Fred and William. The first morning, I co-taught a high school class with Fred. "My name is Teacher Sue," I said to the class. "I live in America." Then it was Fred’s turn to introduce himself. "My name is Teacher Fred," he said. "I live in San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. What do you know about San Diego? Sea World? The zoo?"
Fred seemed geuninely baffled that the class did not respond.
The next day, I co-taught a class with William. After my basic introduction, William wrote his name on the board and said, "My name is William Rowe. You might think it’s pronounced Row, as in ‘row your boat.’ But it’s really pronounced ‘Rau,’ rhyming with ‘cow.’ If you saw the word ‘Rowe,’ how would you pronounce it?"
In an attempt to bring William back to planet Earth, I took out a clothing catalog and attempted a lesson on colors and clothing. "This is a brown coat," I said. "This is a green shirt." William groaned and said, "Can’t you find a plaid shirt? Let’s teach them ‘plaid.’"
Teaching on my own — which I’ve done most of the time — isn't a whole lot easier. The Global Volunteers manual offers a few relevant teaching tips, but we don’t have lesson plans, and the Chinese teachers offer no suggestions. So we're left to our own devices.
The primary students are eager and adorable, and they’re easily entertained by endless rounds of "The Hokey Pokey," "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" and "Bingo Was His Name-O." But you can't exactly trot that stuff out for 16-year-olds. I have tried everything to get the older students talking. I've asked them to talk about their families, to talk about their favorite sport, to tell me what music they like, or what they watch on TV. I've tried word games and board games, and I've asked them to look at magazine photos and make up stories. With the exception of one adorable 12-year-old boy who loves to suck up — he carries my book bag and says, "Thank you, Teacher" — the students appear to be bored out of their minds.
I don't blame them for hating English class. Their textbooks are positively dreadful. Let me offer you an excerpt:
"Mr.
James Scott has a garage in Silbury and he has just bought a garage in
Pinhurst. Pinhurst is only 5 miles from Silbury, but Mr. Scott cannot
get a telephone for his new garage, so he bought 12 pigeons. Yesterday,
a pigeon carried the first message from Pinhurst to Silbury."
I was hoping my discussions of music and TV and clothing catalogs might spark their interest more than the book, but at this point, I do not appear to be in contention for Teacher of the Year. Yesterday, Friday, I attempted a simplified form of Scrabble, and three girls kept their backs to me the whole time. Fortunately, my adorable teacher’s pet kept waving his hand furiously and seemed to be enjoying the game immensely.
But I am not discouraged. Everywhere I go — to shops and restaurants and museums — I am reminded how English has taken over China like kudzu, and how desperately the Chinese need a helping hand. I have walked by an "Art Gellery" and a "Guiled Fish Restaurant" and a "Monument of Natrual Beauty." The sign outside the school where I teach says, "The Outside Traffic Is Forbiden." But my personal favorite is the sign in our hotel bathroom that urges guests to conserve water. In large letters, the sign says, "SAVE THE EARCH."
Underneath, it says, "Thank you for your comprehension."
Th-th-th-at's
Not All, Folks!My
luck turns when tongue twisters
bring a pronounced change
XIAN, China, Oct. 26 – I have, inadvertently, discovered how to torment Chinese schoolchildren: Ask them to say, "Courtney Thorne-Smith has thin thighs."
That
was the toughest of the tongue-twisters I tried on my junior and senior
high school classes this week. After last week’s failed attempts
to engage the students in conversation, I concluded that pronunciation
drills would be a more productive use of time. Native Chinese speakers
have trouble with the "th" sounds — "that" comes
out "zat" and "think" comes out "sink" —
so I decided to spend a few days focusing on those sounds alone.
First we repeated individual words starting with "th": this, that, these, those, and so on. Then we moved on to words ending in "th": fourth, fifth, health, wealth. Finally we graduated to tongue-twisters like, "Martha and Arthur went to the theater at three-thirty on Thursday."
I must say that my new strategy was a success. For the first time, the students did not slump in their desks or turn their backs on me and chat with their friends in Chinese. (I can only imagine what they’d been saying. Probably something like, "Get this lady on this first plane back to America.") Now the students were actually smiling and laughing, especially when I’d feign distress over their mispronunciation. "Noooooooo, it’s not SING!!!" I’d say as I covered my ears. "It’s THING!!!" I’d force them to stick their tongues through their teeth and say, "th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th."
 My fellow volunteer Julie Michaels holds up a picture of Courtney Thorne-Smith as the class tries to pronounce her name. |
My advanced class especially loved the tongue-twisters, even though not even the teacher — with 20 years’ experience speaking English — could say "Courtney Thorne-Smith" with any degree of accuracy. It always came out, "Cotney Sron-Smiss." (No, of course I did not expect the class to know who she was. I showed them a magazine picture of the former "Melrose Place" and "Ally McBeal" star and said, "Famous American actress!") Actually, after repeating her name about 10 times, my own pronunciation began to falter, and I started to say, "Courtney Thorne-Thmith."
While Julie and I — and even Fred — made progress with the students by simplifying our lessons, William continued to speak to the children as if they were doctoral candidates in English. Yesterday William and I co-taught a group of sixth-graders. First, I ran through the correct pronunciation of the body parts. "That’s mouth-th-th-th-th-th-th-th," I said. "Let me see your tongue!!! That’s earrrrrrrrs. Let me hear the ‘r’!!! Then William poured a few drops of water on one girl’s desk, tipped the desk and said, "See the water travel down the desk? How else could I use the word ‘travel’ ? Well, I traveled from the United States to China."
I suggested he use the term "America," since we were told the students aren’t familiar with "United States," but William argued that America wasn’t accurate because it includes Mexico and Canada. I suggested, to no avail, that the distinction would be lost on the Chinese 11-year-olds sitting in front of us with blank stares.
Although I was never able to have real conversations with the students at Boai, I did get the chance to chat one afternoon with a group of business graduate students at a university in Xian. One student wanted to know how much Chinese history Americans study in high school. Another asked me if priests can get married. A third asked what Americans think of the freedom-of-speech restrictions in China.
We
volunteers were told that religion and politics were off-limits, so I
simply said, "America and China are different," and quickly
switched subjects to the one that has fascinated me most about Xian: the
insane driving habits of the Chinese. Specifically, I
wanted the students to explain why Chinese drivers fail to make that subtle
distinction between THE STREET AND THE SIDEWALK, and why they appear to
have complete disregard for red lights, double yellow lines, blinkers
and pedestrians. One student, who said he has a driver’s license
and has been to Washington, D.C., explained it this way: "In America,
the person is more important than the car. In China, the person and the
car are the same. The fastest one wins."
Only one other student had a driver’s license, a rarity in China because of the steep cost, about $250. (Most people ride bicycles or take taxis, but because the population is so high, the streets are gridlocked anyway.) It was this second student who provided me with the most insight into the Chinese driving mentality. It appears the Chinese view driving not as a means of transportation but as a form of entertainment. "Driving is very exciting!" he said.
In addition to my chat with the grad students, I got to talk with the Chinese public as a guest yesterday on an English-language talk-radio program. The daily show is hosted by a serious and ambitious 28-year-old Chinese man named Andy. He’s always looking for native English speakers so he and his listeners can practice their conversational skills.
The interview took place in a sophisticated sound studio in a concrete high-rise apartment building. Our topic was fitness and nutrition. Andy introduced me and we chatted about our favorite forms of exercise, hoping to generate some phone calls from listeners. To kill some time, I mentioned that I was surprised to see so many Kentucky Fried Chicken franchises in Xian. (KFC appears to be the only Western fast-food franchise in the city.) Suddenly, the switchboard lit up like a Las Vegas casino. The callers were clamoring to know: Was it okay to eat KFC every day? Did I eat at KFC? How often do Americans eat KFC? Since KFC is chicken, how could it be unhealthy? Did I eat sheep?
Actually, that last caller was trying to say, "Are you in shape?" but I couldn’t tell until Andy translated for me.
 Andy, the Xian radio host whose callers clamored for information about Kentucky Fried Chicken. |
In the midst of our discussion about good health, one man called to tell me he had visited Los Angeles and "Disneygarden." "That’s great!" I said, looking quizzically at Andy for a clue about what else to say. "I very much like Disneygarden in Los Angeles," the man continued. Andy tried desperately to steer the caller toward the topic at hand — asking, for instance, if the man enjoyed exercise — but the caller wouldn’t budge from his trip to Disneygarden. Finally, Andy said to the caller: "Are you fat?" The caller didn’t seem to understand the question and soon hung up.
Today was my last day teaching at Boai. As usual, the concrete building was ice cold; the heat won’t be turned on for another two weeks. But the students had warmed up a bit since those awkward first days, when I had lulled them into a near-coma by attempting to generate discussion about the J. Crew catalog.
In my last class, the advanced group, we tried the toughest tongue-twisters one more time. My favorite student — the 12-year-old suck-up, who had worn the same brown-and-beige sweater for nine days straight — worked harder than anyone on "Courtney Thorne-Smith has thin thighs." He tried with all his might and concentration, scrunching his eyelids and forehead as if he were doing calculus in his head. In the end, he came closer than anyone else: "Courtney Thron-Smith." I was thrilled. "Excellent!" I said. "Great job!"
After his classmates had left the room for the day, he was still standing there, waiting for me to pack my bag. He followed me down three flights of steps without saying a word. As I turned to leave the building, he said, "Thank you, Teacher," making sure I noticed his tongue was sticking through his teeth to make the "th" sound.
