jamie doom

July 13 2003

To A Silly Girl,

Today, I’m sitting in this large room. There is this musical tonal echo of voices bouncing off old gray walls, and I’m smiling like a fool. A generous, smiling, thirty-eight year old man is pressing a coal-like papaya against my ankle, which I messed up several days earlier playing basketball. It suddenly hits me that I’m in China. I’m sitting in a huge kitchen, and loud, fat cooks are walking by and poking my belly and telling me about their daughters. It is all music and wet ink to me. When I laugh, I’m laughing with my whole body. It is been a good 45 minutes since I said anything sarcastic or felt smarter than anyone. (more…)

This past weekend I went to the the small hamlet of Baoting. It’s in the southern part of the island, not too far outside of Sanya. Baoting is the name of the county and its chief town. Four of us, three Americans and one Chinese education official, went down that way to hold lectures for some Li Minority English teachers.

I have never really considered myself a small town person; Asheville, N.C., my hometown, is perfectly middle-sized. Here in Hainan, the small towns I’ve seen consist of a one main street slicing through the middle of town, several small narrow streets intersecting Main street and ending abruptly within five kilometers in any direction, and a square or park in front of the government building in the center of town. The design and simplicity of these towns give me heart. I imagine I could parachute into any small village in the world and feel my way out of town by locating the town square and walking down the main street.

Looking down on Baoting is Seven-Fairies Mountain. It’s a striking, many-peaked mountain that is visible from anywhere in the town. To me, it looks a bit like the many spiked back of some sort of dinosaur. It used to be named Seven-Fingers Mountain, but not too long ago, the powers that be decided that having a mountain named after a hand with too many digits didn’t reflect favorably the town’s many normal handed residents. Even this weekend, as I talked about hiking the mountain with the teachers half of them still referred to the mountain as Seven-Fingers Mountain. In Chinese folklore, a Chinese god had seven strikingly beautiful fairy daughters. I have been told telling a girl that she is as beautiful as Seven-Fairies is still a fairly common expression. I have yet to try this compliment out, but I’ve filed it way. Oh yes, I have.

As we drive up to the middle school and parked, we are met with dozens of students who want to get a look at the foreigners. Some of them had never seen a white person in real life. Sorry, I’ve ruined it for all of you. We are there to talk to the teachers, but they begin to beg Mr. Zhu, the education official, to let them sit in on the lectures. Thankfully, he relents. Students’ wanting to be taught is not an everyday occurrence even in Haikou. While we are comparing, Haikou has three KFCs, one McDonalds, and a TCBY. Baoting has a mountain named after beautiful fairies, freshly grown green tea, and water buffalos that wander drunkenly down the middle of Main Street. Where would you rather live? As I’m taking all this in, I’m wondering how I can move here. Even Mr. Zhu is struck by the beautiful simplicity of this town. “In the countryside, people live the pure life,” he says.

So we split up the teachers and students into three groups and begin to lecture them about English teaching methods and about the Christmas holidays. We have two hours, so I try to be as thorough as I can on the holiday’s part. I even explain Kwanza and Hanukah. Unfortunately people in Baoting now think the menorah is what goes on top of the Christmas tree last. Sorry!

I also talk about the commercialism that is plaguing the Christmas season lately. The idea of people stressing themselves out by shopping and buying too many presents for each other sounded strange to these teachers. How can you spend more money than you have? I can see the discussion veering into the nasty mine-field labeled “My Credit History,” so I begin to talk to them about teaching English.

Having taught 100 Li/Miao minority teachers in Baisha for a month this past summer, I understand what these teachers are up against. They have at least fifty students in each class. These students already have a dozen other subjects including two sciences and two maths. The teachers’ first job is to finish their textbooks. There is not enough time to cover all the material or practice oral English. Most students here in the countryside simply don’t see the value of English. If you spend most of your free time helping your parents hand-plant rice, you have never even seen a native English teacher in real life, and you are forced to spend all your class time writing difficult English words in a thick, daunting textbook; would you? I can’t change this. The teachers can’t change it.

I really think my job is to encourage them. So I give them a grand pep talk. I tell them that even in America teachers are overworked and underpaid too. Teaching is an investment. One child sees your passion for English. He or she learns it well, pursues it, goes to college, and makes Baoting proud. You can say it’s because you cared so much. I mean this, but it sounds cheesy as I say it. Any second now I’m going to tell them that “teach a man to fish” rubbish and then I’m going to have throw myself off the fourth story balcony. I stop abruptly and ask them to tell me about their lives as teachers. They do.

I let them complain. I shake my head at their stories. I have heard all this before. They have it rough. Their teaching material is geared towards passing tests and not really learning the material. Unlike this school in the middle of Baoting which has electricity, running water, new buildings, and shiny new basketball goals; many of them work in rustic settings far away from the central township. Some of these teachers teach in schools so remote you need a day to get there by foot after you’ve parked your car near a river and swam across. Many teachers live at these remote schools during the week. They grade papers by gas light, sleep on tiny wood bunks, and eat whatever the farmers bring them as tuition. It’s a big sacrifice. I nod as if I know what it’s like to be them. I don’t though. I can honestly only tell them I’m glad that somebody has the character to keep teaching against all these odds. I shake their hands and thank them for being good teachers. They blush and protest. They lower their heads and then try to thank me for giving up a couple days to talk to them.

Later about sixty teachers and twenty students are all singing The First Noel together. Outside, palm trees are swaying softly and tenderly in unison. Back inside, voices are echoing down those gray halls at the Baoting Number 1 Middle School. They all have copied the song down so they can teach it to their students later.

“They like to sing, but we usually don’t have time,” I’m told. I always found the song a little boring and stiff myself—until now. I am here in Hainan to write educational grant proposals and educational materials for the Li and Miao people. Sometimes, sitting in my office in Haikou, I forget what the teachers look like. They are more than just bleak numbers and poor statistics. They are these beautiful, conscientious teachers who worry because their students aren’t getting better at English. And they are earnestly and innocently singing a Christmas song because maybe their students will like it.

So I’m recharged and determined as we are later driving out of town and back to Haikou. The windows are cracked and the air is so fresh and cool that I want stick my head out like a dog. Maybe someday I’ll come back here and live and teach; maybe it will be the “simple, pure life.” Or maybe it will be the hardest, most challenging task I could ever attempt. Most likely, I will never find out. We drive towards Haikou, and the Seven Fairies fade away.

Before I begin, let me make it clear that I am not claiming to be the greatest English Teacher. I am not an English teacher. I have taught English though. I have a great deal of respect for all ESL teachers, but I do claim to be the Greatest English Tutor. How can I claim this? Read on.

1. I Incorporate Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting into My English Lessons. When Mr. and Mrs. Linda’s Parents first approached me about teaching Linda (see picture), I looked deep into their eyes (I’m am able to look deep into four eyes simultaneously) and asked them, “Do you want Linda to simply learn English or do you want her to learn English AND learn how to beat people with ordinary households sticks(see picture)? For just a few more RMB, I can teach your daughter more than English; I can teacher her a way of life—the way of Fluent English Speaking/Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting.” At first they were skeptical; but in no time, I had them seeing the value of a Bi-lingual, stick-swinging four year-old. Now, not a day goes by without them thanking me for transforming their cute four-year old into a chatty, English-speaking warrior. Now their only trouble is forgetting to hide the brooms and mops before they tell Linda (see picture) to go to bed or turn off the cartoons. But I think that’s kind of cute.

2. I Supply the Stick and the English Books. That’s right. Not only do I supply years of Native English Speaking experience and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting experience*, but I also supply the stick…and the English books. Notice Linda’s stick (see picture) is purple with pink trim. What four-year old little girl wouldn’t want to thwap somebody’s noggin with those cute colors? I invested much thought into the color of her stick; and let me tell you, she loves it. In fact, one time I brought her back some children’s English books from Shenzhen, and she looked through them once then asked where her stick was. That’s dedication, and that’s knowing your stick color.

3. I Only Have One Student.** Linda (see picture) is my only student. She solely receives my vast wealth of English and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting knowledge. I hate to brag (but I will), but Linda (see picture) has rapidly become one of the top English-Speaking Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting four-olds in all of China. Don’t let the cute face fool you. She’s a killer. I have seen her ruin people’s day with ordinary household sticks (see picture). Also, because she is my only English student I can tailor her lesson plans so she never learns stupid English words. Which bring me to my next point:

   1. I Don’t Teach Stupid English Words. You will never hear Linda (see picture) say the word “hello.” In fact if you greet her with “hello,” you are just as likely to get a mouth full of stick as any other response. Linda (see picture) says “hi” like normal people. To explain why “hello” is so harmful here in China , first let me give you a little history. A long time ago China invented a little something called “Chinese water torture,” here in China known simply as “water torture.” In the ancient past, this was an effective means of making people crack/tell them secrets/agree to let them have the Olympics. But this is a new century now, and their methods are much more subtle than water torture. Now they use the ingenious “hello torture” instead. Some people (foreigners for instance) are subjected to thousands and thousands of “hellos” every day. Like the drops of water before it, it doesn’t seem so bad at first. At first, like the water, it seems refreshing. Quickly it becomes too much. Everywhere these people go they hear thousands of “hellos.” It usually ends tragically with some timid ESL teacher going crazy and punching some poor street vender in the face, getting kicked out of China , then going on Dave’s ESL Café and complaining about his school. Other useless or harmful English words or phrases I shelter my pupil from are: “politically correct”, “Yesterday Once More” and “boy bands.”

4. I Have Never Visited the Dave’s ESL Café Website. Somebody told me about it, and I took their advice and never visited that website. So the way I see it, I’m automatically five times smarter than any ESL tutor who has.

*Note # 1. You may wonder how I am such an expert at Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting. Perhaps, you have observed, I am neither ancient nor Chinese. Well, let me ask you a question. When did you become so narrow? Maybe if you would quit going to KKK meetings, you would have more time to read a little something called…books. Maybe then you could broaden your mind. But no, no, it’s much easier to stereotype people. (I enjoy getting upset about my own hypothetical questions. Is that wrong?) Also, when I was young, I was alone in the woods a lot (something I did?). My parents also never bought me toys. One day as I was trudging glumly through the woods alone and bewildered, I suddenly looked around and saw a forest full of sticks—Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting Sticks that is. These sticks became my friends and soon my world was changed. Years later I learned English as a native language. The rest is history (see picture).

**Note #2. Next summer I will be leaving China and going back to America . By then, Linda (see picture) will be getting on with the business of taking over the world with her stick; meanwhile, I’ll be available to teach English and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting. I realize with the proliferation of MTV, video games and well…the Internet, most children in America can no longer use basic English words. I will be searching for one worthy pupil. Please don’t E-mail me though. I’ll find you.