Adding Insult to Injury

I hadn't seen Gary since last weekend, when he dropped his car off for overnight parking because he was going to enjoy a night of revelry and his apartment is too far out of the way to catch public transportation to where he was to revel. 

I saw Sam last Wednesday. After the first 2 Wednesdays this school year, when he dropped by unannounced, interrupting my lunch, I started inviting him. Sam has an odd quirk: while he shows no compunction about dropping in, he is more reserved when it comes to being invited, often saying he has something to do. Thus I make it a point of inviting to lunch him every single Wednesday, virtually guaranteeing I will eat undisturbed.

However, this past hump day, he did come but seemed preoccupied and bowed out hastily. We conversed little, as he was mostly focused on his phone.

At no point did he say anything about my tenure here, but he did mention wishing to expand the school's partnership with Gary's firm: establishing a cooperative work experience in international trade.  (See Gary's New Hat entry, posted June, 2015). The school is prepared to offer him an office on campus and set up a course, with him as teacher. Of course, they would pay him for his services.

When Gary texted me yesterday about us going out this weekend, I quickly agreed, and then asked if Sam had contacted him. I was excited for him and wanted to know if he knew about this new development Sam outlined. The answer Gary gave was completely out of the blue:

“Yes, he asked me to plead you to stay. He said the school will pay for validating your diploma and guarantees you employment until 60 years old (China's mandatory retirement age).”

The 'validating diploma' reference calls to China's new law about foreign teachers having to take their diplomas to the Chinese embassy in their home country for certification (see 7-Year Itch entry, posted September 2016). 'Garanteeing employment' refers to China's '5-year rule', where foreigners can only obtain work visas for five consecutive years, after which they must sojourn outside of the country for a minimum of six months before applying for another work visa. According to Gary, that requirement can be waived if the teacher is extraordinary. In my case, it has been waived for the last two years. 

I am not extraordinary, at least not in the teaching arena (or any other arena, as far as I know). I am remarkable in the sense that I am still here while other foreigners are fleeing the country. And, as the proverb goes, a bird in the hand is worth 2 in the bush. Or: a teacher in the classroom is better than 2 teachers looking for classrooms. I can see why the school wants to keep me.

Because only 'desirable' foreigners are fleeing China. 'Desirable' meaning 'white'. Prospective teachers from African nations that are approved to teach in China are clogging headhunter websites and job postings but nobody in China wants to hire teachers from Nigeria. Not when an American teacher (with white skin) is present, and could be pressured into staying by, say... her best friend? And a bribe? And a guarantee that any reasonable person would realize might not be fulfilled?

This is business, Chinese-style. Goods are bartered based on Guanxi, China's true business currency. Gary, knowing that the school was seeking to replace me when I broke my leg, made use of it when entering in partnership with this school 2 years ago: “Keep Sophia or I walk and take my business with me.” It is quite typical in China for negotiations to involve valuable pawns.

I don't enjoy the thought of being reduced to a bargaining chip, especially one that has nothing to do with my teaching abilities and everything to do with something I have no control over: the color of my skin. I didn't particularly like it when Gary 'protected' me 2 years ago and I am outraged that my friend would be called on to put pressure on me instead of Sam telling me the terms of his alleged guarantees himself. Especially as, only 2 days ago, he was sitting in my house, eating my soup.  

In February's post Beginnings, I listed some things I was beginning to wonder about, now that my departure from China is imminent. As I clean out my cabinets and sort through 7 years of accumulation, as I enjoy the ease and convenience of Alipay, as I smoke the evening's last cigarette, I reflect...

There's no doubt that I seriously compromised my future financial and social security by walking away from a desirable, high-paying job in America seven years ago, but I don't regret my move. Still: where can I go and how will my life be once I leave China? Returning to America offers a host of challenges, not the least of which would be securing health care. I have my sights set on Germany, but…

Here I am, in the same situation as the school is in: the one in hand is better than the two in the bush. Wouldn't it make sense to pursue it?

Here, I have a job, a home, medical care (of sorts). There are downsides to living in China, some only recently discovered. It is true that foreigners have restrictions imposed by the government. Limits on travel, for example: a strong factor in my decision to leave. However, with the world of online trading now open to me, travel wouldn't be limited: Alipay has partnered with Airbnb, meaning I would not have to stay in expensive hotels should I decide to vagabond around.

As far as day-to-day living is concerned, at this point the 'staying in China' pros outweigh the cons. And, quite frankly, I still can't really imagine living anywhere else – and that's scary, seeing as I am mere months from uprooting myself and HAVE to choose someplace to live.    

Or DO I? Do I truly intend to once again cut my nose off to spite my face?

Open, Sesame!

This command, lifted from the tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, is apt not because I discovered treasure, but because I discovered Alibaba: the Chinese Internet marketing powerhouse founded and led by multi-billionaire Jack Ma. Don't get me wrong: I knew of it. I just couldn't make use of it. Till now.

Last entry I alluded to an electronic wallet called Alipay, a subsidiary of Mr. Ma's brainchild. I'd like to expound on that topic in this entry.

Ever since it became mainstream I've longed for something every Chinese enjoys: the convenience of online shopping, for anything from train tickets to western goods. I've been frustrated and stymied at every turn, first trying to get my bank card to cooperate and then, to get the SmartPhone applications to accept my bank card. Not that the applications were in any way unmanageable; the bank card itself provided limitations on its usage. Eventually, I gave up on the idea of shopping online by myself. The few times I needed something available only online,  Sam, Gary and once, even Summer obliged.

How kind of them to do for me! How resentful I grew because I couldn't do for myself.

All of that changed last month when, in sheer desperation, I opened a new bank account, separate from anything that has to do with the school (see A Logistical Nightmare entry, posted last month.) Because I was not able to send that bank card abroad, I figured I would make use of it myself.

As soon as I married that bank card to Alibaba's electronic wallet, a whole new world of convenience and commerce opened to me. It was like commanding 'Open, Sesame!'. By linking my newly-established TaoBao account to Alipay, a simpler process than entering credit card information into Amazon's personal data page, I can rely on Alipay to function as a subsystem of TaoBao, China's largest online retailer. All it takes is using my electronic wallet's buit-in QR scanner to read the shopping page's code on my computer screen: Presto! I am logged in, and can shop till I drop. Or, better yet: use my phone's TaoBao app, which automatically 'talks' to the Alipay app come time to check out. Still more convenient: use TaoBao's link right from the Alipay menu selection.

Alipay is accepted everywhere in China, from restaurants to stores at the mall. Here is how it works: each Alipay account is assigned its own unique QR code. Come time to pay for my purchases, I pull up my account's code on my phone and the cashier scans it with the same scanner used to read line-type barcodes. Funds are automatically debited. An extra bonus: I get a text message from the bank, stating a debit has just occurred in the amount of...

Even the farmer's market accepts Alipay! There, I simply add a vendor on the assigned page and transfer money from my 'wallet' to theirs. And speaking of pages: Alipay has considerately found and listed every single food vendor that delivers in my neighborhood. By selecting any vendor on that page, I can see a menu, order food and pay for it, all with a few swipes on my phones screen, and then sit back and wait for dinner to be delivered. Alipay functions are endless! Ordering a car, buying train tickets, paying for utilities... I can recharge (add prepaid minutes to) my phone without having to find a phone store to do so. I can even send money abroad, using its international function – but only because my phone is not registered to me. It is registered to a Chinese person. This function is blocked for foreigners without a residence permit.

In a remarkably short time, China has gone from a cash-based society to a (nearly) cashless society. When I first arrived here, the local grocery stores wouldn't accept even a bank card. It had become routine to count my money or stock up on bills at the campus ATM before venturing out, or marking banks in my more frequent haunts, around Metro or other areas I tend toward, for possible cash withdrawals. Gone now is the need to carry funds or locate banks; 'have phone will shop' is the phrase of the day. 

And is it secure? Each Alipay user must create a 6-digit PIN, to be entered with each transaction. If there is any confusion or a mistake, or if you are using your PC to shop instead of your phone, the system will prompt an extra keycode entry.

The greatest dangers with Alipay are losing your phone or forgetting your PIN. This app is far safer than carrying wads of cash around or whipping out a bank card for each transaction. Whereas either of those could be lost or stolen, or your card information lifted while you use the ATM, you are not likely to lose your electronic wallet. Of course, you could lose your phone, but with a 6-digit PIN being harder to crack than a 4-digit one, your bank balance is likely still safe should someone with hacking skills find your device.

Now I shop TaoBao by myself. My first foray was to buy deodorant, something near impossible to find in Chinese stores. Being just about out of deodorant is what drove me to try the whole online shopping venture to begin with.

In the short time I've been privy to this utility, I haven't exactly gone nuts, shopping at all hours and ordering all manner of mundane or superfluous things, as I suspect my students do (as I know Gary does: he will cruise the virtual mall on his phone no matter where we're at, ordering whatever strikes his fancy). However, I did manage to score a plane ticket out of China, and only yesterday, bought four loaves of high-fiber German bread, essential for my stomach's well-being.

Today, I got a text message from a courier: my bread has arrived: that was quick! I can pick it up at a parcel depot on campus. As there are 3 such stations on campus alone – and several just outside of campus, the depot doyenne had to specify which one to go to. I guess you could say the high number of outlets serving this tiny community is testament to our students' love of online shopping.

The downside of ordering online in China is that seldom do parcels make it to your door, even though complete addresses are required for any order. 

As I've been under the weather all weekend, I didn't retrieve my package today. I sent a text that I would be by tomorrow. And then, all while struggling to breathe, I agonized...

One reason I came to China was to live a simple life (another was to experience life in China as fully as possible). Maybe I envisioned going back in time where society is not so modern, competitive or encumbered. Where one does their shopping strictly in local markets, and whatever is available is good enough. By my very desire to shop online, have I turned hypocrite? Or should I ascribe using this app as in keeping with my (secondary) goal?

I hope I've not turned hypocritical. After all, I do live as simply as I can, but I need deodorant: you really don't want to be around me when I don't wear any. And, if I didn't buy the German bread online, I would be buying it at Metro, where there is less variety and what is available costs more (and I would have to go much further to get it, and it is not always in stock).

Which leads me to ponder another question: what do the Chinese do for dietary fiber? It's not like their diet is rife with fiber-rich foods. In fact, I think that might have started all the trouble with my stomach. The first few years I was here, I did buy local and make do. My stomach didn't like it. 

However, judging by the array of laxatives available on TaoBao (and in pharmacies), I'm guessing the Chinese have as much trouble with their stomachs as I do. Lucky for them, they can shop online: relief is only a few SmartPhone swipes (and one parcel depot) away.

Unlucky for me, I will have to give up Alipay Wallet and all of its associated features when I leave here. After only just having discovered it!     

Getting Around

Years ago, I had the privilege of attending a Beach Boys concert. I realize I am dating myself by admitting that but, to my credit, the fabled Boys were past their prime when I saw them, so maybe I am not dating myself too badly. Mike Wilson introduced their next number by saying: “I can't imagine putting a song out called 'I Get Around' these days...”. The concert was in the early 80s, when the AIDS epidemic was at its height and people were assiduously abstaining from 'getting around'. Just to put his comment into context.

This article has nothing to do with 'getting around' and everything to do with getting around. Getting around Wuhan, that is. And, presumably, other cities in China – which I can only visit if I wish to pay exhorbitant rates for hotel rooms, something I am unwilling to do.

In my early days here, means of getting around Wuhan consisted of bus, taxi, assorted personal conveyances from POVs to electric scooters to human-powered bikes. There were also bike rentals: green machines tethered to stands sprinkled all over the city. I never rented such a bike; I had no idea how to.

And, my first few years here did not see me in the best of health. Last thing I wanted was to jump on a bike and pedal myself all over the city.

People made good use of those 'city bikes'. From my bus window, I could see green Wuhan Bikes rolling everywhere. As I understood the system, one could rent a bike for a set per-hour fee – no idea how much, and dock it at whichever station they came closest to when they were done riding. Such a concession was even set up on campus, near the housing area. I never saw anyone rent a bike from that outlet, and within 6 months, it was taken out again.

Early last year, all of the green Wuhan Bike stands were taken out, to be replaced by a high-tech, sophisicated, blue Wuhan Bike system. By this time I had my own bike, but thought I might try the new bikes, just for the experience. They were substantially upgraded from  the green bike system: a basket attached to the handlebars, for one. Another, more important feature for me, was that the seat could be adjusted. I really don't fit on tiny Chinese bikes.

The new, fancy Wuhan Bike system.

I wondered why it seemed that so few people rode these new bikes, but soon learned: one has to enroll in the government program, which permits you to download and install their app on your SmartPhone, from where the fees for riding would be deducted. Also, you had to return the bike to its original docking station; no longer could you ride to your destination and end your rental there. All over the city, the blue bikes languished, becoming dusty from the same pervasive, persistent particles that afflict my home.

The bikes started appearing last summer, first in ones and twos, and then in hordes, especially around subway exits and major bus stops. They are of simple construction: a brushed silver frame with black handlebars and bright orange, 5-spoked wheels. A bell is integrated into the handlebars, where maybe a gearshift would be. They are coaster bikes with disc brakes, and the seat is not adjustable. They are called MoBikes.   

A first-generation MoBike

Yes, these days there are 5 subway lines in Wuhan, vastly increasing the transportation options available when I first came here. And more are underway – pun intended. Their ongoing construction explains the dust problem. In part, at least.

At first, people seemed wary of MoBikes. Looking both enticing for their design and color scheme, and sinister for their appearing magically, out of nowhere, it took a while before the first brave soul would endeavor to ride one. Or maybe directions on how to rent one simply hadn't published yet.

One has to download an app, as with the government bikes, but no one is required to register for permission to ride. The app permits you to scan the QR code on the bike's gooseneck. A 250 Yuan deposit is deducted from your bank card – which, for most people is tied to their Alipay virtual wallet, another app. The actual rental fee is only 1 Yuan, and some weekends, you can ride for free!

Once you scan the QR code, the bike unlocks and you are free to ride to your heart's content. When you are done riding, simply scan the code again, and the bike will lock, chirping like a car's locking system, and your deposit, minus 1 Yuan, is credited back to your virtual wallet. You can leave the bike anywhere you choose; MoBikes have no docking stations.

I have ridden a MoBike. Thanks to my friend Shane, who has the app, and rode one from the bus station to my house, I saw my chance to conduct research and report.

The handlebars are narrow but the grips felt divine in my hands, negating the possible shoulder ache from holding my arms so narrowly. The seat is incorporated into the frame; no height adjustment possible. The bike feels sturdy: I challenged it as best I could over pavement and dirt path alike, even though my knees were up to my chest on each pedal upstroke.

There are now 2 generations of MoBikes. The first, with its orange-spoked wheels and low seat, and the second, which has traditional spokes, an adjustable seat and a basket on the handlebars, which are of normal width. I've not ridden a new generation MoBike, but I've seen them.  

A second-generation MoBike

These days, in spite of all of the buses, and five subway lines (more underway!), and the taxis, Uber cars and POVs, people everywhere in Wuhan are riding MoBikes. Our campus is lousy with them! Students, instead of rushing out of the classroom to grab some food (or out of sheer boredom) when the bell rings, are fleeing their seats in order to grab a MoBike before anyone else. People are learning to ride on MoBikes. Just yesterday, astride my own sleek machine, I shouted encouragement to a fledgling MoBike rider.

Meanwhile, the government's high-tech, sophisticated bike system gathers dust.

As an aside: China's virtual world is so advanced, I wonder how I will adjust to limited social functions, once I leave here. I've recently discovered the convenience and security of an electronic wallet, for example. I can use Alipay to transfer money as well as pay at point of sale locations, from high end shops in malls to vegetable stands at the farmer's market. And now I have to give it up?

Check out this BBC article, that talks about how advanced China's virtual world really is: http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20170309-why-chinas-internet-reveals-where-were-headed

Destination Unknown

As I inch ever closer to my departure date, leaving China and everything I've built up behind, I focus more and more on where I'd like to end up. Well, not specifically where, but trying to find a place with all desired qualities a vagabond could want.

·         Lots of travel options with interesing destinations.

·         No restrictions on traveling or lodging while doing so.

·         A means to support myself while there.

·         Relatively low cost of living.

·         A degree of physical safety.

A lot of countries in the Middle East are out of the running. As an unattached (as in: no accompanying  male) Caucasian female, my moves and activities might be severely curtailed. Also, my physical safety could be compromised, if news reports are to be believed.

I am open to other countries in Asia, but I have to consider my health. My finicky stomach might find it difficult to adapt to local foods, so I am inclined to seek locations that have a Metro store, where I can buy foods that work well with my body. According to the Metro website, that leaves only India, Japan and Vietnam as options.

Certain countries in South America sound appealing, like Ecuador – which boasts a large expat population and is in Eastern Standard time zone; or Uruguay, the most progressive of South American countries, but there are few travel options, and no trains.

How can one vagabond around with no trains?

Africa: while some countries on the west coast sound appealing, I worry about food and physical safety. I would want to stay away from central and eastern countries as they are in political turmoil and scored with violence. South Africa might have been a suitable destination a year ago; since then it has become politically unstable.

Western Europe fits the bill well: lots of trains and plenty of enticing destinations, suitable diet, generally safe. I can find work there, but the cost of living tends to be high. Still, I think I could manage it. If only...

I am finding a disturbing global trend: a reversion to nationalism with a populist undertone.

Since the Brexit vote last year, and emphasized by Mr. Trump's 'America first!' rallying cry, more and more countries are turning away from openness and inter-nations cooperation. Far right politics are coming to the forefront: France's Marine LePen stands strong in the polls, poised to lead her country into a shuttering of global policy. She espouses a 'France First!' doctrine.

Germany is also seeing a move toward nationalism. Angela Merkel is under heavy fire from other political parties within her country (and from America) for having thrown the doors open to Syrian refugees at the height of the crisis. Her opponents maintain that refugees taking more and more social welfare takes away from German citizens who have paid into that system and are rightly entitled to benefits.

The emerging sentiment on that continent is that the European Union is undervaluing individual nations' solidarity.

Even Europe's more open, progressive countries are starting to close their borders. Friendly Denmark's  immigrants are currently suffering race-motivated attacks from natural born citizens. Sweden is pondering their citizenship policies in an attempt to cull out undesirables who might want to settle there. And Britain, who led the nationalist ticket with Brexit – are deporting more people faster. Meanwhile, hate crimes are on the rise all over the place.

What does all of this mean for this vagabond, who is, at heart, a global citizen? Who fervently wishes there were an actual status, a document, a law, a passport, proclaiming her as such?

What is happening in the world is a total reversal of everything civilization and politics stands for. Think about it: as children, weren't we taught to share and share alike? Isn't that something we, in turn, teach our children? And how does this philosophy play out on the world stage? All around the globe we're seeing (figurative) doors closing on the sharing mentality. What is the point of global politics if each nation is only out for itself?

Should we amend the lesson we teach our children to: “Share only with your own kind.”?

The news reports are scary. Passengers flying into America from overseas can be interrogated and/or detained, if not barred from entry altogether. What will that mean for me, with 7 years of Chinese visas in my passport? Will I also be interrogated? And what about having to hand over my phone and give up social media passwords, as reported by the latest news?

A year from now, will my American passport be accepted in other countries who are embracing nationalist views? Will they want or welcome me? Will they permit me to work? To travel?

“My country first!” just might be the death knell of the vagabond life.

       

Beginning

Today is my mother's birthday... or, would have been, had she lived. She died twenty-two years ago, at the relatively young age of fifty nine. In a mere five years, I will have lived longer than she did.

I think about my mother a lot, especially on her birthday, even though we were not close and she died so long ago. Thus I see it as apt that, on the day of her birth, I list my own 'beginning's.

My last semester as English teacher at this school began this week. What with everything else going on right now – planning my departure among other things,  I can't say I am eagerly anticipating this last stretch in the classroom. Or the student-choked campus, or the noise around the housing area – which has already begun. Nightly the women gather to dance again, and their music is louder than ever. Each morning, I am roused by those clomping and stomping around, noisily ejecting the ravages of last night's cigarettes from  their lungs as they thunder down the stairs. The cleaning women who roam around campus with their little twig brooms and their pushcarts, chirping to each other and clanking chains against their metal bins. The vendors who ride their scooters through the alleys, blaring their services in hopes of a customer.

I wonder what it's going to feel like, being in a quiet neighborhood.

I am beginning to wind down my social activities, not that I had that many to begin with. In order to make separation from friends easier five months from now, I am gently turning down invitations. Penny and Erica are the exception. Last night was Penny's birthday dinner and, even though we'd not seen each other but once during this month-long school break, we fell right back into our old patterns: Penny and I cobbling conversation together in my bit of Mandarin, and then Erica and I playing.

She will be seven years old in September. I came here the year of her birth. It is almost inconceivable that I won't be here for her first day of school, her graduation or her wedding.

It is also unbelievable that, soon I will be living in a place devoid of Chinese characters – both the written word and the people. I'm beginning to worry about what will happen to my hard-fought language skills once I am no longer immersed in it. How will I practice? How will I continue learning? Is there any point in continuing to study Chinese if I am no longer here, and will presumably not ever return?  

One thing I am not wondering is  how it will feel to go about unphotographed or talked about, as I am here. I am truly looking forward to relative anonymity.

I'm beginning to wonder what life will be like for me, wherever I land – a topic which is still undecided. I've not paid rent or utilities for seven years. I don't know how to go about securing an Internet connection or setting up mobile phone service. I look around this home that I've occupied since it was first built and wonder about the next tenant. What will be his/her thoughts upon first stepping foot inside these walls? These walls, bare of decorations that I bought, hung and will take with me when I go.

And I wonder about the new foreign teacher. Will s/he be a novice, as I was when I first started, or a seasoned veteran of the Chinese education system? Will s/he compromise on our students, giving only bare minimum, or, like me, give his/her absolute best no matter what the cost? And how will the school treat the incoming teacher(s)? Will there be a welcoming dinner, as there was for me and Victor, so long ago? Or will they be only tolerated?

I speculate on that because of tightening restrictions on foreign teachers in China that might cause so many hopefuls to choose another locale for their expat adventure (See Seven-Year Itch entry, posted September 2016). Those restrictions, coupled with the low pay this school offers – thousands of Yuan below average in China, makes me wonder if this institution will be successful in attracting any teachers at all. Or will they only have Nigerian teachers to choose from, who have recently been accepted as qualified English speakers by the Ministry of Education, albeit with a substantially lower salary cap than teachers from more desirable locations, such as Australia or America?

I'm beginning to wonder about food. Granted I shop at Metro and  mostly cook my own food, but I wonder what it will feel like to have a full-sized stove, including an oven, to cook on/in? And, I enjoy the occasional batter cake or bowl of re gan mian (hot dry noodle, the Wuhan specialty) from vendor stalls. Just last night, Penny's birthday dinner at a hotpot restaurant: where will I find hotpot outside of China?

And those delicious little snack cakes that I enjoy so much. And cream puffs, incomparable to the ones I've eaten in the west. Sweet potato chips that you can buy from a bulk bag, that are so savory! And that delicious coffee I drink! True, it's instant but it is bold and flavorful. I'm beginning to wonder about my morning coffee elsewhere: will it be as satisfying?

I wonder what it's going to feel like to access websites that have been forbidden me for the last seven years: YouTube, Google and others, or to send email without restrictions. And what it will feel like to stream videos without pause or hiccup, as currently happens here. What will it be like, watching TV without Chinese subtitles?

How easily will I adapt to full-sized broom and mop handles? Or carpet under my feet? Or, for that matter, not having to wear house shoes? To baggies that are more than 2mil thick? To a range of cleaning products that make housekeeping a breeze? To sitting without my knees at chest height? To repairing my bike by myself, instead of invoking a repairman for the least little thing? 

I'm beginning to daydream about long bike rides with friends, in clean air, where my lungs won't scream 'abuse!' and my legs will get all the oxygen they need to function properly. A place where I won't have to take allergy medicine twice per day or risk hyperventilating for lack of air. I wonder what it will feel like to not be able to see the air in front of me, or have a perpetual sheen of dust on everything I own.

To be able to talk with a doctor, a vendor or a repairman without anyone translating for me. To have a decent conversation, a full and fair exchange of views without being constrained (or shut out) by cultural norms or social mores. To be able to investigate in depth and learn everything there is to learn on a particular topic or subject without being stonewalled.

To be able to buy clothes and shoes that fit me. 

On the day my mother's life began, I'm beginning to envision my life elsewhere. And, while she most likely did not have such speculations as an infant, at some point in her life, surely she wondered what her life would be like in different circumstances, seeing as she had (and led me on) a rocky path. 

In her honor, I continue. 

Unraveling Chinese Culture

With more than six years of living in China, I think I've gotten a grasp on the visible and immediate aspects of the culture: food, language, dress and mannerisms – what sociologists call 'Big C' or 'material culture'. Understandably, I'd now like to delve into and understand 'Little C', also known as 'non-material culture': the ideas, beliefs, values and norms that drive society.

That aspect is confusing and mysterious; seemingly contradictory at times. To an outsider, it is quite nearly unpenetrable.

Questions about gender equality: why are daughters not listed on the family scroll, the document that details a clan's history (See No Girls Allowed entry, posted April 2011)?

Questions about how elderly are treated: why is anyone senior to the person in question treated like a helpless, doddering fool who cannot do anything for themselves (See The Voice of the Old entry, posted ___________)?

Questions about mannerisms: how can spitting, generally being loud and obnoxious, and defecating outdoors be socially acceptable? (See What is Rude entry, posted December 2016)?

To these questions and more, the answer invariably is: “Well, that's just the way it is. That's our culture. You can't change that.” Any further questioning results in: “You can't understand. It's Chinese tradition.” In other words, a total shut-down. Woe to the one who pushes the issue further! S/He is likely to be deemed rude and obtuse, and hostile to the Chinese way of life.

This article is born of my ongoing frustration at trying to manage my affairs by myself, and a recent conversation with my protege, Tony. He has long since graduated and has made a life in Xiamen (She-ah men). He came back to Wuhan for Lunar New Year. It was the first time we'd seen each other since his graduation.

Battered as I've been lately on the rocks of invisible, impenetrable Chinese culture, it was foremost on my mind to quiz my young, progressive friend about the insurmountable mores that now define my life in China. I did not get answers I expected.

“Well, that's just the way it is. That's our culture. You can't change that.”.

Or maybe I should have expected it. Progressive and open-minded as he is – he is dating an older woman, a grave taboo in Chinese culture!, the fact remains that he is Chinese and that is the standard answer to any “why?” regarding Chinese culture.

“What style clothing are you wearing? Western or traditional Chinese?” I asked him.

“Western.” came the reply.

“What type of music do you listen to: soft rock/pop or traditional Chinese?”

“Pop music and some rap.”

“What about your car? Chinese brand?”

“Toyota.”  

My dear Tony (and other Chinese friends), you cannot cherry-pick aspects of your culture to use as a weapon or a blockade against those who wish to understand you better or function in your society. Either you support China by embracing every aspect of the culture from clothing to music, or you admit that your culture is evolving, just as every culture in the history of civilization has done.

And, if you do admit to an evolving culture, then you must question or, at least, entertain and ponder questions about it.

The evidence of cultural evolution is blatant. Hardly anyone in China wears the tradition tang zhuang. Jackie Chan wears one in publicity photographs – and I quite admire him for it, representing China as he does, but you don't often see people going about their daily life so-clad. Women seldom wear qipao (tchee pow), the traditional silk, form-fitting dress. Buying a qipao can be quite expensive, and there aren't many shops that sell them (or tang zhuang), except for around Spring Festival time.

Innovations in cooking these days tend more toward western style: less frying, more steaming and boiling. Cooking shows on TV highlight the health benefits and ease of such food preparation. Ovens, so hard to come by and expensive when I first arrived, litter department store shelves and are widely available online (as well as other implements of western food culture: dishes, utensils, etc.). High-end, western-style restaurants, not just fast food places, are highly frequented.

Mandarin is becoming polluted with words from other tongues, mainly English. The Chinese word 'baobei' is phonetically similar to 'baby', modified from 'baobao', the traditional word for 'baby'. Baobei is used as a term of endearment for adults, same as in English-speaking countries, as well as for children and babies. Other terms: 'shala' – salad; 'pizha' – pizza; 'hambao' – hamburger and others, all reflecting western foods, pepper the language. And the list of word adaptations grows as the culture advances.

Rap, techo and pop music dominate the airwaves. Walk down any street where there are clothing shops and you are likely to hear a pulsing disco beat blaring from an outdoor speaker. Granted, the lyrics are in Chinese but western influence on Chinese art is undeniable. Whereas gunplay was seldom to never a feature of Chinese movies, these days, more and more gangster style shootouts can be seen in theaters and television shows.

The trail of cultural adaptations to the west is long – basketball, anyone? Hiphop dancing? But perhaps the most dramatic evidence of China's changing culture is the absence of foot binding, a centuries-long tradition that was officially banned in 1912, even though the practice continued in some parts of the country until the 1950s.      

Clearly, Chinese culture is in flux. Equally clearly, people's obstinancy toward aspects of the culture that have traditionally been deemed distasteful – stigma against females, the handicapped, LGBT and single mothers, to name a few, is impeding the progress of society. The refusal to consider any questions about Chinese culture leads to a stonewalling of advancement.

Similarly, soliciting the aid of westerners in teaching and developing the country but denying them any understanding of the culture's mores and equal social rights such as banking, mailing and healthcare at the same cost as Chinese is souring the attitude of said westerners.   

Cultural evolution does not only come by governmental decree. In fact, individual attitudes and mores are what drives societal change. If people refuse to ponder society's greater questions, what chance is there that advancement will prevail?

Fighting With the Neighbors

People had barely settled into this newly built neighborhood before the scavengers went trolling.

Scavengers: elderly people who live in a community, whose subsistence depends partially or wholly on collecting, sorting and cashing in recyclables. Any community in China is likely to have any number of scavengers. Any street in China is likely to be patrolled by scavengers. Scavengers roam from neighborhood to neighborhood, day in and day out, every day, all day long. They sort their booty in front of their apartment building, and maybe store it there overnight in order to increase their haul the next day.

As you might guess, scavenging is a competitive sport. Therefore hauls not immediately cashed in must be secured, lest someone avail themselves to an already declared stash. 

Since the building I live in filled up, the foyer has been plagued with alternately growing and shrinking piles of scavenger loot. Not only recyclables but other broken-down items that perhaps might be repurposed. Depending on what time of day it is, entering the building itself could be an iffy proposition, as several scavengers live in my stairwell, and they all seem to sort their stuff in front of the building's entrance at the same time. If it is raining, they argue about who should use the foyer first: there is not room enough for everyone AND their loot, and heaven forbid a stray bottle should roll into someone else's pile!

Living on the ground floor is a mixed blessing. I cannot park my bike in the foyer; upstairs neighbors have claimed what little space there is left among the various piles of detritus. I lug my bike into my apartment. That works out well. What is not so great is hearing the scavengers mutter to themselves while sorting, or listening to them fight, just outside my front door.

The foyer is not the only place loot gets stored: my balcony and directly below are also prime spots because that area is hidden from view by the lobby entrance, which juts out about 4 feet from the building's facade.

Over the years I've had stuffed animals, shoes, clothing and assorted trinkets: phone covers, a Hello Kitty tin, broken hair bands, keychains and the like placed on my balcony. Below it I've found a chair, a half a suitcase – literally!, a whole suitcase, a shoe cabinet, a giant pile of styrofoam, some clothes, and a host of other things. If left unchecked, my balcony and immediate vicinity would be buried under such piles.

To set the record straight:

1.      I firmly believe in recycling.

2.      It breaks my heart to see senior citizens picking through garbage cans.

To that end, I sort recyclables in my house and set them outside, by the communal the trashcan when I have a bagful, to spare community elders the indignity of picking through the trash with their bare hands in the off-chance that there might be something of value.

I do not use my balcony for anything. Until about six months ago, I really didn't care whether there was anything stored either on my balcony or in front of it. But I had been getting tired of seeing piles all over the place.

Now I'm fed up with it.

Two things happened simultaneously to change my mind about piles on/in front of my balcony, one of them being my demanding teaching schedule. With 2 and 3 classes per day, it would be aggravating to carry my bike into the house only to carry it back out to ride to my next class – while stepping over whatever piles were in the foyer, or waiting until a path could be cleared. I needed someplace to park my bike. In front of my balcony was the logical choice: I could chain it up to the railing and keep an eye on it while I do lunch.  

The second was a vomit-soaked sheet. One of the building scavengers had apparently found a pile of discarded bedding, saw value in it and hauled it away. However, instead of carrying it up to her apartment, she flung the whole stinking pile on the ground in front of my balcony. As the weather was unseasonably warm, I had the balcony door open. Soon that savory aroma wafted throughout my house.

I couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from. Had I inadvertently left food to spoil in the crockpot? Did I perchance have some rotting vegetables (or, did my scavengers leave rotting veggies in the foyer?)

The smell lasted through the weekend and on Monday morning, while I ate my breakfast. It was only upon returning home from class, mid-morning, and looking to secure my bike to my balcony railing that I discovered the fragrant deposit. And an entire trove of kitsch, stored on the balcony itself. Disgusted, I kicked it all away and secured my bike as planned, making sure I left nothing on it that could be stolen or vandalized in retribution.

And that's how the fight started.

Not a loud fight. In fact, I'm not saying a word. Three days. That's all they get. I will permit storing something in front or on my balcony for three days. If it is still there after that, I will move it. I reason: we are already overrun with garbage in the foyer and by their sorting in front of the entrance. If they want whatever they scavenge, let them take it into their home. If they don't see it as valuable enough to cart upstairs or otherwise dispose of in three days, then obviously it is just trash and I will throw it away. 

I told Sam about my resolve, just in case someone complains about me removing their stuff.

The woman cussed loudly at finding her booty scattered all over the lawn but she did pick it up and take it away. That afternoon, when I came home from class, there was something else in front of my balcony. It too got moved after three days.

And so on, and so on. For a couple of weeks I thought the message had sunk in because nothing had been stashed on/under the balcony during that time. Later I found out that was only because nothing of 'value' had been found. Intermittently, something will be put there. After three days, it is gone – invariably by my hand, not theirs.

Today, it was a baby stroller and a shoe. They first made their appearance over the weekend. Gary saw them when he drove me back from Metro on Saturday. At that time, I removed the shoe from my balcony and placed it in the stroller. The next day, the shoe was back on my balcony. And now, they are both in the dumpster.

The next morning, they were back, looking dismal in the falling rain. They have now been there a week. What do I have to do to convince people to keep the area neat? I am so tired of looking at garbage!