Mrs. Stevo and I had dinner with a former student of mine and her parents this past weekend. Island, who has changed her name to Ellen, is starting Grade 3. She was/is the apple of Sti Fu’s once-calloused eye. Honestly, she was the only reason that kept me from quitting during my last term at the incredibly badly managed Chinese private school. Seeing her each afternoon gave me purpose.
I had grown accustom to seeing Island everyday. Mrs. Stevo called her parents and we met at a local and somewhat swanky restaurant. Island/Ellen jumped up and down upon seeing me. She handed me gifts: A stuffed animal (a red cow), a small plastic kangaroo in a box, and a sheet of lined paper plastered with stickers.
The father, a department head at an airline, ordered: Turtle soup served in a coconut shell, sea cucumber in a delightful sauce, steaks, and an assortment of other gastronomic delights (eat your heart out Donna).
Paying a restaurant bill in China isn’t an easy task. Who invited who dictates who settle the mai dan. They invited us, but I had wanted to see Island: A quandary. Mrs. Stevo thought I should pay.
I had 600 RMB in my pocket, more than enough to cover dinner for five. (The night I got engaged I bought dinner for eight, and the better part of a delivery truck full of beer, and that bill was less than 300). I knew the rare (and pretty) food we had consumed was out of my price range. Mrs. Stevo has a credit card but keeps it locked away in a drawer.
The bill came.
Mrs. Stevo: Pay the bill.
Stevo (whispering): I can’t.
Mrs. Stevo tried with verbal acrobatics to take the bill . I projected screams of “NO! NO! NO!” with my mental powers hoping to curb Mrs. Stevo’s generosity. In the end the father brushed Mrs. Stevo aside and paid the bill. Of course, when we dine out again it will be my turn.
The good of this: I got to see Island/Ellen again. The bad? Not really anything. Perhaps a back-breaking dinner expense sometime down the road. But, Island/Ellen is worth it.
Want to see the world and get paid to do so? English First, the international language training firm, has announced The Marco Polo Project. Two people will travel the world and video their adventures teaching English.
EF is seeking one male and one female, 18 or over, for this adventure. English First will pay for the pair’s flights and accomodations, and provide a generous stipend to cover expenses while on the road.
The project will last up to 12 months and include:
Four months in Shanghai preparing and undergoing training.
2 sets of 4 months travel where you will:
Visit 15 regions and explore 44 destinations.
Script, shoot, edit, and submit one video per week.
Write lesson plans and activities to accompany the videos.
Teaching English in China is difficult in more ways than one. My popularity with the preteen girl crowd waxed and waned this past term, much to my chagrin. In December I wrote about feeling uncomfortable with the touchy-feely Grade 5 girls. I thought I wouldn’t teach them this term. I was wrong.
Coming early to class, crowding me in the hall, hanging on my arm: Extremely uncomfortable. If I was in Grade 5 I’d be in heaven. Alas, I’m a long, long way from the fifth grade. I’m probably closer to fifth grade in my next life than I am in this one.
The touchy-feely crowd was strangely absent for most of June. After I cracked the whip and changed their seats, six of them from the same homeroom, remarkably, became ill. The air conditioner was blamed. With the H1N1 hysteria running through the school, they were sent home.
A few came back the next week. When they discovered they had to write the test they missed their fevers suddenly returned. Adios, muchachas. Six girls from the same class – all sick with the same illness? An illness that prevents them from attending only my class? Strange, indeed. Some might say it was a conspiracy… I didn’t shed a tear, it was one less thing to worry about.
Tuesday was the last day of classes, and four of the six returned for the party. It was business as usual teaching English in China. It was only one day. I used big arm movements to create a buffer zone when they weren’t busy scarfing down chips and chocolates.
The biggest offender, let’s call her PMHKG (Prematurely Mature Hong Kong Girl), wasn’t at the party. She saw me the next afternoon as I left the campus. PMHKG charged and I hunched over in an attempt to ward off the incoming onslaught.
“Steve!” She called.
It was like a scene from a bad Korean Soap Opera (even the good ones are pretty bad). She hung on my arm as I eased towards the school gate. She looks about three years older than she is, standing a head taller than the other girls. She tried to explain her absence as we walked. A female teacher walked past and smiled. I cringed. It must have been a sight: Me with a preteen on my arm, her head on my shoulder. Ah, the live of a man teaching abroad.
I didn’t have time, the air conditioner repairman was due at my apartment. Trying to pull my arm free I discovered her grip was stronger than a bear trap. Gnawing off my arm would have taken too long and left an unsightly mess on the white tiles of the campus. With another pull I discovered the amazing lubricating qualities of perspiration. My addled mind formed a rudimentary plan. She tightened her grip, pouting.
Rice-fed Prematurely Mature Hong Kong Girls are strong. Because I sweat like a pig (and who doesn’t when it’s 110 degrees), with a mighty tug I was able to extricate myself from the crushing crush. A disappointed groan was uttered as I laughed and dashed for the gate.
My days as a big rock star are over. In his heyday David Cassidy had nothing on me. Now he’s on Broadway and I’ll be shooting photos professionally. Life is change.
I’ll miss PMHKG and her crew of touchy-feelys. As agonizing as our time together was I will remember them fondly.
Teaching English in China can lead to some situations that drive you to the brink of insanity. That’s not to say I don’t like China, quite the opposite. But, there are times….
1. I can’t seem to get in a fast moving line, be it at a supermarket or passport control station. If in a line with one person in front of me, the line of ten next to me will speed along. I’m cursed, I tells ya.
2. The check-out lines in Chinese supermarkets labeled “Cash only” or “10 items of less” actually except forms of payment other than cash and many more items than 10.
3. When searching for a gym in China try to find one with a non-smoking section.
4. Before boarding the Hong Kong bus to the mainland, my temperature was checked to ensure I wasn’t infected with swine flu. The Star Trek-like gun-thing would not give a reading when pointed at my forehead. The bus attendant looked perplexed and tried again and again. After four minutes I began to wonder if I was dead and had become a zombie. That’s not outside the realm of possibility.
5. Given my level of exhaustion, and after listening to the screams of small children for 18 consecutive weeks, I am seriously considering a DIY vasectomy.
6. While I am extremely buff at the moment, I think three hours of cardio will be needed each day to balance the amount of beer and I plan to consume. I don’t want Mrs. Stevo to return to a less-than-attractive Mr. Stevo.
7. My contract finishes (thank goodness) June 30. On July 1 I will fly to Shanghai for six days, another photography trade show (missing Mrs. Stevo’s return). Look for more photos of pretty Asian models.
Conversation of the Week:
Poo is a major source of conversation between foreign teachers in China. A former colleague referred to his leavings in terms of snakes. “Oh man, you should have seen that nest of vipers…” I present the following to you:
Teacher: I feel a diarrhea attack coming on. If that happens is it okay if I let my class go early? Stevo: No. Teacher: Really? Stevo: You can’t send your class home because of your bowels. Teacher: Why not? Stevo: How would I explain that to the parents? Teacher: Oh.
ESL Teachers and a student take part in a basketball game as part of a school charity event in Shenzhen, China.
When I worked for a newspaper I loved shooting high school sports. The weather this day didn’t agree with me. This image looked much better before the JPG conversion. And, I’m way out of practice. Michael at Expatriate Games has a great description of basketball in China (the nation is crazy for it). I recommend reading it.
The two weeks of sunshine were a tease. I spent most of the weekend inside thanks to torrential downpours. June 1 signals the start of the Pacific typhoon season. A school day canceled because of a typhoon is always welcome. Five weeks and counting…
note: February 28 is my fourth anniversary of teaching English in China. At 8:25 am GMT +8, Feb. 28, 2005, I first walked into a Chinese classroom…
I didn’t sleep very well. I was still jet-lagged. Add to that I was in a new bed, in a new apartment, in a country I knew very little about. I went through my morning routine trying to come to grips with the strange shower configuration and attempting to shave in a nine-inch-square mirror. With bad instant coffee in my belly I waited for the knock on my door. It was February 28, 2005.
This was to be my first day of work as an oral ESL teacher at private school in Shenzhen (China). There was no training or school tour, I arrived a week later than the other new teachers. I was about to be launched, successfully or otherwise, on unsuspecting Chinese students.
Primary school students in China.
I sat at my desk with a growing sense of dread. I thought about vomiting but in the end managed to hold that bodily function in check. Forty students to teach for 40 minutes? I must have been mad. I decided that introducing myself would be the best course of action. I made some quick notes in a little notebook that became my best friend over the coming months.
I was late as I searched for grade 6, class 12 on the third and fourth floors of the north wing of building two. A teacher in the hall waved me in. After introductions she asked, “Would you like me to stay in the class?”
“Oh, no,” I replied like a seasoned pro, “I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. It must have been the nervous perspiration on my brow that gave my otherwise faux-confident persona away.
“Yes.”
I took a deep breath and walked into the class. There was a podium on a raised platform and a blackboard. I set down my bag and looked at the class. Forty young, smiling Asian faces stared at me. They were silent.
“Good morning.?!” I ventured.
“Good morning, teacher,” said the class in unison.
Shiny young faces with bodies clad in identical blue and white track suits. I was in over my head. Pressing ahead, I found a piece of chalk and with a shaky hand scrawled my name on the clean blackboard.
“My name is Steve,” I told them.
“Steve!” they called back at me.
“I am from Canada,” I said.
“Canada,” they replied en masse.
I learned next that sending the Chinese-English teacher out of the room had been a bad idea. Not only could she add some semblance of order to the proceedings, she could also translate if I ran into problems. After some explanation I had the students stand one by one and say, “My name is…, I am ____ years old.”
“How old am I?” I asked them.
I received a course of replies, most eight to 10 years younger than my actual age. I felt very young for a moment. A couple of jokers added their thoughts: My age was guessed by one student at 100 and by another at 1000.
Next was the phrase, “I like…”
“What do I like?” I asked the students. They were silent and stared at me. I looked around the room. No one moved a muscle, although every eye was fixated on me.
“I like,” I said, “Basketball.” I did my best charades impression of basketball and wrote it on the board.
“What else do I like?” I tried. A hesitant hand went up.
“Computer?” hesitantly asked a female student.
“Yes,” I said enthusiastically. “Computers.” I stressed the S.
“What else do I like?”
I took a couple of minutes to get the ball rolling, but in the end I had a din of voices shouting out all the sundry activities they new in English.
“Do you know what I like?” I asked again, “I like food.”
One boy in the front row said in a loud voice, “That is because you are fat.”
I tried not to laugh. He was right, of course. Again, they called out a list of foods that they thought I liked.
To wrap things up I had them each stand again and say, “I like…,” followed by a food, activity, etc.
Then the bell, which was not a bell at all, but a little musical ditty, sounded. It was over, I had survived 40 minutes relatively unscathed.
That class became my favourite. Of the 25 homerooms I visited each week, that class was the best and most receptive. The other varied from lukewarm to downright nasty. I didn’t have many rules. I drew the line when my worst class started playing volleyball with a rolled-up raincoat.
And so began a new life and career, in a nation that has only been really opened to outsiders for 25 year. There is a learning curve, but I think I have managed to make it over the first hurdle.
