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.

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The Stevo has several young girls following him around. This wasn’t the case when he was the same age as the girls. Back then, during the early 80s, having leprosy wouldn’t have made him any less popular.

Devlishly handsome, in a shirt straight from Queer as Folk.

Now, as I (yes, I’ll switch to first person) creep towards an age that when divided by four equals 10, I am an object of infatuation.  The class of Grade 5 was mine for more than two months. They are loud boisterous students, but I managed to channel that energy into something positive.  After a colleague was asked to “leave” the school, I had to shuffle the schedule, and the class with the affectionate girls was assigned to a new teacher. He’ll find his footing and I will be forgotten (he’s tall, muscular, and kind: I can’t compete).

That doesn’t help at the moment. Each night I walk past the classroom when the girls, always early, are lining up. I, for lack of a better world, am swarmed.

“Stevo!” they call, and climb on my back. “Steve!” they call, and drag me towards their classroom, their arms around me. It’s enough to make a man blush and cringe, while being full of a certain pathetic pride. It’s uncomfortable. Having 6-year-old hug you with gusto is one thing, a 10 year-old-girl is something else. I’ve come a long way towards being “touchy” but not that far.

There are only a few days left this term. After the month long break I’m sure my moment in the sun will have passed. Until then I will have to bear the fruits of my skill and charm, augmented by Grade 5 crushes. Why couldn’t this have happened when I was in Grade 5?

I’ll leave you with The Police, live, with a song that addresses this topic perfectly.
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Yeah, I’m not suppose to be using the computer, but this was too cute not to post.

Sports Day Opening Ceremony, 2008.

The constant rain, that had me wondering how to build an ark, has passed. The sky over Shenzhen is now a bright seasonal blue and full of fluffy clouds. There is that evil ball of flame some call the sun, it’s only purpose to burn me to a crisp, to contend with. Better that than rain.

My 美国人朋友 (American friends) will be celebrating the 4th of July this weekend. My Canadian brethren celebrated Canada Day on July 1st. I have nothing to celebrate. There are no July holidays in China. National Day is October 1st.

I could celebrate the end of school. The students and teachers have scattered, blown to the four corners of the earth by a powerful wind called Summer Holidays. I could celebrate the start of a summer off. I could, if that were true.

Let’s look at The Stevo’s next few days:

Friday:
Human Resources Meeting
Summer Camp Planning Meeting

Saturday:
Business Teacher Interviews
English Teacher Interviews
Marking Business Teacher applications tests

(The interviews will involve me trying to decipher Chinese resumes, being part of the management panel and asking a question or two. I will listen to rapid-fire questions in Chinese, attempt to understand, get bored, and doodle on the HR forms.)

Sunday:
Course Consultant Interviews

All I really want to do is get a massage. Maybe Sunday evening. After a few drinks.

On the plus side: I’m buying a new camera next week, if my resident permit is complete and the government returns my passport. It’s hard to leave the country without a passport.

Question: What would the border guards do if I brought 20 Grade 1 students to vouch for my identity instead of the traditional passport?

Enjoy your national days of independence. Have a barbecue, watch fireworks and play merry. I’ll be sitting in an overly hot room on an uncomfortable chair.

This is a little tale about cooking Chinese food.

Mr. and Mrs. Stevo work at the same school, live in the same apartment, but rarely see each other. Lunch is a big deal when they eat it together. A meal eaten together, not in a school cafeteria or restaurant setting, is a rare thing.

Back in those heady newlywed days of 2006, Mr. Stevo often cooked lunch for his lovely bride. This was before Mr. Stevo realized that being a department head required certain sacrifices, cooking a delicious daily lunch for his beloved being one of them.

A few weeks back Mr. Stevo decided to cook a delightful Sunday midday meal for his beautiful, yet snarky and occasionally demanding, wife. (No that’s not insulting, simply the truth. There’s nothing wrong with snark. Some of you reading this will whole-heartedly agree.)

At the market Mr. Stevo bought two kinds of mushrooms (he still doesn’t know what kind, exactly), pork, a fish, and Chinese cabbage. While his wife slaved away, tutoring students on a Sunday morning, he sliced ginger and garlic chives, chopped pork, tore cabbage, and washed the delicate fungi. Prep work is the most important part of cooking Chinese food.

Back when he cooked regularly, Mr. Stevo attacked his lack of knowledge of Chinese cuisine as he attacks most things, with a near-religious zeal (yet, he has no zeal for religion. Strange, no?). Read the full story

Typhoon Fengshen rolled through Shenzhen yesterday. School was canceled city-wide, officials anticipating damage from the killer storm. Dorm students were confined to their quarters, many not pleased. Six to a room and a raging typhoon do not happy campers make.

Typhoon Fengshen, named by China and meaning God of Wind, left a swath of destruction across Asia. In the Philippines 598 people were reported dead and 700 missing from the torrential rain, flooding, winds and associated mudslides.

The typhoon made landfall in Shenzhen, China at approximately 2 pm (GMT +8) June 25, while this reporter had an afternoon nap. While his colleagues indulged in a decadent, no-school-today feast, The Stevo diligently answered email and continued with HR work. Being the Laoban often sucks.

It’s not easy to photograph rain. The above image is not my best work. In my defense, the image was snapped during a brief respite from email correspondence.

What is a Typhoon? See my informative piece on Associated Content.