After many months of being ‘the only one of my kind,’ (wasn’t there a film with this line in it?), I was delighted to hop on and off a train and walk straight into a world (well, neighbourhood, forgive the artistic license) full of people who looked just like me.
It was refreshing, bewildering and exciting all at the same time.
Welcome to Africa Town in the heart of Guangzhou, South China’s largest city.
Click on this link for the full article
The first tap on my shoulder was unexpected.
I’d been getting my boogie on in the middle of the dance floor and not paying much attention to the people around me. I assumed that I was in someone’s way so I bounced over to the left.
However the tapping continued. I turned and followed the finger to the wrist, spotting what looked like a very expensive silver Rolex, carried my gaze up along a shoulder and eventually landed on the face of a smiling Chinese man who was dancing in circles around me, happily and totally off-beat. Well, to each his own.
In stunted English he offered me and my Chinese friend hospitality at his private table which was laden with drinks and fruit. I initially declined, the live band were great and I didn’t want to lose my momentum but he insisted, this time in Chinese, that having our company would be his pleasure.
Mr. Gu was spending the eveing with two Chinese friends, a female and a drunk, irritating male. I guessed the men were in their early forties and the lady in her mid to late twenties. She was the only one of the three who spoke English well.
He told us that he’d been drawn to me because he worked for most of the year in Africa, in fact it had made him rich and after spending so much time there he’d developed a strong affinity with African women. Not really romantic, more like endearing friendship.
I had to disappoint him by telling him that I’d never been to Africa and that I was born in England, but he took it well.
We never did make it back onto the dance floor that evening as Mr. Gu wouldn’t take no for an answer. It soon became clear that the word ‘no,’ along with the phrase ‘my friend and I want to go home now’ was not in his vocabulary.
After chatting for a while using my friend and his female friend as interpreters and trying to ignore the obnoxious drunk friend, we ended up going to dinner at 3am. (chauffeur driven, I might add). In this part of China, late dining is not unusual.
Unlike most Chinese people, Mr. Gu didn’t bat an eyelid when I refused all of the five meat dishes he ordered, sticking instead to rice and vegetables.
When a young lady with a sweet voice and guitar came to serenade our table in exchange for a few RMB, Mr Gu initially waved her away but on noticing that I wanted to request my favourite Chinese song, he immediately called her back. She said she didn’t know it, but he gave her 50RMB anyway.
Later, Mr. Gu took us to his apartment in the grounds of a prestigious golf course to show us the night-time view across the city.
He told us of his love and respect for Kenya, the people, the landscape and the government, as well as how much he enjoyed working there. He also spoke of his love for his new fiance, his hopes that they would have a healthy son soon after marriage and how he’d been happy to give her mother one million RMB on their engagement.
All the while, the young lady complained in our ear about how the drunk guy was only using her and wouldn’t pay for her to study in America. But to be honest if she was looking for sympathy she was wasting her time. Where Mr. Gu was charming and considerate his companions were boorish and self absorbed.
Over the last four years I’ve heard many negative stories and ideas about black people in China.
Oddly these are most common on the internet forums which are frequented by white expats.
The fact that Mr Gu wanted to spend time with me, (even though he couldn’t speak English) just because he thought I was directly from Africa and gave us such a wonderful, unique evening, is something which these narrow-minded expats could never fathom, so I wouldn’t even bother to tell them.
Nostalgia can be caused by the strangest things.
For example, in many of my recently taken photos there’s a lot of images of soup. Looking at the thick, juicy liquid had me all retrospective within minutes.
As mentioned on my Home page, I was born in England to Jamaican parents and, in every Jamaican household, Saturday without Saturday Soup just wouldn’t be right.
This homemade deliciousness is a cut above your average tinned soup. It’s hearty, warming and extremely filling with each cook/family adding their own unique touch.
The dish is made with meat and or vegetable stock, Jamaican root vegetables such as yam and sweet potato, plaintain, carrots, onions and large chunks of mutton. Personal tastes are catered for by adding soft, tiny dumplings along with pepper for those who like it hot.
Saturday Soup was a great way to finish off left-overs from weekday meals leaving the fridge and kitchen cupboards, plus pots on the stove, clean and clear ready for Sunday’s more formal, big family sit down meal.
Here in China soup is not just for Saturdays.
Indulge any day of the week, with friends or alone.
Choose from meat, seafood, noodles or vegetables, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, just throw in all of the above, grab a spoon and some chopsticks and enjoy.
Yesterday afternoon, I paused for a moment from a day of following my passion. A day filled with glorious, creative writing. Nothing else to do. No-where else to be.
I realised that nothing was switched on in my small apartment except the fridge, which is brand new, totally eco friendly according to the label and so makes no sound at all.
Everything else was off. Air conditioner. Heater. Lights. TV. Music. The only other piece of electronic equipment which was running was my laptop and, again, it makes no sound.
Still I’d been disturbed by something as I’d stopped typing to take a well deserved break. I just had to figure out what it was.
I turned my head in different directions and listened carefully. Stilled my own breathing to make doubly sure and yep, there it was. My every move, thought and carefully typed word was accompanied by the sound of three different types of drilling coming from three different directions and, it had been like this all day.
Sadly, this is not unique to my current living situation. When I first came to China and lived in Xu Zhou the local goverment were re-building part of a shopping centre, which was located within my residential community. The workmen drilled from 6:30am until 2:00am, under whose orders I’ll never know, but I’m pretty sure it’s someone who didn’t live nearby.
Since moving south to Shenzhen, the building works are just as much in effect and nearly everywhere I go has the backdrop of what I call the Bang Bang orchestra
In China it seems that building means progress and there are talks of whole, longstanding neighbourhoods being demolished to make way for more shiny malls. But what about the old, historic areas seeped in culture, tradition and value that could be razed to the ground in the name of moving forward? With such actions, in thirty years time, will there be any significant difference between China and the west in terms of aesthetics?
If you appreciate the glory of beautiful old Chinese buildings and want to feel five thousand years of history beneath your feet as you tread where Dynasty leaders once trod, perhaps you should come to China now before it all disappears.
Just remember to bring ear plugs so you can get a good night’s sleep in the midst of all the drilling.
As well as walking along the street, sitting in a restaurant or cafe, riding the bus or trying to cross any of Shenzhen’s massive roads without being killed by the crazy and relentless traffic; the underground transport system, or subway, is a very common place for me to make new Chinese friends.
On one occassion a group of about six people, men and women, spotted me from the other side of the carriage and approached me swiftly. They were dressed in business attire, and kind of smiling, but there were so many of them it was still a little scary.
What did they want with me? Had I done something wrong? Were they from the government? Had they been following me? Would I ever see my friends and family in England again? And what exactly did they have in their briefcases?
Just some of the thoughts that rushed through my mind as they advanced.
They stood in a semi-circle around me and the biggest guy opened with, ‘hello, you have a nice smell.’ Which made me want to sniff myself until I realised that he meant ‘smile.’
From then on everything was okay. After asking me the usual questions about where I was from and what I was doing in China, they revealed that they were from a university organisation and wondered if I’d give a speech there sometime in the future, giving me their business card before they departed.
The encounter following that a few days later was also pleasant but even more strange, albeit, in a good way again, thankfully.
I was standing on the platform thinking about nothing in particular when a young Chinese man (maybe in his late 20’s?) dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, came up to me.
His shy smile was quite sweet. Appreciating his bravery in approaching me, I smiled back.
‘Hello, can I talk to you, maybe practice my English a little?’ He asked.
‘Sure, no problem.’ People asking to practice their English with foreigners is a regular occurence in China.
But as soon as I agreed, the poor young man didn’t know what to say! Maybe he’d been expecting me to dismiss his request so he hadn’t actually prepared anything else.
He put his hands in his pockets, kept a vague smile on his face, shoulders hunched while a red flush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks as he stared at the ceiling. It was like all the words left his head and he’d become mute.
To save his embarrassment I asked him a few questions about where he lived and worked and how old he was. Turns out he was on his way to a job interview with an American company. So, I wished him luck and told him that I thought his English was pretty good.
The third major instance of being befriended by someone on the subway started off well, but turned out to be a little less positive.
I don’t want to re-live it right now but you can read about it on Jocelyn Eikenburg’s fab blog about interracial relationships; Speaking of China.
Guest Post: Larry – a Short Tale of Ignorance or Cross-Cultural Misunderstanding
Oh the joys and the delights of surrendering yourself to pure pampering bliss at any time of day, 24 hours around the clock. The sheer heaven of easing tired muscles whilst sipping on fresh, hot tea and enjoying a spectacular foot rub.
All of this within the hushed, carpeted walls of a luxurious setting that will make you feel so at ease you might just forget about going home.
In China, along with several other Asian countries, this is possible and perhaps best of all, it won’t cripple your wallet.
Spending time at a 24 hour spa is an everyday activity in China, but for most westerners it’s pretty special. Click on the link to find out more;
My friend broke his foot recently.
He left for holiday perfectly upright, but when he returned a month later he was clearly leaning to the side.
‘What happened?’ I asked, but for some reason his normal loquacity vanished and he mumbled something about ‘kicking.’
Ooo, juicy! Kicking what?
I pressed him but he refused to tell. I did, however, get the impression that the kicking was aimed at a person and not an object although I’m not sure who came off worst.
For a couple of weeks he soldiered on, refusing treatment and muttering something about possible acupuncture (for a broken bone?)
But even tough guys suffer and when the pain had given him yet another sleepless night and more or less reduced him to weeping (in private, of course), he finally hobbled, limped and hopped his way into hospital where he acquired a pair of crutches, a supply of pain killers and a half leg cast, along with instructions to stay off his feet for several weeks, which he’s planning to ignore.
I have to admit that part of me expected the doctors to wave him away with the Chinese panacea, the cure for all of life’s ills, ailments and depressions; Hot Water.
I was first offered a cup of hot water in China on a sweltering summer’s day and thought that either my host had made a mistake or she was trying to kill me.
I soon learnt that drinking warm or hot water carries the swing in the east, where they consider cold water, especially at the body-shocking, freezing temperatures we like to drink it in the UK, to be anathema to the body.
Took me a while, but now drinking warm or hot water is no different to drinking bottled water at room temperature, even in summer.
Most amusing is how hot water seems to be offered for every problem.
Got a headache / stomachache / toothache / muscle pain? Drink hot water.
Sprained your wrist or ankle? Banged your head? Drink hot water.
Failed your exam and made your parents mad? Drink hot water.
Fallen over in public and almost died of embarrassment? Drink hot water.
Crashed your car? Drink hot water.
Lost your job? Drink hot water.
Your girlfriend or boyfriend been unfaithful? Drink hot water.
Missed your flight and can’t go on holiday? Drink hot water.
Okay, maybe I’m, exaggerating, but you get my point and if you ever come to China, or if you’re here already, count how times and for how many reasons your Chinese friends and colleagues urge you to drink warm water.
Time now to bring my broken-footed friend his lunchtime cup of warm water. Thankfully he seems to have given up that kicking habit.
It was a Friday evening and I was looking forward to winding down.
I planned to eat a light meal at my favourite tofu restaurant, followed by a short chillax period. After which I’d slip into my party clothes, complete with high heels (natch) and boogie away a few hours at my local club with professional music from the resident Canadian band.
However, all of my best laid plans were turned on their head as I walked through my neighbourhood.
Spoiler alert; you might find the next few lines hard to believe but I’m not kidding, not even a little bit.
Feeling happy and looking forward to a night where I’d invent dance moves just for the joy of watching my new Chinese girlfriends trying to imitate them, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of a man walking, not exactly towards me, more like in my direction, slightly head-on but veering to my left.
He wore a white t-shirt and had his hands in his pocket. Oddly he had what looked like a large sling across his chest and around his back and tied at the back of his neck. Even more oddly was the nonchalant way he carried himself considering that at the bottom of the sling near his hip, a baby crocodile head poked out with the shape of its long body clearly outlined by the cotton sling.
Now, remember, I’m not joking. (Why would I make this up?!)
Like a tennis ball on permanent bounce my eyes flicked between the man’s face and the crocodile head (which was alive, by the way) several times.
Was the baby croc sedated or were they just extremely good friends? Was it his pet or was he planning to have it for dinner? Who knew?
I’ve seen some strange things over the last few years in China, but this one definitely ranks in my top five.
It was the start of summer and I had a new group of eager, cheerful students aged between 17 and 19 years old.
I opened the class with a simple warm-up exercise.
‘Which Three Guests Would You Invite to a Dinner Party and Why?’
I’d done this many times before both in China and in England. It was fun but also required some thought and mental processing. The rules were simple and straight forward; no family members, girlfriends or boyfriends. Apart from that the guests could be dead or alive, from any country and from any time in history.
These new learners seemed to be an intelligent group with a fairly good level of English so I was looking forward to an interesting discussion.
After about ten minutes to prepare, they were ready to respond.
‘I’d invite Michael Jackson or any black man,’ volunteered one young man leaving me confused and intrigued at the same time.
‘Why?’ I prompted.
‘Because I want to learn how to sing and dance and all black men can sing and dance.’
I sighed inwardly. Kept my facial expression neutral, bordering on pleasant. Dampened down the rage that wanted to explode at such ignorant, blatant, negative stereotyping.
My new student didn’t know any better and it really wasn’t his fault.
In his nineteen years, apart from President Obama, the only black men he’d seen in the media had been singing, dancing, shooting guns, rapping and playing basketball.
So what else could he believe?
Where are the images of black men as scientists, world leaders, writers, explorers and inventors? They exist but are hard to find. There are many black, male Presidents across African countries but they only seem to be on TV when there is news of corruption, fighting or unrest. Apart from that they’re practically invisible outside of their own continent.
Michael Jordan. Basketball Star, Businessman, Husband, Father. (www.history.com)
Instead and, according to someone’s agenda, the world is fed a daily diet of images of black men as entertainers, poor, prison inmates, dying and other negative standards.
Consequently the real picture of black men is distorted and un-balanced in favour or the above mentioned themes, whilst rarely showing black men in the normal roles of family man, businessmen, providers, graduates and loving family members.
Our lesson that day was only 45 minutes, no-where near long enough for me to begin to explain what was wrong with his premise and to point him in the right direction in any meaningful way. I would have had to do this at the expense of the other 12 students waiting to speak.
So, I vowed to re-visit this annoying stereotype soon, unsure of how much difference I could make against his lifetime of conditioning but extremely determined to try.
I also recently had an interesting discussion with another group of slightly younger Chinese students about their ideas on western and Chinese beauty where, once again, black stereotypes came into play.
You can click on the link below to read about that.
https://bellatory.com/skin/Beauty-In-China-Common-Concepts-of-Attractiveness
1000 Days In China 