An injection a day keep the diplomats away

SUZELLE FOURIE se laaste aflewering van haar ervarings as onderwyseres in landelike China. Dit bestaan uit uittreksels uit briewe aan familie en vriende in Suid-Afrika.

21 October 2004: All very quiet up here on the north-western front. I'm living a fairly indolent existence with
only seven junior school classes per week and one hour of
tuition for the senior English teachers on Monday mornings. I'm still waiting to be given a new schedule with more classes. Something tells me they don't really know what to do with me and they'd rather not put the wind up that troublesome woman from South Africa again. So I'm pretty much being ignored at present, which leaves me with plenty of free time to read, write e-mails and contemplate my navel.

China celebrated her National Day on 1 October and our school had a three day holiday, along with the rest of the population. The girls and I took the bus to Urumqi, where we met up with two young friends, Tom from Scotland and Tom from England. Like Lauren and Rachel, they're volunteers doing their gap year teaching English in Xinjiang. With them was one of their students whose uncle is the "head leader" of Xinjiang. Adejian speaks excellent English, his father is Kazakh and his mother is Uyghur. He has a serious heart condition.

Ek en die vier jong Britte in Turpan.

We hired a minibus to take us to Turpan, the famous Uyghur city in the basin between the northern and southern ranges of the Tianshan Mountains. Next to the Dead Sea, Turpan is the lowest place on earth and in summer it's definitely the hottest. This time of year the weather is very pleasant there and the city itself turned out to be far bigger and more developed than expected. We intended staying at a hotel in the city, but young Adejian took matters in his own hands when it turned out that Turpan hotels are rather expensive. He suggested that we stay at one of his various uncles’ homes in a small village just north of Turpan.

We were welcomed there with traditional Uyghur hospitality, served very good local food and generally had an excellent time. The village itself is a study in brown and green, with adobe type homes, mud walls, dirt roads lined with huge poplar trees and green vineyards as far as the eye can see. They produce enormous amounts of grapes in this part of Xinjiang, unfortunately they have yet to master the art of wine-making.

There was a hiccup when we hired two taxis to take us sight-seeing in the area. We wanted to see the Thousand Buddha caves and the remains of the ancient Uyghur capital and had been travelling for about an hour when our taxis were brought to a halt at a police roadblock. It turned out that neither of the drivers had a licence. Happily the policemen were all extremely friendly and rather amused at our predicament. They offered to take us back by police car, an offer we gladly accepted. You can imagine the commotion in the little village at the sight of five foreigners being delivered to the door of our host by the police!

'n Uyghur-straatverkoper in bevrore Qitai.

Meanwhile, winter is upon us. The locals laugh and say no, this is still autumn, but the Tianshan Mountains to the south are covered in a heavy blanket of snow and I'm getting used to wearing four layers of clothing when I leave my apartment. Inside the central heating system works wonderfully well, but outside the air is very cold. The trees are shedding their leaves and in the streets you see old men using long whips to strip the branches. The dead leaves are carefully gathered and carted away in bags to be used as food for the donkeys and cows during winter. Here nothing is wasted.

14 November 2004: Dit het nou al twee keer liggies gesneeu. Die eerste oggend toe ek sulke wit vlokkies voor my venster verby sien dwarrel en daar buite lê alles onder 'n spierwit kombers, was ek opgewonde soos 'n skoolkind. My eerste regte sneeu! En dit op die eerste dag wat ek die bus moes haal, straat-op na die No. 2 Middle School waar ek deesdae ses klasse per week het. Gepantser met twee lae onderklere, warm baadjie en serp om die nek sit ek af na die bushalte.

Die wêreld is nat en glad; waar die sneeu gesmelt het, lê 'n lagie ys op die sypaadjie en 'n mens moet jou trap ken. In die bus is dit stoomwarm, daar's genoeg asems om 'n gletser te laat smelt. By die skool het my nuwe leerders met groot gretigheid op die "foreign teacher" gewag. Kon hul ore nie glo toe ek hulle vertel dis my eerste sneeu-ervaring nie. Lag hulle morsdood. Die stomme Suid-Afrikaner, wag tot sy sien hoe lyk dit in Januarie.

Dis al erg koud hier in die verre noordweste van China. Bedags luier die temperatuur meestal rondom vriespunt, maar snags daal dit ver benede. Die koue is egter net buite. In my woonstel en in die klaskamers is dit soms byna té warm. Ek is heeldag aan die aan- en uittrek, vreeslike beslommernis. Dis die sentrale verhitting wat so goed werk. Van my balkon af kyk ek uit op ’n berg steenkool hier langs die skoolterrein. Dit word gebruik om die water vir die verwarmers te verhit. Praat van lugbesoedeling! Swart roet net waar jy vat: ’n mooi kontras met die spierwit sneeu.

Ek het nou 'n interessante skedule. Benewens my klasse by No. 2 Middle School, waarna hulle hier as die "branch school" verwys, het ek steeds my juniorskool-klasse en nou ook drie groepe onderwysers wat aanmeld vir spesiale Engelse onderrig. Dis onse Miss Lin se blink idee, dié "teacher training" sessies. Sover lyk dit of die onnies dit geniet. Die klasse is eerder oefeninge in lewensvaardighede, maar ek dink hulle geniet dit om van iets meer serebraal as eetgewoontes en sport te hoor. Die probleem is, hulle wil net na my sit en luister en maak nie graag self 'n mond oop nie. Te bang hulle maak 'n fout. Vreeslik gesteld op hul selfbeeld, die Chinese.

Ek vermoed ek begin 'n vreemde soort affiniteit vir hierdie lelike dorp en sy mense te ontwikkel. Teen dié tyd weet hulle omtrent almal wie ek is en ek word nie meer so erg aangestaar wanneer ek dit op straat waag nie. Ek kry breë glimlagte en hoor hoe hulle giggel oor die dom laowai wat kom geld uitgee. Die knibbelkuns moet ek kennelik nog bemeester.

Dis Sondag en baie stil hier op die skoolterrein. Ek moet die tweeling (Suzelle se seuns - Red.) vandag probeer bel. Hulle verjaar.

'n Winterdag by Qitai No. 1 Middle School.

30 November 2004: You may have been wondering why that voice up there in the wilderness has been so quiet lately and has that silly woman gone into hibernation. Not yet. Been thinking about it, though. About two weeks ago the noon temperature registered -7º C and making like a bear began to look like a pretty sensible thing to do. The fact is, I've not been my robust self. I suppose it was inevitable that I should get the flu, not being used to the foreign strains up here. I was rather sick for a week or two and spent all last weekend in bed. Of course, getting the flu in Qitai is a whole story in itself.

First of all I had to go to the hospital for an examination. There were two female doctors in the "consulting room", but the door stayed open and whoever wanted to walk in while the doctor was listening to my lungs, was welcome to do so. She sent me off to get a blood test and an X-ray. This was done very quickly and efficiently. There appears to be an oversupply of medical facilities in China. Qitai is not a big town and they've got about five hospitals here. These hospitals never look very busy and one hardly ever sees a line of people waiting for anything. Anyway, the doctor explained something about a "respiratory infection" to the teacher who accompanied me and prescribed a series of injections. Since we have our own doctor at the school clinic, I opted to have the injections here.

For some curious reason the Chinese don't believe in the efficacy of a normal injection. Nope, all medication not in tablet form has to be administered intravenously. So there I was, lying on the little bed in the "drip room" of the school clinic, getting the first of six doses of anti-biotics and goodness knows what else. Not much to do while I'm waiting for the contents of two bottles to drip into my veins. My two guardian angels, Miss Wang and Miss Li, arrive to keep me company. The school doctor is a capable and friendly woman with a nice smile and a sense of humour. She checks the needle in my arm and says something to Miss Wang, who chuckles heartily. "The doctor is worried there will be an international diplomatic incident if she doesn't take good care of you!"

Ice sculptures in Urumqi.

New patients, young and old and somewhere in between, arrive for their drips. We sit or lie wherever there is room. I avail myself of the opportunity to catch up on some lost sleep when the wife of one of the senior English teachers arrives for her medication. Apparantly she's quite ill, but it's not flu. She doesn't speak English. She spots me, walks over and unceremoniously lifts my trouser leg to see what I'm wearing underneath. I don't understand her Chinese, but I gather she's not satisfied that I'm wearing enough warm underwear. She lifts her own trouser leg so that I can see how many layers she's got on herself. More people turn up, some are just friends checking on the dripping patients. I become aware that my boots are under discussion. From the corner of my eye I watch two women picking them up, turning them over, checking the label and the fleece-lining inside. They're probably discussing the price and wondering whether I got a good bargain.

Over the next few days delegations of the various English departments at our school come visiting at my apartment. They're all worried about the foreign teacher. They come bearing gifts: huge bagfuls of apples and the sweetest pears, a box of UHT milk, a surgical mask to wear over my face to protect me against the cold air and the germs (many women here wear them when they go out) and, best of all, the thickest, warmest pair of long woollen underpants. Men's underpants, I might add. "Because you are tall," says Miss Wang. "We were worried that the ones for women would not fit you."

Ah, these Chinese . . .

4 Desember 2004: Dis vroegaand en ek is die enigste siel in die gebou. Die twee Britse meisiekinders is
vroeër die week weg om vir hul landgenote in Hutubi, 'n dorp anderkant Urumqi, te gaan kuier. Hulle sou al terug gewees het, maar met 'n laag ys op die pad neem die lang rit per bus tweekeer so lank as gewoonlik.

Buite hang die winterlug in 'n wit wasem oor die verlate skoolterrein. Elke nou en dan trek daar 'n siddering deur die handvol blare aan die kaal takke van die bome voor my venster. Die wind gee 'n nuwe dimensie aan die koue en ek skat dis benede tien grade onder vriespunt buite. Ek leer deesdae hoe om op ys te loop. Dis bedrieglik en gevaarlik. So 'n wydsbeen waggelstappie, nes 'n eend, werk die beste. Ek wonder hoeveel tyd ek per dag bestee aan die aan- en uittrek van lae klere. Binne in elke gebou is dit te warm om 'n jas en serp aan te hou, daarsonder kan 'n mens dit nie buite waag nie.

Vir die eerste keer sedert ek in Qitai aangekom het, mis ek een oggend drie klasse. Ek was veronderstel om by die No.2 Middle School te wees, maar weens die ys op die strate, daag daar geen rooi bus op nie. Ná byna 'n uur se vergeefse gewag by die bushalte gaan ek terug na my woonstel met voete soos blokke ys ten spyte van die warm voering in my stewels. Miss Lin klink nie baie gelukkig met my nie.

Om in hierdie soort weer by 'n winkel uit te kom, verg heelwat inspanning en 'n mens leer met hoe min jy eintlik kan klaarkom. Dis te koud om te gaan stap en oefening te kry en ek vind boonop ek raak gou moeg. Dalk het die ysige, droë lug iets daarmee te doen. Ek dink 'n mens se longe werk harder as gewoonlik. Goeie verskoning om rustig te wees en net te sit en lees. Geniet op die oomblik 'n wonderlike boek van die bekende BBC joernalis, John Simpson.

Lauren, Suzelle en Rachel vier die koms van die nuwe jaar.

20 December 2004: It's been snowing steadily since yesterday afternoon and I needn't tell you that it's
pretty cold up here. We've been having a rather busy time, what with classes and Christmas concerts, well… sort of, at our school and a big Christmas and New Year banquet for all the "foreign experts" working in Urumqi and Changji county, which includes Qitai, on Saturday evening. Miss Lin, the two British girls and I left for Urumqi on Saturday morning, a trip that took us the better part of four hours due to the treacherous conditions on the road. The driver of our school car didn't dare do any better than 60 km per hour for fear of skidding off the icy surface. It was quite a weird experience, driving through that monochromatic landscape, everything swathed in a ghostly breath of white mist.

The banquet was held in a rather posh hotel and a number of interesting looking people attended, the foreigners living out here in Xinjiang being mostly of the eccentric variety. I met another South African there, a young black teacher from Cape Town. He's been in Urumqi for only two months and appeared overjoyed at the sight of another African, even a white one. The dinner was a typically Chinese affair, with long, politically correct speeches and a fairly entertaining programme of music and traditional dances. The food was good, however, and we really tucked into the excellent spicy beef stew, roasted goose and Peking duck. Heavenly fare compared to our school canteen meals. Afterwards I joined the girls and their extensive circle of young male friends and admirers in a visit to a popular bar frequented by expatriates. We had a jolly good time, making new acquiantances amongst fellows from the USA, France, Canada, Holland, Singapore and goodness knows where else.


Meanwhile I'm learning to how to live in these rather extreme winter conditions. Walking on ice-covered sidewalks can be a tricky business and a shuffling duck-like waddle appears to be the safest approach. Shopping poses new challenges, too. Unless you are familiar with a particular shop, it's almost impossible to know what they're selling inside. All the shop entrances are now covered with quilted drapes, made from heavy khaki-coloured material, and you practically have to fight your way through them to get inside, where you are met with a blast of heat that leaves you gasping for air.

After every snowfall it's quite fascinating to see shopowners, restaurant workers, traffic police and hundreds of students out in the streets, shovelling and sweeping the snow. Everybody pitches in to keep the streets negotiable and the traffic moving, albeit mostly as slow as treacle.

Op my afskeidspaartie.

The days are very short now and it's still pitch dark outside in the mornings when one hears the swish-swish of the big straw brooms the students use to sweep the school-yard. My heart goes out to them, but the rest of me stays firmly ensconced in the warmth and comfort of my apartment. The girls and I spend most evenings together, watching a video over a bottle of red wine. After much practical research and experimenting I’ve discovered a drinkable Xinjiang wine at 45 yuan a bottle. This is quite expensive, but the alternatives do not bear considering.

En só dan ten slotte: Met tandekners, soms letterlik, soms figuurlik, het ek die res van my tyd in Qitai oorleef. Uiteraard is daar té veel om sommerso te vertel, té veel herinneringe wat onverwags aan die deur klop terwyl ek deur die verlede blaai. Daar was China se jaarlikse Maanfees, toe ons almal, ná ’n volgehoue gefuif om die bankettafel, volgens tradisie in die vrieskoue nag buite na die volmaan moes gaan staan en staar. My besoek aan die tandarts, waar hulle nog nooit van verdowing gehoor het nie. . .

In China het ek baie geleer: van die land, van sy mense, van myself. Die Chinese het ek leer ken as materialisties, eintlik keiharde kapitaliste, bra rassisties en bitter moeilik om te peil. Maar ook as sosiale wesens wat graag saamkuier, opreg oor mekaar se welsyn waak, mense met warm harte wat my met geduld verdra, ondersteun en bowenal met hul vriendskap vereer het.

Wanneer ek terugdink aan my tyd in Qitai, is dit ’n boodskap uit die Joodse Kabbala wat by my opkom: moet nie volmaaktheid in hierdie lewe verwag nie, dit is die reis wat belangrik is en die integriteit waarmee jy daardie reis aanpak. Uiteindelik het ek huis toe gekom. Hier, het ek geweet, het baie uitdagings op my gewag. Uitdagings van ’n ander aard as dié in China, maar toe die vliegtuig in Johannesburg land en ek opgewonde Afrikaanse stemme om my hoor, het my hart gesing.