Foundinchina.com

OK, let’s try and move away from the moral bankruptcy of politics and propaganda for a moment. Instead, let me walk you through this teacher’s typical Wednesday on campus at Jimei University. I refer to myself as ‘teacher’ rather than the more grandiose ‘foreign expert’, as I don’t wish to tempt fate with the impending renewal of my credentials and suffer the same fate as other non-Chinese in recent weeks.

You see, despite every justification to remain here as residents during the summer, many have been caught up in China’s pre-Olympic paranoia, which has seen a purge of so-called ‘foreign undesirables’. It seems that anything less than sworn allegiance to the party and willingness to undergo a program of re-education is enough to get you kicked out of the country. So I wait with baited breath for the return of my passport and residency permit next week.

See what happens when I try to be apolitical? The state apparatus interferes and throws me off track, leading me into the labyrinth of Chinese bureaucracy. Back to my day on campus;

The early morning humidity in June often translates to thunderstorms by mid-afternoon. In between the discomfort of the former and the pleasure of the latter (I like thunderstorms) comes the rigours of teaching Business English to juniors majoring in Chinese. This involves a short walk in the oppressive atmosphere that requires alertness if one is to avoid being run down by one of the increasing number of cars on campus, the drivers of which act with supreme indifference towards pedestrians and bikes alike. The acquisition of a car in China may or may not come with a tow package; but it always infects the owner with an emperor syndrome, characterized by delusions of status and the nasty habit of looking down upon those with less than four wheels to get them from A to B.  

Having dodged and snarled at ignorant motorists for ten minutes, I enter the relative safety of the Chinese Language and Literature Building, where my walk concludes with a climb up five flights of stairs. There is a lift (‘elevator’ for the BrE impaired), but I’m not a big fan, especially when 500 students are fighting for a place that will save them the effort of making a manual ascent. The ‘maximum persons’ warning emblazoned on the wall is treated both as an invitation to disprove the laws of physics and an opportunity to break a world record. My position is that it’s more fun to watch than to participate in.

I have a theory that, if proved correct, could halve this collective display of indolence. It’s this: throw a basketball into the crowd of staircase phobics and watch as congestion is instantly reduced by 50%. This theory is based on the male population’s tireless and endearing enthusiasm for a game of basketball at any hour of night or day. Better still, employ a runner to drag a basketball attached to his waist by string up the five flights. Whether or not this tactic would alter the soporific effect of the heat on my students is debatable, and they do not seem to require stifling humidity to sleep through a lesson. In this regard they are wonderfully adaptable.

This morning’s textbook unit was about staff appraisal, a topic that had no noticeable impact on the wakefulness of my students. Their enthusiasm was briefly rekindled by a personal anecdote, and then waned again when I told them to begin the reading exercise. As I wandered around helping the occasional keen learner with vocabulary, I counted the number of sleepers in the room. It was just as I thought - a new personal best! Of 36 students that turned up, 15 were in a state of advanced slumber; of the remaining 21, five were reading literature not connected with the course, three were text messaging, two were doodling, and one was sewing.

Back in the day, my old geography teacher Mr O’Brien would have given these students a rude awakening with a well aimed board rubber or piece of chalk. Actually, his aim wasn’t that good. The most dangerous place was to be sitting next to the student who wasn’t paying attention. Those were the days! O’Brien would have gone down a storm in China, where the hirsute are often an object of fascination; he had more hair on his fingers than most men have on their chests. I digress.

After an hour and a half the lesson winds down, eventually ended by the sound of the bell that signifies the beginning of the lunch break. Personally, I can’t distinguish between the mid-lesson bell and the lunch bell, but the Pavlovian sensitivities of Chinese students’ brain cells are fine tuned to this important temporal marker. Thus, 15 students that slept through 90 minutes of class were half way to the canteen before the bell stopped ringing. It’s hard not to be a little bit impressed.

The second half of my day was pretty uneventful, and the storm never arrived.