Topical right now is the Chinese presence in Africa. Media in all its many forms has covered the emergence and ever growing incidence of China’s business interest in the continent and how its insatiable economy lusts after and goes about acquiring African oil, minerals and other raw materials. “Beijing’s safari” is not limited to extractive industry; the Chinese are to be found in all sectors of African economies, societies and locales.
In a relatively short amount of time, they’ve become part of the African landscape. The reviews on their African engagement are in; and the initial euphoria that greeted their arrival has worn off.
There are those who maintain that Sino-African engagement in is win-win. That they bring much needed foreign direct investment; that their cheaply produced goods have allowed the less well off amongst us access to products previously out of reach and that Chinese firms bring with them technologies Africans can afford. On the flip-side; China’s detractors point out that China’s State Owned Enterprises compete on a playing field that is less than level.
That they are backed financially by “Beijing Incorporated” and bring in cheap Chinese labour for their projects, depriving locals of jobs. That their cheaply produced goods ‘fong-kong’ products have irreversibly damaged, if not destroyed local industries. Further, that their labour practices, and more, their presence within African communities has been characterized by cruelty, disregard and disrespect.
My intent here is not to take a side or to put forward my particular point of view on this. Instead, I thought I’d bring another facet into view. What it’s been like for a black African woman, living with and in-amongst the Chinese.
I moved to Shanghai, China’s largest city, three and a half years ago. The purpose behind this move was manifold; I was in desperate need of change; I needed to put some va-voom back into a flagging career; refocus my efforts, thinking and channel my energies into something that was going to produce positive results. I discussed and debated various scenarios with family; and finally decided to go in the direction that the sun rises. I would go east to China.
Many months after the initial decision was made, I finally embarked upon a flight outward bound and arrived in Shanghai in August of 2008; and registered at East China Normal University to study Putonghua (standardized Mandarin) for a year, courtesy of a scholarship from the China Scholarship Council. Looking back at my original introduction to China and the Chinese on their terms and their soil; I would characterize my response to China as complete and utter culture-shock.
My impressions of the Chinese prior to that time were of a people with exquisite manners; garnered from a fairly limited interaction with Chinese diplomats. In my mind Shanghai, which I understood to be a fast, modern and booming metropolis; would still possess an old world Eastern charm, with as many beautiful oriental pagodas as there’d be skyscrapers. This level of romanticism was fuelled by too many hours spent watching Western interpretations of what the East should be.
So in my first few weeks, my encounters with many a weird and wonderful thing were infinite and often alarming. With the help of other foreign students who have flocked to China in their droves, I was able to find the closest supermarket within due course. An international and fairly famous French supermarket chain, catering to all and sundry, though its mainstay clientele were clearly Chinese.
I’d never before thought of the supermarket as a dangerous place. This girl from small town Gabs navigated the throngs of Chinese on the streets and on the bus with trepidation, but was jubilant when I arrived at my destination intact. With my two words of Chinese; I’d managed to change money the day before, and learnt, as I always must (the hard way) that in China, the working language is Chinese. I entered the supermarket with a certain measure of confidence; I’d passed the milk and cheese section; I’d moved on to frozen foods and was able to choose certain items from the pictures on the packets ÔÇô having no clue what the characters on cartons meant.. I then meandered into a section I didn’t understand…I wondered to myself why anyone would sell live pets in a grocery store… there were live baby turtles swimming in large tanks for sale. I turned around thinking “when in Rome” only to jump back three feet against the turtle tank, when a couple of decidedly vigorous sea snakes managed to rear the top of their sinuous forms out of their containment tanks.
As in all Shanghai, the supermarket was bustling, busy, full to the brim. So my great leap caused some consternation and here and there a jostled customer turned around angrily. This quickly turned to great mirth as the Chinese laughed themselves silly because the black girl was afraid of fish. To this day, the fishmonger at that particular market gets his weekly chuckle at my expense by offering me fresh fish heads. I nod no; and pass as far away from the sea snakes as possible.
The challenges of navigating China without speaking Chinese are many and my first six months were not easy. The simplest aspect of my life was getting from the dorm to my Chinese classes, once I’d been shown the way. Other mundane and daily chores were complicated by my inability to effectively communicate.
In Chinese canteens and restaurants; my inability to read a menu turned out to be a great adventure in that you’d simply point at the picture of the prettiest dish and point. I got to try a lot of foods that I’d never have tried and love much Chinese cuisine; conversely this deficit also landed me in hospital when said unknown fare contained allergy inducing ingredients. This debacle escalated to the level of melodrama as the Chinese staff in the dorm realized that I was having an anaphylactic reaction – face and neck so swollen I couldn’t open my eyes ÔÇô they insisted I go to hospital.
It took a bevy of international students attempting to communicate, interpret and translate an hour to understand where the hospital was. Then, how to get there at nine o’clock at night? Matters were resolved to everyone’s satisfaction when a text to my mother instigated a flurry of international phone calls and a Chinese man known to the Botswana community came to my rescue.
The bush-telegraph works everywhere.
Mandarin is a difficult language, and if I’d known how difficult, I probably would have given up before I’d begun. Getting a Chinese sim card was a chore. I made friends with the Chinese lady at my quick shop who’d recharge the units on my phone for me; which worked well until I moved and was forced to learn how to do it for myself.
Opening and operating a bank account was an excruciating exercise until I’d learnt enough Mandarin to count to 10 000, the words ‘withdrawal’ and ‘deposit’ as well as figuring out the ATM card application. Going to the hospital, post office or bookstore was trying; it took a year to learn how to say ‘stomach ache’, ‘flu’ or “I feel like crap’; needed to send something to Botswana or ask where to find a certain book. The illusion I had carried in my head of dainty, docile and deliberate Orientals was shattered on a busy Shanghai bus when an argument broke out between two passengers over items left in the aisle that an older woman tripped over.
The ensuing battle took on epic proportions as individually other passengers added their two cents to this most important debate – arms gesticulating, eye sockets bulging, necks reddening and voices crescendo. The bus driver stops in the middle of a busy main street, not to calm matters, but to be heard. An old lady ferociously slugs the man next to her on the head with an umbrella; he is clearly on the wrong side of the argument. The volume continues to increase as new passers-by get involved. I am glued to my chair in fear. What happened to the nice, small Chinese people I’d seen in the movies? You know, the ones wearing the tepee shaped hats working the rice fields with a tranquil air? Shortly before Shanghai host the world’s fair; the city’s more sophisticated residents took it upon themselves to educate their countrymen on international etiquette.
This involved approaching those who considered pajamas appropriate daywear for going about their daily tasks. I witness a well meaning woman told off for her presumption by an elderly gentleman who informed her that his pajamas, cost more than she made in a month and that they’d been sent to him by his London living son and were made of a special fabric yet to arrive in China.
Six months later; street battles of this nature which draw in 20-100 bystanders who’ve never met one another before and were never to meet again; shouting, cursing and insulting one another are part and parcel of the Shanghai backdrop. It would be an odd week if I didn’t come across the occasional flash-fight; dispersing as quickly as it began. That was something I learnt quickly; the Chinese are an emotional, fiery and when they want to be, argumentative people.
My Chinese adventure and experiences have not been limited to Shanghai and its citizenry. Over a Golden Week (Chinese Independence celebrations and holidays) I go to visit my Chinese friend Didi in Hangzhou City in neighboring Zhejiang Province.
Hangzhou is famous for its man-made lake and because it was where Song Emperor had his summer palace. One night she and I go to the famous West Lake to watch the musical fountains accompanied by a laser light show. As we were watching the display, I notice a Chinese gentleman whose full attention I have caught; and he’s staring at me entranced (not by my great beauty but probably because he’s never seen a black person up close). By this time I’m fairly used to this, however this gentleman had moved so close I could feel his breath on my face; tired from the days sight-seeing and not in the mood to tolerate his curiosity I leant forward and shouted “Boo!” and backwards into the lake he went.
For a minute everybody just stood by in shock – admittedly, I thought, “I’m screwed…, I’ve just killed some a man in China (the water was freezing) and I’m going to be the first Motswana to face a Chinese firing squad”. But when he came up, he laughed, and then Didi and I laughed and everybody else laughed; and after he was fished out, I offered to buy him a cup of coffee and instead he bought us one. That was something else I learnt quickly, as quick as they are to anger, so are they to forgive. They also have a fairly amazing sense of humor.
While the Chinese Scholarship Council offers tens of thousands of scholarships internationally; foreign students and Chinese students do not live in the same accommodations. Chinese students also live by and adhere to a different, more stringent code of conduct than their foreign counterparts. And of course they are not to be found in beginner Mandarin courses; thus at first, interaction is severely limited. Meeting and making foreign friends was not a problem, but meeting and making Chinese friends was a challenge. In my first sixth months I was lucky enough to befriend Chinese couple of my age who’d lived in South Africa for 10 years; they’d even been to Botswana.
I was employed as a part-time English as a Second Language Instructor at another Shanghai University and became fast friends with the young professionals I taught. They educated me more in the customs, traditions and norms of the Chinese than I did them in English language and grammar.
After my first year I transferred to Fudan University to do English taught Masters course and moved out of dorm living into a lower middle income Chinese neighborhood called Wujiaochang.
The apartment complex, in which I live, numbers some 500 plus units measuring 30 to 50 square meters each; and is adjacent to Fudan University’s School of Journalism. It’s in this neighborhood that I’ve come to feel at home. My neighbors comprise of young professionals who work in the vicinity; young families whose children attend either the elementary or middle school affiliated to Fudan; retirees whose life savings went into the purchase of their apartments and the large international academic community who attend or work at Fudan.
It’s a busy, vibrant, dynamic and cosmopolitan district. Newly fashionable and newly gentrified the area is full of the trendiest international fashion outlets. I am a stone’s throw away from 500 different kinds of eatery. Every mod-con you can imagine is no further than 200 feet. However, it’s my Chinese neighbors who’ve made the most impact on my life.
Downstairs are two older couples who’ve taken it upon themselves to be my Chinese parentals. The older retired lady in the flat below mine ensures that when building maintenance visit her unit; they check mine as well. When I was plagued by an unwelcome visitor in the form of a mouse; she went to buy me a trap.
The day before household cleaning products went up by 10%, she informed me that I must buy my cleaning products that day ÔÇô vital information for my tight budget and the realities of double digit inflation. The other couple are factory workers; who bring me a hot meal after visits home. When I locked myself out of my flat, they called the locksmith; and we watched a Chinese soap opera while waiting; most recently they asked me to celebrate their only son’s nuptials with them.
It was poignant in that these people moved out of their small flat, renovated it from top to bottom, moved to a one room place; and gave their hard-won apartment to their only child and his new wife. They come by often to clean and cook for the pair. And the most special aspect of my relationship with these people? They’re uneducated and don’t speak Putonghua, mostly Shanghai dialect of which I understand little; we converse through a combination of speech, gesture and charade; made manifest by tolerance, laughter and an appreciation that we are very different, but at the same time in many ways alike.
Three and a half years is a long time; and I have a thousand other tales. Like my friends and family of five – grandparents, parents and child ÔÇô who live in the tiny and decidedly fragrant room next to where the complex residents dispose of their rubbish. Who make their living by going through the refuse and separating recyclable items from those not. You hand them your paper, glass or plastic and they hand you money. The father then carts it away to be recycled and get paid.
Their day starts early and ends late; there’s nothing dainty or dirt free about their existence, but never have I seen them slack or be in anything but a state of good humor. I’ve learnt the written and unwritten code of conduct of this authoritarian society. I’ve learnt what topics may and may not be discussed. I’ve discovered that in China, the good of the many outweighs the good of the few.
I’ve ascertained that your place and position in society are determined by who you know as much as what you know and how hard you work ÔÇô building a personal network is as paramount as productivity. I know never to give either a green cap or clock as a gift to a Chinese man ÔÇô one implies he’s being cuckolded and the other that I wish him dead. I understand how offensive it is to waste anyone’s time by missing a deadline, showing up late for an appointment or taking said time or person for granted. In China, African or Tswana time do not fly.
I’m fairly skilled at navigating impossible to achieve requests; by promising that I’ll do my best to deliver without making an outright refusal. I’ve taken heed and to heart the Confucian ideal, that if its revenge you’re about, best dig two graves. One for yourself and the other for your adversary. I won’t waste my time on retribution, instead I’ll go about my business, in the knowledge that the universe will eventually right any wrong. While I sit quietly by the river, waiting for the dead bodies of my enemies to float by. I’ve come to appreciate that in a jam, your Chinese friends will stand by you, as was the case when I required surgery in Shanghai. My friend Yimin did not leave my hospital beside for three days.
Personally, my China experience, coming to a close momentarily, has been positive and outcomes have far outweighed expectations. Have I experienced racism? Yes, but it is tempered by the knowledge that it is fuelled by fear in uncertain times; an economy and culture undergoing immense transformation; ignorance of the unknown and the fact that there are small people everywhere.
Am I impressed by China’s growth? Of course, but an awareness of the environmental cost is almost unimaginable. Do I think we should try and emulate them? We should take what we can from them; as in there’s no substitute for hard work, and leave their less than stellar labor practices on the mainland. Do we need to try and understand them better? Without a doubt, but they too must be made to realize that if they intend to live among us, we have our own languages, customs, traditions and norms; and that these must be respected. That we, like the Chinese government desire a peaceful, harmonious and productive co-existence.
