Tomb Sweeping Festival
Henan Province, China
Spring 2012
Day One: Monday
April 3 is Tomb Sweeping Day. The university was closed for three days so that students could go home to their families and sweep the tombs of their ancestors. Most of my students did not go home. They stayed here on campus and used this time as an opportunity to study for the big English test that is being given in May.
I went with Selia to visit with her family. She is from a small rural village where her parents are farmers. She told me it would take about 2 to 3 hours to get there. We left on Monday at 8:30AM and had to travel by taxi 2 hours to the nearest city. From there we had to find the train station which was packed and for the first time really gave me a sense of just how populated China really is. We had to wait an hour for the train. And fortunate for me, Selia had a sense of how crowded the train was going to be. So she went yesterday and reserved two seats for us. The seats were hard, dirty, filled with litter. But it didn’t matter; the only other option was to stand. Selia said the last time she went home, it was so crowded that she had to stand on one foot.
The train was an hour late. But that didn’t matter. We were entertained. As people noticed me, they came over to Selia and asked the routine questions: “Do you know this foreigner”? “Are you her paid interpreter or her student”? “Is she Russian”? “Where is she from”? “How long will she be here”? “Does she like China”? “Does she know Chinese”? “Can I take my picture with her”? “Can I talk to her”? “Can you ask her something”? “I have never talked to a foreigner before.” Selia said the next time we travel together, she is going to get a name tag that states “She is my teacher; she is from America; she is 56.”
Once they got the OK to speak to me, they would swat down in front of me and look pensively, to the left and then to the right, for a moment. It had to be just the right question. What very important fact did they want to know about me?
“Do you like noodles?” asked one old man.
“Do you celebrate spring festival?” (Chinese New Year), a man around my age wanted to know.
“Is your weather like ours?” is frequently asked.
“Do you like Obama?” is often asked and then followed up with, “Me too. He is a good man.”
“Is this your first visit to China?” is another favorite question.
And after I answered their singular very important question, they seemed proud of themselves. And then the phone camera usually comes out and we pose for a photo and this person wanders off and the next observer sneaks in and the process starts all over again.
After 2 ½ hours on the train, we come to a city and now have to wait for a bus. But it is raining and cold. We are both tired and it’s been six hours since we left campus so I tell Selia that I want to take one of the beat up, old electric taxi carts. I just want to get inside somewhere and get warm. So I pay $4 for a ½ hour ride in this beat up, rickety old vehicle that takes every bump in the road with a dramatic bounce that causes every organ in my body to be rearranged. But it beats waiting in the rain for a bus that is going to be overcrowded, smelly and no available seat.
We arrive at Selia’s village 8 hours after we had set out and it is just as I had imagined. There are little brick homes with no running water, no heat, one electrical outlet, one light bulb, goats, an outhouse, litter everywhere. There was very little commerce. Old men sat outside the one store and talked to each other but mostly they sat in silence.
Her family is waiting for her. She called them on the family cell phone that she insisted that her father get when she went away to college so she could stay in contact with them. He only talks to her on this phone and when she comes home she has to check on the number of remaining minutes and any other maintenance it may need. Her father never went to school so he can’t read or wrote. Neither can her mother.
They don’t embrace each other when we arrive. There is no introduction of me so I go over and extend my hand to both parents and introduce myself. It is awkward for everyone and Selia says something to them in Chinese. There is never any introduction as to their names. A sister in law comes in and I attempt to introduce myself again but again, I have created another awkward moment. She does take my extended right hand with her left hand but she doesn’t know what to do with it. This puzzles me because I had just had a conversation with my students about how to shake hands and they thought the Chinese were the only people on earth who shake hands. They were surprised to hear that we were that civilized.
The house is part of a two house compound that is enclosed with red brick. The older brother shares the other house. Selia’s house is one room, about 12’ X 20’. On the right wall are piles of their things. In the right corner is a large bed which Selia and I will share the next two nights. A sheet is hung from the ceiling and in front of the bed as a means to offer some privacy. In the middle of the room are two small tables which serve as the dining room table. There is a chest of drawers and that is where the leftover food is stored. If something isn’t finished at one meal, it is placed in one of these drawers and served at the next meal. There is a small TV, something from the 1970s. And then against the other wall is the mother’s bed table. The father sleeps in the barn because someone in the neighborhood is stealing sheep so he guards the sleep at night. The kitchen is a hut against the house. It has a huge wok and a few water buckets. There is a basin that is used to wash dishes and hands. The outhouse is about 100’ away from the house.
The two goats graze in the dirt yard. There is a vegetable garden and there is a storage shed for the farm equipment. It’s just got a roof and a back side. It also serves as the father’s closet for his five articles of clothing. There is a pickle jar. The hoe is made by hand. And there is litter everywhere.
The father wanders around the compound and keeps himself every busy. The rest of us sit around in this dimly lit room, mostly in silence. Selia will speak but the responses from her family are short and quiet. Someone brings out the 3 ½ year old boy’s school work. It’s a singular piece of paper with Chinese words and English words. He is already learning English and has memorized “Good Morning Teacher” and he can count to ten. So he practices with me and his mother is very proud of him and she has him do it several more times and I make a fuss with every attempt.
I bring gifts for the family. I have pineapples and apples and a large bag of figs that a student gave me. I give the father a small pocket knife, thinking he is going to love this tool but he doesn’t know what it is and really, this tool is too delicate for the heavy, hard work he does.
Because I am the guest, Selia’s mother sends her to the store to buy meat for tonight’s dinner. She buys a dollar’s worth of slivers of beef which are added to the noodles. We gather in the house and sit on small stools and share our food out of one bowl. The mother pushes the meat to my side of the bowl. The father sits off in a corner and he eats out of his own bowl. Twenty years ago he had tuberculosis and he is afraid that he is still contagious so he eats in solitude.
It’s dark and cold now. It’s raining a little bit. There is no heat in the house so I am wearing all of the clothing that I brought with me: four layers. And I am still cold. The father has retired to the goat house. So it is just Selia, her mother and me. I try to engage us in conversation but that isn’t going to happen. The mother answers my questions but she doesn’t ask any in return. And I wonder what she thinks of me. Does she worry that I am pulling Selia away from her village? Does she worry that Selia has left this lifestyle now that she has been away to college where she has been exposed to showers, hot water and the rest of the world. What does she hope for Selia? Am I viewed as a villain or a friend? Does she think Selia will come home to the farm or she is resigned to losing her to the big city?
Its 9PM and its time for bed. I crawl in and seek refuge under the heavy quits. My eyes are closed when I feel a tap on my nose. I open my eyes and see the mother standing right there, extending the big flashlight to me. She tells Selia to tell me to take it in case I need to use the outhouse in the middle of the night. I show the mother that I brought my own flashlight but that isn’t good enough for her. I have to use hers because it is bigger. So I take it but know that I will not be using it because I stopped drinking anything five hours ago in anticipation of the awful thought of having to go out in to the cold, dark, rainy night to use that dirty, smelly hole in the ground.
Day Two: Tuesday
When I get up, breakfast is waiting for me: a few hard boiled eggs in a bowl of noodles. We drink hot water. The grandchildren are with us and they are watching cartoons on the little TV. Their mother is washing their winter jackets by hand in a small bowl outside.
Selia tells me we are going in to town to the market. The sister-in-law pulls the electronic vehicle out to the road and we all climb up in the back of this little truck and off we go at 10mph through the bumpy streets of this village. All heads are turned as people notice me, the foreigner, in the back. They stare without any shame and I wave to all of them which cause them to laugh uproariously. They have never seen anyone so funny looking.
The town has a Muslim community, one of very few in China. So I see women whose heads are covered in modesty. But that is the only indication of their religion. There is no mosque, no call to prayers.
We head to the hospital because one niece needs to have her braces tighten. There is a long line for the dentist and we are given a number. After a half hour wait, we all get a seat right next to the dentist chair. I notice blood drool everywhere. The doctor has plastic bags on his hands and he has a mask covering his mouth. But there is no protection for his patients. I mention this to Selia and suggest that she tell the doctor that he needs to clean up his work area. Then I notice that all of his instruments are not sterilized and they are sitting on a rusty shelf. I tell Selia that I am leaving the room; it is too dirty and bloody. She takes pictures to send to the local authorities.
I go out to the courtyard and there are many sick people leaving the hospital. They are carried out by family members and placed in the back of their electronic trucks. Their IVs are hooked up to them and they are hanging from a tree branch that someone has wedged inside the truck.
After our visit to the market, we head back to the village where the father is busy planting his summer garden. The farm has been planted and now he waits for the harvest. So he spends his time on his smaller garden. This food will feed his family.
Selia and I go back to the town square and greet the same men we saw yesterday. They are sitting here again today and they will be sitting here again tomorrow and the next day and the next day. Again, we are the only females and Selia tells me that this is the first time she ever sat with these men. They appear to be enjoying my company. But they laugh every time I say something in English and they point at me and say something about me. Selia tells me, “They are talking about you.” But she does not translate what they say. She leaves me for a little bit and I continue to speak with them as if they speak English and they respond in Chinese.
Selia comes back with some posters she has made. She is on a campaign to reduce the number of illegal marriages in China. People married before a certain age are not protected by the law and these marriages tend to end up in divorce which offers no legal protection to the spouses and very little protection to any children. Her posters create a stir and maybe not so much because of the topic but because there is something to discuss. The old men get off the seats on the wall and come over and read the posters. A few men on motorcycles stop and read what is written and young children come over as well.
We then head off to Selia’s primary school and I am not prepared for such awful conditions. I think listening to the 3 ½ year old nephew chant English to me last night really skewed my expectations. The headmaster wanted me to see a classroom and with great pride, handed me a piece of chalk so I could write on the board to see for myself that the board is functional, which it wasn’t. It was so old, it could not hold any of the chalk and nothing I wrote was readable.
The classroom was void of any paper, books, pencils, maps, displays. There is no heat. The students come to school at 8 in the morning and they leave at 430PM and they sit all day in their coats on these narrow, uncomfortable seats.
There is an English textbook in the headmaster’s office. He keeps it there to keep it safe. There is no English teacher so the young, under skilled, underpaid Chinese teachers teach themselves a little bit of English so they can teach their students.
The headmaster asks me if I would read a lesson or two out loud so he can hear English. So I read from the tattered book, “Good morning teacher. How are you? Fine, thank you.” And he is grateful for this opportunity. I notice that he has a DVD player so I tell him that I will get my students to read some books and record them on the DVD player. That way the students can read along as they hear the words. He can’t believe his good fortune and he shakes my hand profusely.
We go off to visit an uncle in a neighboring village. Selia’s mother comes along which is unusual. She doesn’t like to leave her village. The uncle is not home when we arrive but he is called home, “An American has come to visit.” So he hurries home and I am offered apples and hot water. We sit outside and he asks Selia if he can ask me a few questions. His wife and Selia’s mother sit behind us and listen in, never adding to the conversation. He wants to know if we celebrate the Chinese New Year in America. Then he wants to know if my rings are gold. “How much does this one cost? How much does that one costs.” I tell him that one of my rings is the wedding ring that my mother gave to my father. He wants to know about them. And I don’t even know how to begin to describe their lives in comparison to his. So I just talk about their good qualities as parents. And he understands me.
With great pride, he shows me his son’s new house. It is two stories and six rooms, no indoor plumbing and the kitchen is still outside. The rooms on the second floor are empty because they really don’t know what to do with all of this space. They confine themselves to just two rooms in the house. All of this new construction cost $20,000 to build. The father wants to know if houses in America cost as much as his son’s house. Again, I am at a lost as to how to answer this question. Do I laugh at the absurdity of the comparison? I tell him that our younger generation also seems to want more house than they really need. And he agrees with me.
By the time we get back, it’s time for dinner and the mother opens up a drawer in the cabinet and pulls out all the food that has not been finished over the last day. The father eats this food even though nothing has been refrigerated. The mother makes tofu for me. The TV is turned on while we eat and we are listening to Peking opera. The parents listen in silence but intently. Selia tells me that her father loves Chinese opera and dreams of one day seeing a live performance. But this man will never get to the Opera.
I am sitting on the mother’s bed and I look around and see that Selia has gone next door to visit with her nephews. The father has gone out to put the sheep away for the night and the mother is washing the dinner dishes in the dark. And I am sitting alone in this small, one room house, by myself in China, listening to Peking Opera and the moment strikes me as hysterical.
Day Three: Wednesday, Tomb Sweeping Day
Selia told me last night that her mother wanted her to get up early to go to the grandmother’s tomb. An invitation was not extended to me and I do not ask to join them for fear of overstepping boundaries. But when I wake up, Selia is still in bed and the mother is gone. Selia wakes up and tells me she is ashamed that she didn’t get up but it was just too cold and she didn’t hear her mother.
The mother returns. She isn’t gone long. Apparently the ceremony just entails taking fake paper money offerings and burning them on the graves for a few minutes. And then the day’s celebration is over.
We have breakfast and then we have to start preparing for our journey back. The mother, sister-in law- nephews and a few neighbors walk us to our bus stop. We wait with the Chinese talking amongst themselves and Selia and I speak just to each other. “What are you thinking?” she asks me. I look around and tell her that I think she has left this village. She has outgrown it. So I ask her, “Where do you belong now.” She does not know but she agrees with me. “You know“, she tells me;” I can’t even talk to my mother anymore. I don’t know how she thinks anymore.”
The bus comes and Selia hugs her nephews. Her neighbors wave to us and say goodbye. Selia’s mother comes up to me and she extends her two arms as if we are going to embrace by arms only. But I take her arms and pull her near to me and I hug her. She pulls away at first but then she comes back to me and rubs her cheek across mine. And then she lets go and walks away from me.
On our way to the train station, we stopped in to see one of Selia’s favorite teachers, her history teacher. He is the one who suggested that she go to Sias University. We met up with him in town. On the side, he runs a liquor store so we are going to stop by the store.
Selia has been asking me some political questions in private but now she has a bit of courage and she asks her teacher what he knows about Tiananmen Square. He lowers his voice and Selia tells me that we (the western world) have the wrong perspective on the situation. The students were wrong and they were not good for the country. Selia drops the conversation.
Next we wander to her high school. Many middle schools and high schools in China are boarding schools. Selia went to school that went for 14 days in a row and then she would have two days off. Twenty-four girls shared a room. There was no cafeteria. Students ate outside in a courtyard, regardless of the temperature. If it was rainy heavily, arrangements were made to eat somewhere inside. There were no showers. Students washed themselves outside in a common area.
I visited her senior classroom and the teacher let me speak to the 100 students seated in front of him. I asked if any of them had any questions and one brave soul raised his hand. “Yes, yes”, he tells me, “I want to know how you spell the name of your high school.” So I write it on the board and he comments, “OK, thank you very much.”
I go out to the courtyard during lunch and cause a commotion. Everyone wants to take a picture with the foreigner. So I pose and they laugh with great excitement. The first couple of pictures were with just one student at a time. But as the interest grew so did the size of the group photo.
Selia wanted to go in to her old dorm room so off we went and lots of students followed us. The room was packed and an administrator came running in to disperse the crowd. She was shocked to see me somewhere in the middle of this unauthorized gathering. We had to leave shortly thereafter. My presence was just too disruptive.
We caught our train and then we had another two hour car ride back to campus and for the first time, as I opened the door to my room, I thought to myself, “It’s good to be home.”
