Wise Woman Travel

Changsha, China

On any sidewalk in North America, a blonde, 5’6″, middle-aged woman, and a 6′ 2″ man with a grey moustache, attract very little attention from passersby. We not only blend in – we’re mostly invisible. But here in Changsha, where few foreigners visit, Walter and I have become minor celebrities.

The first time we became aware of our heightened profile, we were sitting on the deck of the Roti Princess, a little local eatery that makes a pretty decent cappuccino. It was shortly after 12 noon, and many children from a nearby elementary school were going home for lunch. We noticed a pack of little boys approach the restaurant, then stop, look at us and point, speaking to each other in excited Chinese. They began to giggle behind their hands and, like a litter of romping puppies, pushed and shoved each other up the steps towards us. Finally, the tallest of the bunch came a little closer and said to me, “Hello. What – is – your – name?”

I introduced myself and Walter, and asked for the boy’s name. Then I said, “How old are you?”

The boy paused, and his forehead furrowed slightly as he accessed his elementary school English lessons. “I am – ten – years old.”

Our conversation produced shrieks of laughter from the little leader’s friends. After this short exchange, the group decided it had experienced enough bravery for one day, and toppled back down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, looking back at us as they disappeared around the corner.

Several days later, Aaron and Mia, two of our grad student guides, were touring us through downtown Changsha. Twice, Aaron was approached by 20-something-year old strangers, who put a cameras in his hands and said they wanted him to take a picture of them posing with us. The same thing happened with a young waitress in a restaurant last week. I’m sure our smiles in those photos looked as bemused as we felt.

But my favorite experiences have been with the mothers and grandmothers of Changsha’s youngest residents. All I have to do is smile in the direction of a toddler, and the child is urged to “Say hello! Say hello!” They never do, looking back at me with puzzled, serious eyes.

These interactions always make me think of the scene in the Alastair Sim version of A Christmas Carol, when Scrooge discovers the ghost of Christmas present sitting in his drawing room. The enormous, bearded spirit booms, “Come in! Come in and know me better, man! You’ve never seen the likes of me before, have you?” Scrooge cowers, and admits he hasn’t. I imagine the residents of Changsha view Walter and I with a similar mix of curiosity and maybe even a little fear. I can only hope that our smiles and our attempts at conversation trump the strangeness of our appearance, and leave a more lasting impression.

Changsha, China

Faster than any speeding texter, more powerful than any language barrier, able to leap tall orders in a single bound…

Look! Right by our sides! Is it a concierge? Is it an angel?

No! It’s our Changsha grad student guides.

Yes, folks, it’s the graciously renamed Aaron, Mia, Claudia, and Eric, guiding Walter and Pam, those strange visitors from another planet who came to China with powers and abilities far fewer than those required by mortal men and women in Changsha.

These grad students navigate the course of 6 lanes of traffic, find our missing laundry, and bend Chinese menus into delicious meals with their bare hands. Disguised as mild-mannered computer science students during the day, they help Pam and Walter fight their never-ending battles for taxicabs, weekend fun, and finding their Changsha way!

Changsha, China

Yesterday, I told my students that today, I would not be introducing much new information. It is the last day of our 13.5 hour course on how to motivate and engage students in higher education. “We’ve talked about so many things already,” I said, “so now it’s time to take a break and review what we’ve learned.”

The students’ faces visibly relax, and one near the front smiles broadly and thanks me. We’ve all been teaching and learning this week, without much time to reflect on what we’ve discovered. I’m looking forward to a less intense day as much as they are.

On Monday (wow, was that only 4 days ago?), two of our computing science graduate student guides met my teaching partner Walter and me in the hotel lobby for our first walk to the university. They handed us large, laminated identification cards on lanyards, which we’re required to wear whenever we’re on campus. Then, we walked out into the sizzling Changsha morning, joining the frantic, crowded rush of people and traffic on their way to work and school. It’s only about a 15 minute walk to the university, and we think we could easily do it on our own. But we’ve been told our grad student guides will help us to cross the street safely, since the pedestrian walk lights mean nothing to the scooter traffic, and even to some of the cars and buses.

Once we pass by the white-gloved guard at the gate, whose eyes shift momentarily towards us and then straight forward, the quiet campus spreads out ahead of us. Unlike a Canadian university, there are surprisingly few students walking around. Everyone attends classes at the same time, and there are no restaurants, shops, or lounges inside the gates to provide any distraction.

Our 25 students are already in the classroom when we step through the door. We’re shocked when they greet our arrival with enthusiastic applause! We recover enough to smile and raise our hands to say hello, before sitting down to hear a welcome address from Yue, our host university liaison professor, and Zhang, the former head of the computing science department, now the university vice-president. Walter introduces the Teaching in English program, and we both introduce ourselves. Then, it’s the students’ turn to speak.

This is the moment Walter and I have been waiting for. If the students’ English is not strong enough to allow them to cope with our courses’ abstract concepts and their practical application, we will have to seriously rethink the content and approaches we planned to use.

One man loses no time coming to the front of the room. “Welcome, my fellow students, to Changsha, where the weather is hot, and the food is hotter!” Everyone laughs, and I think, hmmm….that was a pretty sophisticated sentence construction for someone who speaks English as a second language. The next man is also highly articulate, and I catch a whiff of British poshness in his vowel pronunciation. When I ask where he learned his English, he says, “At my university. But I also listened to the BBC News to learn more.”

One by one, everyone introduces themselves. Although there is a range of English speaking skill- the man who stands up last admits he has not spoken English for 10 years – their abilities are far higher than we expected. I’m now looking forward to my first afternoon session with the students so I can hear more.

I start the class by introducing the concept of remembering our own motivations for becoming engaged with our subject areas, so that we can share them directly or indirectly with our students. I draw a timeline of my involvement with education – teaching my dolls at age 4, my parents’ continual interest and encouragement, my older sister’s suggestion that I go on to graduate school, my passion for always learning more. The room is silent with their intense listening. Then they go to work on their own timelines.

As each person shares a story, I become more and more intrigued with their motivation for pursuing their subject area and a teaching career. One woman speaks of her concern for the lack of access to clean water in rural China, and her desire to inspire her students to address that situation. Another talks about how few women were involved in the engineering field when she started her career, and how she wants to make improvements to her field generally. One of the two English teachers in the group says she is following in the footsteps of 4 generations of teachers in her family. A mathematician says he wants his students to see the beauty of mathematics. There are lots of stories of friends, siblings, parents, teachers, and supervisors offering encouragement and opportunities. Several people talk of feeling “called” to their disciplines and to teaching. “I didn’t choose my subject area,” says an engineer. “It chose me.”

Later in the week, we connect over eye-rolling stories of some Canadian and Chinese university students’ lack of motivation. They don’t want to learn theory. They complain that courses are useless. They ask ‘What does this have to do with getting a job?’ They don’t want to apply themselves to learning challenging concepts. I talk to my teaching colleagues about ‘naming the elephant in the room’ on the first day of class by discussing what they’ve heard students say about their courses and addressing these negative attitudes in positive ways.

What a delightful range of ideas they have for engaging their students. One computer technologist says she will talk with her students about how the course she teaches has helped in her own career. Another says she has a “secret” for how to learn difficult concepts that she will share during the course. A computer security instructor, who was the last to speak on the first day, gives an infomercial-style “come on” for his course. “Don’t you all use the Internet? Do you know that people can spy on you? Do you want to know how they do that, and how to stop them? That is what we will learn in my course.”

As you can see, these are not students who are having much difficulty with learning and applying abstract concepts. I toss out most of the content I planned for them back in Canada, and work every morning and evening on more engaging, challenging lessons. I’m a little surprised to discover that, in spite of the long hours of planning, I don’t feel tired. My students’ motivation and engagement is fuelling mine. And n the world of teaching and learning, it just doesn’t get much better than that.

Changsha, China

“Walter! Walter! Hello! Hello!”

My teaching partner and I scan the crowd waiting to meet passengers at the Changsha Airport. Two women and a man are waving enthusiastically in our direction from behind the barrier. To say that we’re glad to see our colleagues from the National University of Defense Technology is an understatement: Including flights, layovers, and a 75 minute delay leaving Beijing, we’ve been underway for more than 24 hours.

Our colleagues quickly relieve us of our suitcases and take us out to a waiting van. “We’re sorry that we can’t find you a room to stay in the Foreign Experts’ Building at our university,” says Yue, a female professor in the Department of Computing Science. “We hope it is acceptable that we booked you into a hotel nearby instead. It is very close, only 5 or 10 minutes by car,”

Right now, any room with a bed sounds good to me. When we arrive, our hosts take care of checking us in and accompany us upstairs. “We think you will need a good rest tomorrow,” says Yue. “We would like to bring you to the university at 4 o’clock. Then we will go out for dinner together.”

The next afternoon, refreshed by sleep and oriented by a bit of exploring around the local neighborhood, we meet Yue and our driver, who fights his way through a thick tangle of horn-honking cars, buses, and motor scooters. He turns off under the massive stone university gate. Soldiers stand guard at the entrance, and around the campus, and many students are in military uniforms. Yue explains that there is an army training centre here in addition to the various “civilian” faculties.

We tour two prospective classrooms, one larger with fixed desks and seats curved around a central computer console, one smaller with movable tables and chairs. We’ll figure out which we want to use once we know more about our professor students. We’re introduced to half a dozen smiling computer science graduate students, who will be taking care of our teaching needs and our weekend tours around Changsha. At the arrival of the head of the computing science department, who issued our official letters of invitation, the graduate students disappear and we sit down with him and several of the department’s instructors to talk more about our teaching context.

“In China,” the department head says, “learning is very different than in Canada. It is hard, hard work. It is not fun or enjoyable. Learning is suffering. When our children begin kindergarten, they cry. We know that this must change, but it is part of our culture. The change will not be easy.”

We talk a little more about university students in China. Yue tells us that the students attend class regularly – “they have to, because they live here and they have nothing else to do” – but often fall asleep during lectures. They are expected to give “the right answer,” not engage in problem solving. “We don’t know how to teach here. Nobody ever showed us how. That’s why we need your help.”

We are also curious to learn more about the professors who will attend our classes. With the exception of five people from our host universities, they are coming to learn from around Hunan province. “They will be quiet at first. They like to write, not talk. And some of them may not have used the English they learned in school for ten years.” Walter and I exchange glances. It’s a good thing both of us have ESL teaching experience.

Just as the meeting is about to end, the department head says, “There is one more thing we want to tell you. Our toilets are the kind they have in India. There are no flush toilets anywhere on the campus. You only find those in the hotels. We are sorry.”

As we head towards the van that will take us to dinner, a troop of crisply marching soldiers in green camouflage parallels our walk, heading towards a large open square. Instinctively, I reach for my camera, but something stops me. “Am I allowed to take pictures here?” I asked one of our hosts.

“No, you should not take photographs on the campus. The soldiers don’t want to have their pictures taken. And you are a foreigner, so the guards will not know why you are taking the pictures, or what you plan to do with them. Another day, one of us can walk with you and show you what you can photograph.”

As we head off campus, one of the guards near the gate salutes us. We’ve had our introduction to the National University of Defense Technology, but I have the feeling the next four weeks hold as much learning for us as they do teaching.

(Apologies for the lack of photos. My computer is running very slowly, so I’m sending this entry along with word pictures only.)

Changsha, China

My seat mate on the 11 hour flight from Vancouver to Beijing was returning to China from visiting her daughter in Edmonton. She loved the time she spent in my home city. “I feel very comfortable there. The air so fresh, and I can see a long way.” Her daughter earned a degree in chemistry at the University of Alberta, found a well-paying job, and just bought a house. Her mother was thrilled. “My daughter have a good life in Canada. She is very happy.” It became clear during the flight that my seat mate was keen to learn more about Canadian culture and to practise her English. I was more than happy to help her out with both. I listened hard to her questions, and tried to give easily understandable answers. When she struggled to tell me about her experiences, I supplied her with the words I thought she needed. When our first meal was served, I watched her peering closely at the all-English label on the container of blueberry yogurt. I was trying to think of a way to explain to her what she was looking at when she ripped off the foil lid and dumped the yogurt on her salad. It must have tasted all right, because she finished it off and scraped the inside of the empty container with her spoon to enjoy the last bits. I wasn’t the only one providing language and cultural assistance. My seatmate helped me as I tried to figure out how to operate the inflight entertainment system. She explained the movie selections, laughing loudly to indicate the comedies, and imitating kung-fu fighting to show me where I could find the action movies. When she judged that the flight attendant was not relieving me quickly enough of my proffered empty tray, she took it out of my hands and held it for me. Later, when the refreshment cart came by, the flight attendant didn’t offer coffee as a choice. My seat mate followed her down the aisle, and reappeared with cups for each of us. She replied with a sleepy smile when I had to push past her during the flight, and even asked if I needed help accessing my bag in the overhead bin. We didn’t interact during the entire flight, though. I had lots of time to begin exploring Chinese culture and expression on my own. The movie choices were a bit surprising, including more golden oldies than I expected: John Wayne, Shirley Temple, The Sound of Music, and Heidi. I also read a copy of the China Daily newspaper. My favorite section was the “Around China” capsule news reports, where I found these culturally divergent stories. In Longshou County “a young woman ran naked …to get a free iPhone 6…[after] she made a deal with a WeChat friend….Images of the streaking young woman went viral on the Internet that night, spurring debates about young people’s morals and values.” In Hunan province, where I’m headed, “two men who forced monkeys to perform tricks were expelled from downtown Changsha….A resident called the city’s forestry department after witnessing the two men force four monkeys to perform difficult movements by whipping and intimidating them.” When the announcement finally came that we were descending into Beijing, my seatmate and I started to pack up our belongings. She reminded me that I had put my coat in a different compartment from my flight bag. I told her to keep on practising her English, and thanked her for her help and the conversation. My official teaching duties don’t begin for several more days, but, as a learner, my education has already started. If I keep my eyes and ears open, I expect I’ll find many more “classrooms” in Changsha in the coming weeks.

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