Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set

by Twead, Victoria

  “School start every day from seven-forty in morning until five. Is like this six times of week. And Sunday, they go study on homeworks,” Larry told us.

  “Really? Wow! In Canada we only go five days a week, and it ends at three o’clock. And school doesn’t start until nine in the morning,” Ammon told a surprised Larry. The students’ stares, smiles, and giggles overwhelmed us as we stood in the crowded schoolyard. We would not go unnoticed, that was for sure.

  “My class there. See window?” he proudly pointed up to one on the second floor where the balcony wrapped around the building.

  “And how often do you teach?” Mom asked him.

  “Every day I teach two hours English. I have two classes.”

  “What age group do you teach?”

  “My students are thirteen to sixteen. So sweet kids.” It was obvious how fond he was of them. The wide age range reminded me of the Little House on the Prairie series, where the school was just one big room with only one teacher for all of the kids. I had always thought that was strange.

  “Oh, really? Our schools teach one age. Sometimes they have split classes where they have two ages, but mostly, kids the same age are in a single classroom. How many students do you generally have in each class?”

  “About,” he stopped to calculate, “I have about fifty students each class. Forty-five to fifty kids in one class. Oh, my students will be so excited!” he continued. “They had never guest like this before. They will be so happy. So best surprise for them.”

  “Really? They’ve never had a native English speaker visit before?” Bree asked.

  “No, no. Never. Never they see white person. You know, they living out in small village, no tourist come, they don’t travel. I meet foreigner sometime, from hotel I meet, but never they have time. Never they want come.”

  I began to get nervous and the butterflies in my stomach took flight. I didn’t like school presentations at the best of times, and that was in my own schools, where I would generally be forgotten and overlooked. With each curious stare, I came to realize more and more that I was about to get up in front of fifty students around my age who were not likely to ever forget my face. I thought about something that Shean, Mom’s long-time childhood friend who was once an RCMP officer and was now an anaesthesiologist, had emailed only a few days earlier. While sharing our family tales in his operating room, one of his colleagues, who was born in a small town in China, said he could still remember the first white tourists he had ever seen some thirty years before. I’m not qualified for this. I’ve never done anything like it! I thought, stressed by the thought that in this case, I would be that first tourist.

  “Well, we are excited to meet your class,” Mom assured him.

  We saw the orderly field where bikes of the approximately two thousand students were stored for the day. Hundreds of them were neatly lined up in covered rows. The main extra-curricular activities available to the kids were football (aka soccer) and ping pong.

  “Asians and their table tennis!” Ammon laughed, recalling the many rambunctious matches he’d played with ESL students at home. But these were not the flimsy green tables with folding metal legs we were accustomed to using. Instead, theirs were just big blocks of cement. A line of stones gathered from the fields was piled across the middle and used as a net. My first thought upon seeing their tables was, Heaven only knows what they use for the ball and paddles.

  “My kids very young, and only short time they have each week English learn. They know small English, but very smart!” I could imagine that they would have very few, if any, opportunities to practice, living in a remote village with no English exposure.

  We made our way to the first classroom on the second floor. The bell had already rung, and the school grounds were much quieter now that the students were waiting in their classrooms. Larry had asked us to stay outside so he could first explain our presence and settle the students. From what I could see from peeking in the windows, they were already mostly sitting quietly at their desks. Settle the students? Dude! You’re not even in there and they’re just sitting at their desks. Is this a joke?! They totally knew we were coming! But they couldn’t have known, because we only arranged this visit the night before. They must be this well behaved all the time! He first greeted the students, and the class simultaneously responded with a roaring “good morning” that made me take a step back. This was obviously their regular morning routine. To prepare them for their lesson, he gave a little speech about a special surprise, and then invited us in.

  By the time I got into the room (being at the end of the line, as usual), they were all wide-eyed and looking alternately at us and then at their classmates. Some flashed big smiles, while others hid their faces behind their hands. A few had probably seen us in the schoolyard, but all looked equally surprised and excited.

  The building appeared larger and more impressive from the outside than I’d expected, but the interior was much more like what I’d anticipated. The students sat behind beaten-up wooden desks, and the ceiling showed various signs of green and yellow leakage. The floor was unfinished, rough cement, and the once-white walls were brown and stained, but surprisingly clean for all that.

  I stood at the front of the class feeling a bit dizzy from having all those kids watching me. Larry sputtered a few things in Chinese and then asked us to start introducing ourselves, conveniently handing the class over to us. As if that’s not intimidating; how do we even know where to begin?

  “Hello,” Ammon blurted out with a smile. Well, I guess that’s a good start.

  “Hello,” one or two responded. They must have been the brave, outspoken members of the group, but it didn’t take much for them to shy away when they realized no one else had spoken. One smothered his face in folded arms on top of his desk to hide his flushed cheeks. My presence was as intimidating to them as theirs was to me, and I realized that they felt more uncomfortable than I did.

  While I observed this brief interaction, Ammon picked up a piece of chalk and began writing on the blackboard so all could see. How does he even know they can read our alphabet? But, hey, we’re improvising! As he finished writing his name on the board, he said very slowly, “My name is Ammon, and this is my mother.” With that, he handed it off to her. They understood at least that much because they reacted with surprise, unable to fathom how she could be the mother of this prominent man who stood almost a foot taller than her. Then Mom picked up another small piece of chalk. She, too, began very slowly, having had lots of practice with ESL students in Vancouver.

  “My name is Maggie. We are from Canada. These are my daughters,” she said, gesturing towards us.

  “Hi. My name is Breanna.”

  “And my name is Savannah.”

  An awkward pause ensued as we desperately wondered what our next trick should be. Flustered, but clearly on the same brainwave, we simultaneously pointed at each other and jinxed, “She is my sister,” as if we’d been rehearsing. The class joined in with our giggles.

  “I am twenty-five years old,” Ammon said as he again picked up his piece of chalk. I studied the students as he wrote it on the board for them all to see. They were not being disruptive or rolling their eyes, as I had seen so often in other schools. Why couldn’t the idiots at home have been a bit more like this? It was obvious that these kids really wanted to be there. Remembering the construction workers who had woken me with their hammering the past few mornings, I thought it must have something to do with their culture. They were naturally hard workers who were raised to be obedient and respectful, qualities that were seriously lacking in the schools I had attended.

  Larry made his way back to the front and told us, “If anyone wants ask a question, you answer. Or maybe you ask, too?” He translated every word for those who couldn’t understand. A few raised their hands, and Larry signalled for them to speak.

  “Is … you …” one boy tried, a deepening blush creeping in from behind his ears and beginning to show in his cheeks. H
e quickly turned towards Larry for reassurance before continuing in Mandarin. They spoke briefly before Larry turned to us, saying, “Twins. He wants to know, are you twins?” Bree and I smiled at each other; it wasn’t the first time we’d been asked this question.

  “No. She is three years younger,” Bree responded. The entire class simultaneously said, “Ooohhh” when Larry translated that. “I am seventeen. She is fourteen.” Upon hearing this, the students were unable to contain themselves. They swiftly threw off their sedate, serious manner and reacted like jittery little monkeys. Heads turned and several chattered with Larry in their native tongue as he nodded to them proudly.

  “They do not believe that you are fourteen. They think you are much older than them.” I could relate. It was hard to believe they were around my age. In fact they looked nothing like my peers at home. Some were even a couple years older than me, I knew, but I’d never be able to pick them out. I tried to pinpoint what it was that made them look so young. It wasn’t just that they were small with chubby cheeks; it was also the way they dressed. They wore simple t-shirts and jeans, far less provocative attire than I was used to seeing. No one wore jewellery or hid under makeup either. They were really there to learn, not to play games. So perhaps they don’t look young, they just look their age. At home, we obsess over trying to grow up and look more mature. Would life be easier without all that competition?

  Ammon asked a boy from the front row who looked to be about ten how old he was. He was sitting with his head tucked in, speaking more to the pencil he fiddled in his hands than to us.

  “I am five,” He shook his head to get it right. “No. Fifteen.” His correction came out strong.

  “You really fourteen?” a little girl beside him asked me.

  “Yes.”

  This created another minor shock wave. And I’m not even dressed up. They would fall over in astonishment if they walked into Sentinel or West Van and saw the difference! I hated the way people in my school were so rude and disruptive or skipped class altogether. If they had been as respectful as these kids, maybe I would have stayed in high school longer than two months and not opted to take correspondence courses instead! There were a few reasons I didn’t like public school. Leaving elementary school felt liberating at first. I loved upgrading to my own locker and being able to eat in the hallways and stay indoors during lunch on rainy days. I thought high school was light years better than a confined elementary school, but it was the slack behaviour and the disrespectful way kids treated teachers, not to mention each other, that I didn’t like. My absolute loathing for early mornings also contributed to my decision to leave, of course.

  Following a few more courteous questions, Larry separated us into four smaller groups so we could work one-on-one and talk with those students willing to try. As I got up close and personal with the ten students assigned to my group, I became ever more impressed with their attempts to learn English in this little village. They were so sweet and innocent as they playfully smacked and teased each other. Sometimes they’d switch back into Chinese without noticing to seek confirmation about a word or to get reassurance from their friends. With my chin on my fists, I just watched them and their banter for a moment. My heart tensed slightly at the sight, and a nagging homesickness came over me. I’d been gone just over a week but I knew this was only the beginning. There were fifty-one more to go before I would see my friends again, and I already missed them so much.

  “You are beautiful,” a boy told me, his statement causing the rest to burst into helpless giggles. He blushed at that, but I think it had more to do with speaking English than what he actually said. He had a friendly face and reminded me so much of Terri’s twin brother, Tyee. This boy was the smallest in the class; maybe that was what made me think of him – that or his deep set dimples.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You welcome,” he tried earnestly.

  “You are welcome,” I corrected, returning his sweet smile.

  I found a stack of thin text books inside when I opened the top of a desk. I slid one out, closed the lid, and opened the book. I found a world map. Oh this’ll be a good place to start, I thought, I’ll just point out Canada and show them where we live so they can see how far away our “village” is. Before I could show them, I looked instinctively at the top left side of the page and did a double take. Where was my world? Canada was not where I expected it to be. In its place was China. I struggled to get my bearings as I realized the map was backwards. China and Russia were on the top left side of the page, and the Americas on the right.

  Sincerely confused, I tried whisper/shouting to Ammon, “Hey! Don’t our maps come from China?!!” but I failed to get his attention from across the room. He was sitting in a chair that was so tiny it accentuated his size. I had to laugh as I watched all the children hovering around him like bees surrounding a honeycomb. They were busying themselves practicing such words as “blue,” “eye,” “hair,” “ear,” and “tall” as they played with his soft brown hair and golden earrings. They even held his eyelids open to get a closer look at their deep blue colouring. Clearly, he was too absorbed with their antics to hear me. His group was growing as a few kids crept over from other groups to join his. They were twisting and pulling his curls down to watch the novelty of how they’d spring back into a nice ringlet. He was definitely a treasured novelty.

  I glanced over at the other groups. Bree was busy impressing hers with her gymnastics, doing simple cartwheels and back handsprings. Mom was in the middle of a small crowd leaning over one of the books she was explaining. Larry leaned against a desk in a corner with his arms crossed, a beaming smile covering his face.

  “What is, what is mouth? In,” one of my students came in closer to get my attention.

  “In, in! What, what?” another said, pointing at my mouth.

  “Oh that. It’s a retainer.” I repeated it a couple of times slowly for them. They all tried to say the word, but it came out more like “letinel” as they struggled to pronounce the two Rs. Two of the girls tried to help each other by looking in each other’s mouths to see why the L was happening.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how they’d have reacted to my entire mouth being full of shiny, metal braces, plus the strange head gear I had worn for three years. If it weren’t for the trip forcing us to have them removed prematurely, I’d have had them for at least another year! There was at least one happy and immediate result.

  The year before, a couple of brackets had broken off my bottom teeth. Given my typical “know it all” attitude, I ripped what was left of them off one-by-one using scissors and pliers. The disappointment on my orthodontist’s face when he saw what I had done caused me more pain than the act itself had. Though he was reluctant to speed up my carefully planned treatment, he did supply a retainer to hold my teeth in place during our trip.

  The children’s curiosity wasn’t the first I’d experienced since we got to China. I’d been approached by random men on buses and women in shops; complete strangers questioned me about my retainer by pointing and staring into my mouth, even interrupting conversations to point it out. Their questions prompted questions of my own. I wonder if they have braces in China? Are there even any orthodontists? Would they have telephone books? What would it be called in Chinese? It hadn’t escaped my notice how terrible people’s teeth were. Many older generations displayed huge gaps between rotted teeth or flashed only a gummy smile. Middle-aged people’s teeth tended to have dark stains and an occasional tooth missing, while the younger generation, such as those in this class, often had very overcrowded and crooked teeth. I guess I was pretty lucky to be able to have mine fixed, I thought, fully aware of how horribly buck-toothed and overlapping mine had once been. Absent western technology, my teeth would no doubt have come to the same fate as those of the average middle-aged person here. Most Chinese citizens were unable to clean between their crowded teeth or afford regular visits to the dentist, so it was no surprise that teeth were generally
in pretty poor condition by our standards. That also explained why people were so surprised by Mom’s age. Some had actually used a form of charades along with bits of broken English to convey that she could not possibly be forty-six because she still had all of her teeth.

  If only Bree would show them her tooth! Now that would give them a laugh! Bree’s teeth were straight enough, but the poor girl was missing FIVE of her permanent teeth. Braces had pulled her teeth together enough that she only had to have one fake tooth attached to her retainer.

  “See? See?” the kids were demanding, still not quite understanding why I had a metal strip called a “letinel” in my mouth. For both hygienic and social reasons, I never take my retainer out in public, but I figured this was a special occasion. I wanted to show them something advanced and different from another culture, so I suctioned it out with my tongue and dropped it down from the top of my mouth. They couldn’t have been more amazed if I’d just removed my whole mouth. One girl’s shriek made me laugh out loud.

  An hour went by far too quickly, and our time with the first class was coming to an end. Just before we left, everyone got up to have a photo taken. One young girl snuck in behind Ammon when she thought no one was looking and measured herself against him. Unable to believe that she only reached the bottom of his shoulder blades, she tried a second time. She straightened her shirt, stretched her neck, and stood as tall and erect as possible before placing her hand at the top of her head to measure. The second results were just as shocking as the first, and she scampered back to the group before any of her peers could see.

  After we’d finished with the autographs and photos, we said our goodbyes before heading to the next class to do it all over again. As we turned to leave, I heard “thank you, thank you, thank you” from all around me and I couldn’t help but smile and be glad we’d come. I knew there was nothing to be afraid of.

  Chapter 16: Dragon Spine