 NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2002 (XXXX 5) |
Editor’s Note: Caitlin Hopping, a Young Friend from Princeton Meeting (NJ), wrote the following account of last summer’s China workcamp, which was sponsored by Westfield Meeting (NJ), PYM Workcamps, and the American Friends Service Committee.
I notice the first entry as I flip through my journal, “Okay, I’m a little scared.” I don’t think any of the twelve American participants knew exactly what they were getting into at that point. We knew we were going to China and we knew we were going to teach English, but the town of Xiaoshicun and the High Bridge School for Girls seemed too far away, even to imagine. The long plane ride did nothing to lessen this feeling; it merely pushed it to the backburner as we sought out the nearest beds and collapsed with exhaustion the first night in Beijing. It wasn’t until the next morning that things began to sink in. I was actually in China!
After some quick sightseeing on the second day, the Americans met up with the Korean group and began the long train trip to Changsha, and from there by bus and then by foot to the school. I was shown into the beautifully simple building where the teachers were to live and unpacked my stuff, no longer feeling any apprehension. The next morning I met my students and taught my first class. The language barrier between us was difficult to penetrate; they found it hard to understand my English even when I spoke words they knew. It took a day or two, but soon both I and the students learned ways to communicate and each student’s distinct personality began to show itself. There was Jim, the class clown who scared me to death climbing to the tops of trees to hang birdhouses for an environmental project. Then there was Mary, the sweet girl who was the first to wade with me and the other teachers into the stream after a long hot day in school. I saw how generous another one of the students was when we visited his home to ask his mother questions concerning the family’s use of pesticides. He brought out chairs for all his classmates, plugged in an ancient electric fan, offered us water and showed us his house and “ten big piggies.” When I wasn’t teaching I was socializing with the Chinese and Korean teachers. We passed the time talking, comparing cultures and giving crash courses in English slang. (Which included explaining the crucial difference between the question “Who is this guy?” and the phrase “Who’s the man!”)
Then came graduation. The students practiced for hours on their songs and presentations. When the time came for them to perform I could see their fear, and just before climbing the stairs to the stage Mary took my hand and placed it on her heart, where I could feel it beating fast. My two fellow teachers and I stood near the front of the stage to cheer the students on and we hugged each other when it was over.
Now that I’m back home, Xiaoshicun doesn’t seem quite as far away as it used to, and the only thing I’m scared about is not returning.
Last modified: Wednesday, February 18, 2004 at 08:18 AM