What the Chinese Don't Eat (17 page)

‘High forehead: she comes from a very talented background.

‘Curved back: she could bring shame on her family.

‘Long fingers with both little fingers straight: she should have beautiful legs.

‘Big hips with small waist: she will bear a boy and many more children.

‘Small, thin, narrow feet: she should belong to a wealthy family background even if she is poor.

‘The second toe longer than the big toe: she could have a difficult relationship with her mother-in-law.

‘Smooth, pale, soft skin: she could have a rich past generation on her mother’s side.’

Later, as we left the studio, I asked the doctor: ‘How many physical inspections did you perform until you found your wife?’

‘None, she was given to me by her father, the head of my hospital.’ He rolled his eyes.

‘Lucky you! What about your mother-in-law? Was she chosen by physical inspection?’ I asked.

‘You want to know the truth?’ he asked. ‘She has almost everything the opposite of good physical characteristics.’

‘But why didn’t your father-in-law use physical inspection for his own marriage when it was popular in his time?’ I asked.

‘He said his mother told him: the best choice of a wife, is that you must make sure no one else wants your wife as a lover, then you are safe and will be with her forever. That’s how he tried to persuade me to marry his daughter!’

The English break the ice by talking about weather, but the Chinese choose food

The weather is generally what you talk about with the British as a safe way to start a conversation or if you have nothing much else to say. But what about with Chinese people? That’ll be food or health.

‘Have you eaten?’ ‘
Ni chi le ma
?’ is the most important, most popular sentence in the Chinese language, used wherever and whenever, even if you just meet someone in the street at midnight. It is not necessary to answer precisely when you ate or what you had, a simple ‘yes, I have’ or ‘
chi le
’ is enough. That means you are not hungry, your life isn’t bad; it also means you have nothing much to talk about or you are in hurry. If you answer ‘not yet’ ‘
mei ne
’ or ‘what about you?’ ‘
ni ne
?’, that means you want to keep that person’s attention. Or if you want to tell them something but not necessarily about food, then you could go on ‘why not?’ ‘
wei shen ma
?’

When you hear a Chinese person say, ‘You look so tired, are you OK?’, please don’t be upset. It’s not that you really look terrible. It is just our way of showing you how much we care about you. It’s a way of saying we respect and admire you – you are a great person who is still working or meeting friends even though you are so tired and look terrible.

I am sure it is very difficult for westerners to accept, especially if you
are
tired and really feel terrible but don’t want anyone to notice. It can all be very embarrassing.

Toby, my husband, had an accident in Argentina four years ago when he fell from a horse. He broke his left arm, shoulder
bone and one rib. Before going to pick him up from the airport, I told the Chinese student who was staying with us: ‘Please try to be polite and patient with this English man who must be in great pain and needs help.’ But I forgot to warn him of the culture difference. The student was such a kind boy and probably thought a lot about what to say.

‘Oh, my God! Toby, you look unbelievably miserable!’ the boy shouted out as soon as we walked into the flat. Toby’s face dropped. Before I had a chance to stop him, he continued his polite chat: ‘Poor Toby, your eyes are both so bruised, like a Chinese panda!’ Toby’s eyes started burning. I went behind Toby and started waving my arms – stop, stop! He misunderstood and carried on: ‘Yes, I can see your body is swollen like a big bear!’ Then to help his basic English, he used body language – he started walking like a bear. I can’t tell you how embarrassed Toby was. I felt it too, because I had learned a little bit about the difference in British and Chinese cultures.

In the following months, during Toby’s recovery, I had many calls and emails – my Chinese friends really got a chance to tell us how much they cared. One western friend asked me: ‘Why are your Chinese friends so “excited” by other people’s health problems?’

Westerners don’t understand why food and health have become such a popular topic in Chinese daily life. This comes down to more than 5,000 years of Chinese history. As far as I understand, you need to go back to historical records from about 1300 BC, when Chinese rulers started to tell people what you could or couldn’t say or do. Beliefs and religion? No, you needed only believe in the ruler. Personal opinions about the society you live in? No, you were just a small cog with no need to think. Sexuality? No, that was too private to be talked about. Law? Nothing to discuss, the ruler’s words were law! And so
food and medicine occupied a big part of Chinese culture. Most Chinese people won’t bring flowers and wine to you when they visit your home in China, but they will carry lots of tonic for your overall health.

But, I have to say, I still can’t work out why the British, who have been living in a much further advanced civilisation, still choose the weather as a safe way to start their conversation.

Why do old men, who need sticks to walk, open doors for healthy middle-aged women?

At the end of this month, I will have been living in London for eight years, a sixth of my life. I have experienced so much in those eight years in a foreign country amid so many foreign cultures – happiness and sadness, surprise and shock. I would need more than three books to tell the whole story.

It began at Heathrow airport. After queuing for a long time at customs, we spent more than half an hour learning how to start being ‘an independent Chinese, needing no foreigner’s help’ just to find the right exit. ‘How do we get out of this airport?’ ‘Way out.’ What does that mean? Finally, we got in a taxi. ‘Where are you going, darling?’ the driver asked. Oh, my God, we had found a sexual hooligan! We looked at each other fearfully, because in China only your husband or sexual hooligans use the word ‘darling’. ‘Hollow,’ we answered coldly. We thought we had said Harrow, short for Harrow Road. In China you don’t need to add ‘road’, you just use the name of the road by itself. ‘Hollow.’

‘Hollow to you too, you beautiful ladies!’ replied the cab driver. ‘Where are we going? Have you got a piece of paper with the address?’ He was obviously an experienced taxi driver and stopped the car to sort us out. We had only driven a few metres.

‘Dress?’ My friend said to me in Chinese. ‘I know what this English word means, but why is he asking about our clothes? I think we have met a bad man, we should get out of this taxi.’ She was so frightened, she could not wait for an answer. I held on to her with one hand and with the other passed the piece
of paper with the address to the driver. When we reached the hotel, he dropped us by a tiny back door. We had done more than four loops of the street because we could not read Roman numerals but he did not charge us the extra. What we had been told in China was not true; in fact, taxi drivers in capitalist countries are better and far more professional than our socialist ones. It was the first difference we came across between what we saw and experienced here and what we had been told in China.

Shopping was not an enjoyable pastime for us – two Chinese women with a Chinese income. After a few days our shining black hair, which had been looked after weekly by a hairdresser in China, became like dry grass; our smooth Asian skin, which had looked so young, never belying our true age, became rough and old; our Chinese stomachs, which in our motherland had always been fed fresh fish, vegetables and fruits, became greedy and unhealthy. Frozen chicken, meatballs and tinned fruit became part of our everyday diet. The price we paid for our cheap London lifestyle was damaged bodies.

The first time I returned to China, my Chinese friends were very honest. ‘Oh, my God, Xinran, where have you been? I thought you went to Great Britain, that developed country? Why do you look as if you’ve just come back from the impoverished Chinese countryside? What’s happened to you?’

The difference in culture and customs really made me feel crazy and dizzy, but it touched me as well. At the beginning, I was so embarrassed by people who kindly kissed my hand or face, and hugged me. I didn’t understand why these old gentlemen, who needed sticks just to walk, were opening the door for me, a healthy middle-aged woman, with neither a charming young face nor an attractive figure. I was totally lost when some western friends pointed out that I could ‘invade
their privacy’ after I tried to help them in the best Chinese way, which is never to tell people if you want to help them – just do it. I was moved to tears when a stranger came up and asked, ‘Are you OK? Do you need any help?’ as I watched some children playing. I was missing my son, whom I had left behind in China that first year I came to London. Now I am surrounded by friends from different countries and different cultures.

My life has changed so much. It is true that sometimes I am still treated as an uneducated refugee, because I am Chinese. But I have published two books in more than 30 languages; I work for the media in so many different countries, I have set up a charity, MBL, for westerners who want to know about Chinese culture, be it because it is part of their roots, or simply because they are interested. I have been giving a lovely image of Britain as my second home to my family and friends, but, in the end, nothing can replace China for me as my first and proud motherland.

Even now, many Chinese find it impossible to see Mao as anything but a smiling presence

‘I can make the Queen laugh or frown!’ a Chinese student boasted during an Asian students’ drinks party at my flat. Then she used a £10 note to show how she could change the Queen’s expression from a big laugh into a frown simply by making two folds in the note.

‘Have you tried this on Chinese money with Mao’s face? How would his face look?’ asked a western guest. ‘Oh, let’s try it! Mao’s face must be very funny.’ Some of the students became very excited.

I, too, was curious to see what Mao’s face would look like. I had never seen him make any public display of anger or sadness. Even though people have painted him very differently, all have shown him smiling, unceasingly. Sometimes, I have wondered if this is because no one was allowed to take photos in Mao’s moody period. Or perhaps it is because no one has had the chance to steal photos showing his angry or sad expressions from the Communist party’s office in Beijing, entry to which involves getting at least three red stamps and filling in forms.

So I raised my hand to tell the students that I had a Chinese note with Mao’s face on it. I was stopped by the middle-aged woman next to me. ‘Don’t be silly, Xinran,’ she said. ‘Do not let them deface Mao, it is not good for you.’

‘It’s just a joke,’ I said. ‘A game with young people. No one would think we were doing it for a political reason. And this is London, not China, and we are free to have our own views.’ I went to get the note.

She stopped me before I could hand the note to the students. ‘Do you want to go back to China again?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You know I go there more than twice a year.’

‘Do you want to be hated by the Chinese?’

‘You think the Chinese would hate me for playing a game with Mao’s face? Do you believe they still regard Mao as God?’ I was surprised by her attitude; she is, after all, a career woman living in the west, has been abroad since 1992 and has family with a Dutch man.

‘You have been moulded by the western media, which has hardly any positive press about China and the Chinese. You often go back to China, so tell me why Mao’s picture still hangs on the walls of so many people’s houses, shops and offices. You think it is because the Chinese government orders them to display them, or because those people have never heard western views? Or do you think they don’t know that Mao did terrible things to his people and how much he damaged his country? Be honest to our history, Xinran. I know your family has lost people under Mao’s cruel policies, I know your parents were sent to prison for years and you suffered in the Cultural Revolution as an orphan.

‘I am sorry to remind you of your unhappy memories. But don’t look down on what Mao did for Chinese national pride, and for those poor parents in the early 1950s. I feel it is unfair to Mao.’

I stopped her. ‘What about the millions of Chinese who died under his rule, because of his policies, in the 50s and 60s?’

‘If westerners still believe their God is just after he flooded the world for his own purpose, or George Bush could invade Iraq with growing numbers of deaths for his campaign for moral good, why shouldn’t Chinese believe in Mao, who did
lots of positive things for the Chinese but also lost lives for his own mission for good?’ Her voice grew angry.

‘Give it to me,’ said a student, snatching the note from my hand.

‘I told you, don’t let them use Mao’s face to play with!’ She was so angry that she left at once.

I was so shocked by her loyalty to Mao that I couldn’t enjoy the game with Mao’s face and the note.

A few weeks ago I heard some news. Peasants near Beijing, who had been campaigning since 2003 to stop a power station being built on their land, were attacked and six of them were killed by an armed gang. It was said to have been arranged by corrupt local officials.

I rang a journalist friend in Beijing to ascertain exactly what had happened. He told me what he had heard from a local news report: ‘Many wounded peasants held Mao’s picture and cried, “This would never have happened when Mao was alive.”’

All of this made me think that it would be very difficult for a lot of Chinese people to change Mao’s face in their memory or in their hearts – even in a time when their children were happy to play a game with a picture of Mao’s face on a banknote that would have seen them jailed when Mao was alive.