>I helped a guy last night for his oral English test. He’s from a small town, so predictably, his English is bad. It’s beyond terrible, in fact.

His vocabulary isn’t too great, but his pronunciation is far worse. Aside from the usual issues (pronunciation of the dental fricative “th”), he had trouble with “r” and “v”. He pronounced the R’s as L’s, but only some of the time. Great was great.

Grow was glow. Something like glow. Not the real English “l” but a rhoticized “l”. I told him to keep his tongue down when making that sound. He couldn’t. Even after demonstrating several times, he could not do it.

So we skipped and went to the next problem.

The “v”. Or “b”, as he pronounces it.

I again demonstrated, and he again didn’t get it. So, I told him to pronounce every “v” is sees as an “f”, which he has no trouble grasping. For some of the words, the neighboring vowels seemed to unlock the voicing that “v” needs. I hope this will help him.

After we reviewed, he sort of just stuck around and asked me short, random questions. I’d like to say I didn’t mind, but I did. Finally, after ten agonizing minutes, I decided to take a walk and we left.

On the way out, he patted my stomach and said, “You need…” He froze. “I do not know the word.”

But he did know an alternate way to say it.

“You are a little fat.”

You clearly have never been to America, my friend. Come on down to the Lexington, TN Wal-Mart some time. You will see what fat truly is.

**I know he didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Just an observation, a friendly piece of advice. I think that’s how it goes anyways.

>Picture a restroom the size of an Ihop booth. A squat toilet in the middle, two urinals on each wall nearly touching, no privacy whatsoever. Now picture it full of people.

This is what I saw at a restaurant. I step inside, and there are guys at the urinals and a guy squatting over the middle toilet. Taking a shit.

I gasp and start to back away, but that Chinese hospitality comes into play and he points at a urinal, smiles, and waves me inside. No, it’s okay.

There’s plenty of room.

I politely shake my head while turning away and retreating back to my table. I can hold it. Later on, when I’m sure there’s no one coming or going, I return. The smell hits my nose. The sight hits my eyes.

A pile of shit covers the squat toilet. A big pile. The kind that would fill up one of our Western toilets. A dung heap that signifies the presence of a sick triceratops.

I can hold it some more.

>Picture a sign in Beijing reading “Public Toilets”. I head into the little crevice and turn in the door. The voices hit my ears. The sight rapes my eyes.

There are four square toilets, as close together as desks in a classroom. No stalls. No privacy whatsoever. A man squatted over each, shitting and talking. Presumably after eating and talking.

The after-dinner dump is a social activity.

I stumble back and immediately zap myself with my Men in Black Neuralyzer that I just happened to have on me. I hunch over and rub my eyes. My mind clear, all I can remember is that I have to pee.

So I head to the door.

>

Another day, another awkward conversation.

Me: Who am I teaching now? English majors?

Chinese teacher: No. The concentration camp students.

Me: Come again?

Her: These students here. In concentration camp.

Me: Concentration camp?

Her: Yes. The concentration camp students.

Despite 9 million dead, despite torture, abuse, and genocide that have occurred throughout history, Concentration Camp has prevailed over sound judgment and good taste as the name for the four-week intensive course for Freshmen Non-English Majors. The university requires that all students not only take English, but pass it each year, culminating in a in a huge test at the end of their undergraduate tenure, which will have serious job implications.

You might think English teachers play an important role. You might also think as a native-speaker I am highly valued.

It then follows that our program would have solid organization, a gameplan designed to give all of these students (at what is a second-tier university) an equal chance to take control of their lives.

It stumbles. And falls, and busts its nose. Torn cartilage, a broken bone, and let’s not forget the blood. There is plenty of that.

But before I get into the current set-up, I must finish talking about September and the intensive course for postgraduate students.

The four-week intensive course ends in a student performance in the English language. Theatrical performance is a very efficient tool for improving foreign language skills, and in here, the students performed multiple skits. Some classic fairy tales. Some invented stories that played on actual Chinese lore.

The students spent weeks and put in a lot of effort, all of which showed in the final product. Of the foreign teachers who taught them, three of us showed up, and everyone sat in an auditorium, refreshments provided.

Teachers were there. Past students, as well as the bureaucracy of our foreign affairs department. They sat there and watched, as I did, as everyone did, the Powerpoint slides introducing people to the performance.

One of the slides had a picture of the Disney character Pluto. Beside him, in great big capital letters: CONCENTRATION CAMP.

The administrators sat in the front row, waiting for the performance to begin. The Powerpoint slides disappeared at seven o’clock, and the two hosts welcomed us and the performance began.

Following retelling of American and Chinese fairy tales, the head of the program gave the audience peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then they honored the Chinese and Foreign Teachers with roses. We stood there, none of us Jewish, for photos and roses, and did I mention photos? Each and every student wanted a photo with us. They genuinely liked us, and I have to say, the feeling is mutual.

The Friday morning prior, I had taught on my own for the first time. Or at least tried to. They gave me the wrong directions to a building on a campus I’d been to once. I missed the first two periods, but made it to the last two where I talked about myself, and that was it. Sophomore English majors, these students were nice. Talkative. Just wonderful all around.

Then I get an email. I have to switch to the afternoon classes.

I enter the room, introduce myself, and begin talking. No one responds. Fine. I start explaining various aspects of American society, pausing to ask them if they understand. No one responds. … Okay, fine. Let’s continue.

A girl pulls out her overpriced cell phone and begins talking. What are you doing?

She puts the phone away and glares at me. Boring!

A one-word critique. God-forbid they would speak a complete sentence. They are English majors after all. I later figured out it wasn’t so much my class that was the problem, it was their terrible level of English. They were petrified of doing much more than playing games.

When I got them talking, I wondered why the school allowed them to be English majors. You need some actual skill to go with that line on your resume, some substance, and this goes for any foreign language.

Aside from the English majors, my other teaching assignment was in another series of intensive courses, this one for freshman non-English majors. I should note that I knew none of this, save for class location, until I asked somebody. Apparently, keeping laowai in the loop is not the terms of the contract.

I show up that Monday morning and enter the classroom. Outside, they chatted loudly in Chinese, the harsh Wuhan accents rising supreme to all others. The moment I entered, they fell silent. They stared.

I said, “Hello. How are you doing today?”

One answered, “Sleeping!”

Oh…this is going to be great.

>My girlfriend gave me some information last night. This more for my future reference for future columns than it is for you.

1) You have to pay for high school in China. And I’m not talking about class dues or shit like that; think more along the lines of tuition. How much? She said it prevents poorer families from educating their children. The natural question is: why do they charge for high school? Perhaps there is a good reason, think school upkeep. Let’s see.

2) She did not learn to speak English until college. The English portion of the college entrance exam tests reading and grammar, not oral. Why? Furthermore, the teachers had bad English pronunciation; she said that different classes heard different pronunciation. Again, why? Why hire such bad teachers? A shortage? Something else? I guess what the Australian teacher said holds true in this case: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” They probably don’t see the value in oral English, especially since the college entrance exam does not test oral. Too bad that anyone hoping to use English as a means to a good job or abroad needs to know how to speak and understand it. Explore further.

3) Since I am going to her hometown, this one comes in handy: her parents do not speak Putonghua (standard Mandarin) but a local dialect. Okay, how do they communicate with people outside their hometown? Apparently the dialect is not that different to hinder communication. It’s mutually intelligible with Mandarin. This isn’t Cantonese versus Mandarin. And she can speak the local dialect and Putonghua as well. The college entrance exam tests knowledge of Mandarin, I think. I’ll look into this.