A Shameless Charade, and Smoking Saves My Day

Oh shit. My cover is blown.

***

Maodian is the closest place to get groceries and night market snacks, so on evenings and weekends it is a popular stopover for Maple Leaf teachers. I am ordering a spiced flatbread for a Canadian teacher when a teenager standing nearby looks at me and says to himself, “Hey, she does speak Chinese!”

I look at him and alarm bells start ringing in my head. I turn away to another vendor to regain composure, swearing a blue streak under my breath.

This may not seem like cause for such great alarm, but is in fact something that could undermine my capacity to teach English to the middle schoolers. Being a “foreign” teacher who does not at all look foreign, the students have a hard time believing me when I tell them I don’t speak Chinese. Of course I do this so that they speak English to me in class. It has been tough these last two months to not speak Chinese to the students, and reinforcing the English-only policy has required me to pretend I don’t understand anything the students tell me which is not in English. This charade extends to visiting parents, other staff members, and my bilingual Chinese officemates who now know that they have to switch to English with me if students are around.

The Maple Leaf campus (disclaimer: not my picture!) - how 'bout those smoggy skies?

So when this teenager from Maple Leaf turned to his friends and proclaimed that I was a Maple Leaf foreign teacher who did actually speak Chinese, I bolted. Strode past the group of smoking teens trying not to meet any eyes and made for the street. I didn’t get far before I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned around at am met by the teen who first saw me. He pointedly asks, “Do you speak Chinese?”.

I put on my best confused face, and deny it. He seems unbelieving. He continues. “You are Maple Leaf teacher?”

I confirm this, at the same time wracking my brains to figure out how to get out of this. By this time I am faced with a group of eight teenage boys, none of whom I recognize. I realize that I have taught them all before while substituting for a sick colleague. They all know me, but I had not taught them long enough to remember their faces.

Suddenly I see it. I ask them (redundantly) if they are Maple Leaf students. They nod.

I look at their faces, and counter the first students’ question with a stern expression and lecturing finger, “Did I see you smoking?”.

Their reaction to this tells me that these boys are still responsive to authority. While some students are already far beyond being afraid of teachers, these boys suddenly cowered under this question, realizing that they too had been seen.

One of them ventured to say that it was alright because they were not in school. I pressed on, “Do your parents know that you smoke?”.

Cringing faces. Good.

I ask for their class and their names. This did the trick. The biggest one jumped and hid behind another one. They all shook their heads, afraid that I was going to report them.

I let up a little and ask them about their results during Sports Day today. They relax a bit and tell me what events they competed in. By this time most of them have gravitated away, surely with the same intention to bolt as I had had just a few moments ago.

I wave goodbye to the remaining boys, and feel temporarily relieved. Did I convince them? Or did I simply put off the inevitable? And what would happen if my own students find out that I have been understanding every word they say to me in Chinese?

Stay tuned for more dramatic tales...

Would they still speak English to me if they knew?