On Wednesday morning, June 4, I experienced for the first
time, something close to what I dreamed of doing since I first became
passionate about journalism. I went out into the real foreign world, on my own,
and talked to real, live, people. Let me start from the very beginning–
The day I booked my flight to Shanghai, I knew I didn’t just
want to do the school’s work as far as keeping up with the business students.
That was my main priority, yes, but I didn’t want it to be all I did over the
course of the month I was in China. After all, I had to work my rear-end off
for this opportunity and I wasn’t going to let it go down easy. So during my
first week here, I met with the special project supervisor, Lee Lǎoshī
(Professor Lee) to discuss possible story angles I could work on while being in
the country.
Lee Lǎoshī listened closely to what it was I was interested
in: primarily the life of China’s migrant workers and more specifically, the women
of those families. I didn’t know what would be offensive to say; perhaps
“migrant worker” was something too controversial to talk about while you’re
here in China. But Lǎoshī listened to me intently, and came up with a myriad of
different suggestions. It seemed he had more ideas than I did, and I knew we
were going to get along just fine.
The next day, I was set up to meet with a migrant worker
family and two student translators at Nanxiang town – about a 45 minute subway
ride away. This was an area where Lǎoshī used to buy hardware pieces from a
shop where the man and his family were migrant workers, and he knew them well
enough that they would talk to me. I had no idea what to expect, but I had no
reservations either. I knew this was going to be the opportunity of a lifetime.
Fast forward to Wednesday morning – I wake up at 5 a.m.,
slip on my running shoes and hoodie, and walk to the East China Normal
University track field where I blow off steam running laps. I’m trying to think
of what today will be like and what I want out of it, but I just can’t stay
focused. If you read my last blog post, you’ll understand why it’s been hard
for me to get out of this travel haze I’ve been in – where the majority of the
time I’m too exhausted to write anything, and I hate myself for not being on my
workout routine like I was back home. Running laps on campus, surrounded by the
elderly people of Shanghai, brought a little more edge to my blurred thoughts.
I jog back to the hotel – a glance at my watch told me I had
exactly 35 minutes to shower, dress and pack my equipment. Just enough time,
perfect.
7:00 a.m. - after getting everything in order, I grab a
quick bite to eat at the complimentary hotel breakfast. Hardboiled egg in tea,
soaked greens, and a fried rice cake with a shot of machine espresso. Grab my
backpack, turn in my food tray, and I’m off to the subway station to catch line
4 and transfer to line 11.
As the line 11 train pulls up to my stop in Nanxiang, I exit
the station and find my way to the bridge where I’m supposed to meet my
translators and Lee Lǎoshī. It’s 8:00 – I’m half an hour early. I remember
thinking I’m not sure how that happened, I thought I had timed everything
perfectly. I get to the bridge, and just as I’m feeling a little out of place, I raise my head and see something
every American dreams of seeing when encountering ambiguity. Consistency. I
mean, Starbucks. There was a freaking Starbucks, sitting right smack-dab in the
middle of worker-laden streets, all pristine and westernized. I shake my head and can't help but smile,
realizing the sheer extent of the corporate company’s wingspan as I walk
through the comforting doors of the coffee shop. I order a coffee and a muffin, hand over about 40 yuan, and take my seat at the window overlooking Nanxiang
station. It’s one of those moments you have to look around and say, “Am I
really here right now?”
At 8:30, I see Lǎoshī and two female students standing on
the bridge. I walk over to them, introduce myself and learn that the two girls
are both juniors at another nearby college. They both major in English; Lǎoshī thought
this would be the perfect chance for them to practice. Elain and Vuchiey are
their English names, and when I ask for their Chinese versions they give me the
exact same reaction every Chinese person has thus far: a quiet
deer-in-the-headlights look and a quick change of subject through mumbling and
wide eyes. I don’t understand why it makes people uncomfortable to tell me
their Chinese names but I would later have the chance to ask.
Elain and Vuchiey are wonderful – they’re open, friendly,
non-conflicted when I ask controversial questions, and their English is pretty
darn good. I also like that they’re invested; it would be easy to show up to
this to help an American student and just do your bare minimum volunteer job.
But these girls sit down with me and Lǎoshī, and they already have questions to
be added to mine. They care about where the camera is and how much time we
spend with each interviewee. They, like me, want to know more about migrant
life, and how it affects the lives of the workers. I love it – and it’s got me
pumped to get out there and get started. After a little under an hour getting a
plan together, the three of us head out, and say our goodbyes to Lǎoshī. He
heads back to the office, and we walk towards Nanxiang road.
The three of us walk the street together, conversing about
typical small talk and getting to know each other better. Both girls are
students working to graduate soon; they love English but they didn’t think they
were very good at it. I tried to convince them otherwise but they were set in
their minds. I asked about their families, their hopes for the future, and what
kind of music they liked. They asked if I watched Gossip Girl, to which I had
to disappoint them that I didn’t. Nonetheless, they giggled excitedly that I
looked like Blake Lively’s character – a compliment I’ll take to heart even
though any blonde hair blue-eyed American girl would probably look like Blake
Lively in their eyes. Oh well, I can take a compliment.
The streets were relatively busy, people seemed to be going
on with their daily lives as usual. It was similar to the busyness of inner
city Shanghai with a little less dirt and a little less crowds. People bustled
by hauling their business-on-bicycles, zoomed by on mopeds, and chattered
passionately in a language I’ve only just begun to learn. The shops are small
and crowded – they remind me of the hutongs we saw in Beijing, only less modern
and a little calmer. The locals sit outside, sometimes on upside down paint
buckets outside their shops. They might be doing some kind of handiwork as they
sit there or smiling with their neighbors. Despite the bad rap this place got
before I came here, I’m happily surprised to feel like the people are
welcoming. Perhaps they simply want the American to buy out all their hardware
stores and clothing boutiques, but people were generally very friendly with me.
Elain, Vuchiey and I finally arrive at our first
destination. Mr. Huang’s shop is difficult to find, being nestled in amongst a
school of shops, all squished into one block. It looks like a small closet off
to the side of the road where there’s no door, only a bright blue sign in
Chinese characters above the entryway. A glass desk and some stools line the
small lobby, and Huang’s wife sits behind the counter.
I set up my camera equipment, tripod, lavalieres, the whole
enchilada. Mrs. Huang seems comfortable enough – although I can tell she’s a
tad distracted by any “customers” that waver in front of her shops door for a
half a second. Once we start talking though, she’s all ears.
I desperately want to tell you about our conversation, and
what it was like interviewing the Huang family and many others we found along
the way. However… this post is already too long and I’m thinking it should be
more a “to be continued” one anyways.
Besides, I have something in my back pocket I think you’ll
like knowing a little bit down the road.
Trust me.
