By Jillian Suprenant
This past Friday was the national Chinese cultural holiday, The Dragon Boat Festival. This festival commemorates Qu Yuan, a famous patriotic poet, who upon being exiled by the king and upon learning of the conquering of Chu capital by the Qin State, drowned himself in the river. In order to protect and preserve his spirit, locals paddle Dragon Boats upon the river and make traditional zongzi (粽子), Chinese sticky rice dumplings encased in bamboo leaves. The festival is a celebration of family and community. It also was my 8th grade sister’s 14th birthday which meant double the festivities and fun.
Because the kids have off from school and the adults have off from work, my host sister informed me that we would be spending the entire day with her extended family. The sheer thought made me extremely nervous; so far during my time in China, I had not yet spent any time with people other than my students, team members, and nuclear family. I was worried about overcoming the communication barrier yet again, scared I wouldn’t know how to act in a culturally appropriate manner, and concerned that I would not live up to whatever image the relatives had in their heads about me.
That morning at 9:30, I was shuttled out of the house with my phone, water bottle, and no idea what to expect as we headed off to meet my father’s family in his home town of Pingsha. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw upon exiting the car nearly two hours later. We were in the middle of a rural farming village, with miles and miles of growing rice crops, roaming chickens and dogs, and unpaved paths. My family’s clean Mercedes looked comically out of place among the dirt and overgrown plants. At first, I was extremely confused; surely my host father had accidentally made a wrong turn while en route to our actual destination. But I was wrong.
I was ushered out of the car and into a nearby house where smiling ladies, my host father’s sisters, greeted me in Chinese. She was sitting and washing rice while her husband attended the kitchen and began preparing for lunch. The house was modest yet cozy and greatly differed from my host family’s elaborately decorated and elegant apartment. But the sense of community still remained, strong as ever.
After exchanging hellos, Sunny gave me a tour of the land, showing me the vast fish pond, chicken coop, and vegetable gardens. She proudly pointed out everything her uncle was growing – lychee, longan, passionfruit, gourds, leeks, peppers, tomatoes, lettuce, eggplant, green beans, the list goes on – and explained how her father grew up here with his family when he was little. During the tour of the countryside, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it all was; the sky was blue and clear of pollution, the breeze blew frequently to mitigate the brutal heat, and the green of the plants was vibrant and rich.
When the tour ended, I was brought back to the house and enjoyed a filling lunch composed of various things I had and hadn’t seen before. Upon digging into the birthday girl’s favorite dish and enjoying it immensely, I learned that chicken intestines (yes, you read that right) are actually delicious. I also learned that Maryland crabs and crawfish have nothing on the fresh ones I ate that day.
After lunch concluded, the TV was turned on and the women in the family became engrossed in a Chinese soap opera as we made the traditional 粽子. Although I could not understand the story, I too, found myself engrossed in the dramatic acting, and as the plot transitioned to a ballet scene, I found myself teaching my mom, aunts, and six-year-old the basic ballet body positions. The “teaching” session brought me immense joy; through dance, we found commonality and camaraderie despite different cultures. I also loved learning to make the 粽子. After struggling to fold the bamboo leaves correctly no matter how many times the aunts showed me, I eventually was able to make one worthy of a “好.”
After the zongzi finished cooking at around 4, we left Pingsha and traveled back to Zhuhai and picked up a cake for Sunny along the way. Expecting to arrive back home, I was surprised when we instead pulled into a fancy hotel parking lot and entered a private dining room with a table set for twelve. There, I met the mother’s side of the family and learned that apparently my host sister’s also have two older brothers, one of whom is a doctor, the other a high school student in the midst of taking his university entrance exam. I was given a gift of Pink Panther cutlery from the brother who immediately apologized for the age inappropriate gift as his mother apparently misspoke and told him I was a middle school student from America (potentially the funniest thing that has happened to me thus far). I reconnected with my mother’s sister, Angel, a sweet English-speaking woman who I met on the first day I spent with my host family, and I was introduced to many new faces and names, many of whom I am sad that I will probably never see again.
The feast for dinner was unbelievable and seemed never ending. I was served fruit, soup, vegetables, pork, chicken, fish, clams, and buns to name a few, and found myself completely stuffed before even having time to think about dessert. When I wasn’t eating, I found myself observing those around the dinner table: the brother, making up for the time he missed with his two sisters, the aunts consistently teasing my mother, Angel and her husband, caring for their two-year-old son, and the uncles and grandparents laughing and toasting with my father. In that moment, I again felt extremely blessed. In China, I had found a family, a family which possessed some of the dynamics I wished my extended family had back home.
When the clock struck ten, we left the hotel for what I thought was home. Instead, we entered KTV, a bumping karaoke place – no, palace – and spent the next three hours singing Chinese and American songs in a private room. There, I first hand experienced the love I felt in the room during dinner. The family encouraged me to sing with them, showering me with applause when I attempted to read the Chinese lyrics and the brother and I bonded by singing American songs we both knew. The mom and dad sang loves songs together, my 8th grader showed off her impressive voice, and my six-year-old sister stole the show with her rendition of 小星星(“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”). Then, the mango crepe cake was brought out and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to Sunny in both English and Chinese and she blew out the candles after squeezing her eyes tight and making a wish.
As the night wound down, the brother taught me how to semi-successfully play Chinese dice. He consistently apologized for how bad his English was now that he hasn’t been in school for two years (spoiler alert: it was much better than my Chinese). Through the game, I learned that he and his father are absolute fiends at dice and that it is very hard to win a game you don’t understand the rules to.
After a couple of rounds, the night was finally over and we all gathered our things and walked home. The walk was incredibly sad as it represented the end of my favorite day thus far in Zhuhai and the conclusion of my fourth week in China. It is hard to imagine that in about a month I will be boarding a plane for America and leaving all these new and wonderful experiences. But it is nights like these that I know I will never, ever forget.
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