Our college had planned to have a big Christmas party/performance like we did last year, but fears of spreading H1N1 scotched that idea. Instead, each class (we have nine groups of 27-40 students each that we call classes) was to arrange for its own Christmas party. While disappointing, the lack of a college-wide Christmas event freed up a lot of time for all of us planning on performing.

Last year, the preparations for the big gala pretty sucked away any free time I had, so I was not able to plan any Christmas event of my own device. This year, though, I decided to invite people to my home for a dinner. A few friends had already offered to cook for us, so all I needed to do was to clean up the apartment and get people there.

But first, there were some Christmas Eve events. One of our classes, Sophomore Business English G2, held their party in the morning. They had four hotplates going at the same time, cooking up 火锅 huoguo (hotpot). Previously, they had decorated their classroom with three Christmas trees, snowflakes on the windows, balloons and Christmas lights (spelling out “Merry Christmas”). All the students wore Santa hats. I am not sure whether David, their oral Engish teacher, was supplied a hat. If he was, he opted not to wear it. All the faculty were invited, so between my classes I visited the four hotpots to sample their wares.

This class should write a cookbook. It could sell, I think.

At lunch, the university held a luncheon for the foreign teachers and postgraduate students, all seven of us. Besides David and I, there were Matt and Jamey, postgrads from Oklahoma, Grisha and Anya, piano teachers from Ukraine, and their son, Nik. Joining us were a few faculty from our college, the deans of the music and international exchange college, and some university officials. We ate at the Qinzhao Hotel, which is on campus and serves traditional local dishes. Naturally, baijiu was supplied and drunk, making teaching my afternoon classes particularly challenging.

The enormous meal at lunch meant I had no appetite for dinner, so after a light snack, I went to Christmas party #2, organized by the sophomore English Education class Z2. Instead of cooking, they put on their own show, with dancers, singers, a magician and karaoke. Here, I sang, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” which some students had no idea was an American song.

Friday was Christmas Day, and I am entitled to a day off, but I chose to meet some of my oral English students to give them their final exams in the morning. At 10, I repaired to my home to clean up for the afternoon’s party. Three students (Helen, Gina and Ailsa) offered to help me, so we four made the place presentable in pretty short order.

Now, my “head cook” called me in the morning and told me (I swear she did, honest!) that she would bring both the meat and an extra cookpan, but could not arrive until after 2:30. No problem. I asked two other guests to bring the vegetables, and they arrived around 3 with veggies and a bottle of rice wine (baijiu) from Guilin. I neglected to go to the supermarket, because I had assumed earlier that morning that some people would bring lunch food, and others dinner food. Nope. Never assume anything, they say.

The head cook finally arrived around 4, because she had had a PE exam that afternoon. But, she came with no meat or cookpan. She swears she had told me she couldn’t possibly have brought either, because she had no time, and she had told me that in the morning.

This, boys and girls, is why foreigners need to learn Chinese, and Chinese need to learn English.

So, we had lots of veggies and no meat, and no hotpot is complete without meat. (Sort of like, “How can you have your pudding if you don’t eat your meat?”) So, four of the guests volunteered to run to the market to buy meat and some ready-to-eat snacks, while the rest of us prepared the veggies and watched TV.

To make a long story short, all 15 of us worked it all out and had a great meal together, washed down with Coke, OJ, red wine and/or baijiu.

After this party broke up around 6:30, a few of us were invited to another dinner party downtown. This arrangement goes sort of like this: one of my friends is Shelldy, a music college senior; her guzheng and English student is Li, a sales rep for a local tobacco company; Li is friends with Miss Xiang, the manager of the Dolphin Coffee Bar and Western Restaurant; Miss Xiang invited me, Shelldy and some of our friends to dinner that night.

Got it? Good.

Anyway, I had a second dinner, a passably good steak (though Houcaller in Changsha does a better job of it) and some reasonably good coffee brewed with a fascinating contraption heated with an alcohol burner.

Li, Shelldy and the coffee brewer

So, it is now Dec. 26th. I was invited to the wedding luncheon for Anna Zhang, who works in the Foreign Affairs Office. I improved my local street creds by arriving with 红包 hong bao (lucky money) in the appropriate red envelope enblazoned with the double-lucky character 富富 (fu-fu)for marriages.

Chinese wedding customs are different from American ones. Here, couples get married by applying at the government offices and signing a few forms. They may, depending on their families’ traditions and desires, have a ceremony for family and close friends to attend. Some have two ceremonies, if bride and groom hail from different places. Then, there will be a luncheon or dinner for colleagues and not-so-close friends to attend. Everyone is expected to bring hong bao, and not gifts. (In the bigger cities, there are now wedding registries at the malls, but this custom has not yet caught on in the interior.)

Practically speaking, hong bao is to offset the costs of holding the banquets and other ceremonies. At Anna’s shinding, we handed our hong bao to a table of friends, who recorded the givers’ names and counted the money given. (Some couples may not have enough money beforehand to pay the caterer, so knowing how much “loot” they have taken in alleviates worry and despair.)

I asked three people how much money I should give, and checked online as well. One friend from Jishou said 200, a Shanghai website said 500 and another friend said use my own judgment. I opted for 300, so I wouldn’t seem too cheap but also not too extravagant. I don’t know neither bride nor groom very well.

The happy couple pose with the foreign teachers

My friend Nora wanted to cook that afternoon, so I invited a smaller group of student friends over for dinner, including two of my cleanup crew who could not stay for dinner the day before. There were eight of us this time. After dinner, Nora wanted to visit a girl she knows who lives at the Xiangxi Welfare Home — the local orphanage/old folks home — because it was the girl’s 14th birthday.

Yong Fu has cerebral palsy and has been confined to a wheelchair most of her life. She has no parents, either because they died or because they gave her up, I am not sure. Originally from Zhangjiajie, she knows Nora and Jack, one of my students, pretty well. Yong Fu was apparently adopted by an American couple for a while, but her needs exceeded their ability to meet them, so she came back to China to the Xiangxi Welfare Home. Jack had bought a birthday cake, and Nora was going to visit Yong Fu, too.

Six of us decided to join them,and we were met by three other students, Grace, Lily and Cindy, freshmen from my college. (The College of International Exchange has basically adopted the welfare home as a “sister institution.” Several of our students visit there regularly.)

Although it was well past 8 pm, the staff at the welfare home allowed to us to quietly visit (since the other kids were asleep) Yong Fu in her room. It is spare, but roomy, with two wardrobes and a private bathroom. She has a bed by a double window, a desk and a dresser, and a few educational posters on the walls to learn Chinese characters (I could use a few myself). The facility itself is spotlessly clean, and Yong Fu at least seems very happy, all things considered.

After some greetings — with a dozen people they take a while — we unboxed the cake, sang the birthday song, and asked Yong Fu what size piece she wanted. To our surprise, she said she only wanted a tiny bit, because she wanted to share the cake with the other children in the orphanage. (Looking at some photos in the lobby, I reckoned that Yong Fu is the oldest child there.) Nora wanted Yong Fu to call Nora’s mom in Zhangjiajie — her mom also knows Yong Fu — so we waited for the two to talk for awhile.

We all pose with Yong Fu

[Grace has a depth that I didn't suspect. At lunch the next day, I learned from Grace that she chose not to sit for the college entrance exam as a high school student, thinking she could make her way without a college education. She succeeded to some extent, becoming the manager of a floral shop for three years in her hometown of Huaihua, but at the relatively advanced age of 21 decided to take the college entrance exam. Grace said she realized finally that she needed a college degree, especially as a young woman; otherwise, people meeting her might think she is not very smart.]

At this point, we left, hailed three cabs and headed home. I was pretty exhausted physically at this point, and my living room and kitchen were a mess. We had left in a hurry to visit Yong Fu. Gloria and Gina, both freshmen, sent me messages apologizing for leaving my home in such a state, but I told both that Yong Fu’s situation was far worse than mine. So, a little mess left for me to straighten up was no big deal. 没问题 meiwenti — It doesn’t matter.

So, that was how my second Christmas in China went. I hope yours (assuming you celebrate it) was as fun, exciting and fulfilling. If not, there’s always next year.

That’s the way they phrased it, anyway. The real meaning, however, was, “We really expect you to get a flu shot. Today. With the rest of the staff.”

But such directness is very un-Chinese. As it was phrased, it took a while for the true meaning of the “request” — or “mandatory option,” as my high school chorus teacher put it — to sink into my thick skull. They caught me while I was in the middle of entering students’ names into the Epals.com website, a task which Epals does not make especially easy by limiting you to 25 names at a time.

Distracted as I was, and still without a morning cup of Joe, I stalled and said I would think about it. My British cohort, David, was also likewise pecking away at another computer. He basically said, no. If it wasn’t a requirement, he would rather not. “I try to avoid taking medicines,” he added.

Soon after, David left to teach his classes, leaving me alone with two deans, the staff assistant and one of the head teachers. They chatted away in local dialect (It’s bad enough I can’t understand putonghua, they have to speak Jishou language!), so I could catch a few words, including the Chinese for “flu” and “teachers,”, and our names, David and John. The dean told me she had had her shot earlier in the morning, so I asked her how she felt. (FYI, she’s about my age.) She said her arm was sore and she had a slight headache. No biggie.

(Note: she did not say, “No biggie.” I am paraphrasing.)

After about 15 minutes of listening to them, I decided, while still working on my tasks, that I might as well get the shot. I had no real objections to it, and they seemed quite concerned that I was not eager to get one. David’s remark about avoiding medicines was an additional spur in my side. It offended the scientist in me. (David is a former engineer, I learned recently. ‘Nuff said.) Since our students and colleagues have already concluded that their foreign teachers’ temperaments are so different, I figured doing the opposite of what David did would just solidify that conclusion.

After I agreed to receive my poke in the arm, Prof. Tang, the associate dean and my immediate supervisor, revealed that each college had a quota of faculty and students to be vaccinated. This explained why Dr. Peng, the dean, was checking off a list of the staff’s names earlier in their animated Chinese conversation. So, my agreement would help take the heat off the college.

The university and local health officials are really quite serious about H1N1 after nearly 24 students came down with it since school started in September. Several girls in my G2 sophomore writing class were sent to the hospital, and their roommates were confined to quarters for a week. As a result, I did not meet that class at all during their quarantine, and our college has had extra attention paid to it.

China has mobilized a huge supply of vaccine, and schools have high priority. I am guessing health officials want enough of a “herd immunity” to confine, or at least control the pandemic, especially in the College of International Exchange, a veritable hotbed of H1N1. (We only have 300 students, so five H1N1 cases at one time is kinda significant.)

Anyway, I walked to the school clinic with the staff assistant, where we were joined by two other teachers and three sophomores. There, we discovered we did not have the proper forms, and had to wait awhile for copies to be made. Then we went in one a time to get jabbed by a very efficient and masterful nurse. (Seriously, I didn’t even feel the needle go in. It was over in less than 10 seconds.)

It’s now about 12 hours later. And I feel fine. No headache. My bicep feels only a little achy. Earlier in the day, I felt a little weird, but it was probably more fatigue than the vaccination. I’ve had a very busy day; fortunately, only half of it was work.

Oh, I almost forgot the most important part. The shot was free. Damned socialist medical care!

Then another a day later. According to some (unverified) reports, perhaps eight more students may be infected as well.

Jishou University has four campuses. The first student diagnosed with H1N1 lives at the old campus, near downtown. The second lives here at the new campus. Their roommates are being monitored as we speak.
I haven’t heard any bad news from the other two campuses, medical and foreign languages.

Our students have had the fear of God (or something like it, since China is officially atheist) put into them at meetings earlier this week. Wash your hands. Cover your nose and mouth when you sneeze or cough. Throw your tissues away immediately. Don’t touch your eyes, nose or mouth. If you feel ill or feverish, go directly to the school clinic, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

My foreign affairs officer, Cyril Hu, called me to his office this morning to give me an oral thermometer (A mercury one! The USA has all but abolished those.) and two sheets of instructions (in Chinese!?) about what precautions to take against the swine flu.

Meanwhile, rumors and fears are bubbling through the student community. One girl texted me to say there were “several” people down with the flu. Another student on QQ told me she had heard the uni would ban any travel during the upcoming eight-day National Holiday break. Both rumors proved to be false.

The same student on QQ said she was reluctant to study in the library, or even in her dormitory (she has nine roommates), since we are supposed to avoid crowds. She advised me to avoid going to the old campus or even downtown to go shopping for the same reason.

I told her I would be cautious, and advised her to do the same, but not to be fearful. Just the same, she told me she bought some medicine to help ward off the illness. She didn’t tell me what.

Chinese officials say there have been only two deaths out of the 4,400 confirmed cases of H1N1 infection so far. Most people are getting ill with fairly mild symptoms and recovering within a few days.

But, the swine flu is spreading quickly. Since we just finished summer break, many students have poured in from all parts of Hunan, including the capital, Changsha, where there have been at last nine confirmed cases. Many students also traveled over the summer to the big cities, like Shanghai, Beijing, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, where there are many more international travelers. Students and tourists are the vectors for the virus. It was just a matter of time before H1N1 came to our little neck of the woods.

China’s government, which early on was requiring all airline passengers to be checked before they even got off the plane, will soon start a nationwide vaccination program against the flu. Schoolchildren will be the first to receive the vaccine.

[I can just imagine the hue and cry in the USA were the Obama administration to attempt something like that!]

With a population of 1.3 billion, many of whom live in crowded cities, China has the right to be worried. The juggernaut of manufacturing the world’s consumer goods can’t afford (literally) to get sick.

I’m not worried. I’ll follow orders and wash my hands a lot, take my temperature once a day, and call my FAO if I feel sick or if the mercury rises. And I’ll keep an eye on my students, too.

But epidemiologists in Toronto have found convincing correlation between air travel from Mexico during the early stages of the H1N1 outbreak and the number of reported infections in the destination cities. Their findings are summarized in a letter to the New England Journal of Medicine

First, here’s their map showing the destinations of air travelers from Mexico during March and April 2008. [Click on the image to see it full-size.] The vast majority of those destinations were in the USA and Canada.

The researchers tabulated the number of reported cases of H1N1 infections. The USA and Canada lead the list.

China has seen relatively few H1N1 cases, since air travel between China and Mexico is not too common, but reported cases have either involved travelers who had been to Mexico and traveled through the USA, or travelers coming directly from the USA.

By comparison, soldiers returning from World War I apparently spread the so-called Spanish flu around the world, leading to a major pandemic in 1918.

In response to the pandemic, China has curtailed same-day issuance of visas within the USA. Visa applicants now have to wait for their visas. In addition, health inspectors check everyone arriving on international flights before they even leave the plane. Anyone who has an abnormal temperature, or who shows signs of respiratory problems (coughing, sneezing, etc.), are sent to a nearby hotel for a one-week quarantine.

Thus, I have postponed returning to the USA not because I am worried about catching the swine flu, but because I’d rather not be denied re-entry into China or be stuck in a hotel alone for a week.