Cabbies are the best Chinese teachers
By Bill Siggins(China
Daily)
Updated: 2006-06-16 06:19
As I jump in the taxi I
wonder how I am going to handle the inevitable five questions and the
over-the-top compliment.
Am I going to be a taikong ren (space alien) today
when asked where I'm from? Perhaps I'll use the standard Canadian line and try
to get a reaction by claiming to be the grandson of revered humanitarian Norman
Bethune.
Perhaps I'll test him with
Chairman Mao's eulogy of the good doctor Yi ge wai guo
ren, bu yuan
wan li, lai dao Zhongguo.
Any driver older than 35
(younger ones usually need a few hints) has studied his passage and immediately
identify me as someone from north of the "pretty country" or Meiguo (aka the
Will I play the one-child-two-wives
joke? Will I tell him I've been in
Will I tell the driver that
I hear "Ni de Zhongwen na
mo hao" (your Chinese is so good) about 10 times
a day, and he shouldn't "kua jiang
wo" (flatter me)?
Perhaps I'll just get all
the formalities out of the way and let him know I'm a Zhongguo
nu xu (
Taxi drivers have been my
best Chinese teachers. Really, I've learned more words and phrases from them
than any other teacher. There are several reasons. Take any cab on any given
day to any destination and it's a certainty that you'll be talking about the
same things over and over again.
It gives you chances to practise talking about yourself and what you've learned
from the last ride and maybe add a word or two to the vocabulary.
There's also something
about the situational learning that helps words stick in the sieve upstairs,
but I think it's the cabbies themselves.
They are the salt of the
earth and will tell you exactly the way it is. They especially appreciate
someone who can ask for their opinion and (at least seemingly) understand the
reply.
I've had many a Mandarin
epiphany in a
This led him,
and every driver since, to mention "Bet-chew-wen
die-few" or at least it sounded like that back then. I just had no clue
what he was talking about.
Determined to make himself understood, he plays an elaborate charade, taking
both hands off the steering wheel to pantomime a machine gun firing which
didn't help me understand but made me laugh.
He then pretends to stitch
a wound in his head and I thought he was also losing his mind, as I was mine.
Still, I had no idea what he was trying to say.
I pay the fare and get
dropped off and it finally strikes me. He's talking about the great Canadian Dr
Bethune or Bai qiu en dai fu, who died sewing up wounded Eighth Route Army
soldiers prior to liberation (during the War of Resistance against Japanese
Aggression).
I chase the cab before he
gets away and pound the hood. I couldn't let him go without knowing that I
finally knew who and what he was talking about. Cue a huge smile on both our
faces we made a connection and we both had a story to tell.
Now, 15 years later I've
returned to the north capital and the massive bian hua (changes) make me feel like I've landed for the first
time. Yet there's a huge difference from my first arrival.
I can actually speak
Chinese quite well. I'm no longer an island. I can actually participate in
life. Not only can I converse on the street or subway but I can hear what's
being said around me. It feels like a huge barrier has been raised.
Now I even have to catch
myself looking around for the foreigner when I hear someone nearby say "Ni
So today I jump in the cab
and right on cue the first question is "Ni shi na er ren" (Where are you from)? The space alien joke is
getting old so I pull the Bethune test and the driver (who turns out to be 47
years old, which he divulges right after I was asked my age) knew I was
Canadian half way through the first line. "Yi ge wai guo
ren, bu" "Jia na da!"
he interjects.
"Right, Da jia na" (everyone takes) I say, getting a laugh.
It's barely a 15 minute
ride and not only does he learn my age, martial status, number of offspring,
work place, views on Beijing, the weather in Canada, but he apologies for
China's population. It's all a pretty routine interrogation until he pulls a
new one and asks if he can, "gei nin chang
ge." I actually think I've misunderstood but,
no, he wants to sing me a song.
Of course I agree but he
insists we roll up the windows before he begins. "Ni you qian, wo
you qian, shi jie mai bu
cheng" He's so utterly serious and cute I have
to keep a straight face. Turns out the driver's
something of a philosopher.
His catchy folk song
explaining that "you have money, I have money, the world cannot buy"
was written by the man himself. He's surprised, and so I am, that I understand
every verse.
I think of all the
driver-teachers I've ridden with to get me to this moment. Thank you
(China Daily 06/16/2006 page14)