Xu Zhi Qiang, 20, waits for customers at Beautiful Heart Salon in Changsha, China. This is his first year as a hair dresser, and he hopes to work with makeup in the future.
tangerine
There’s no number 1 bus. It’s usually here, waiting for more paying passengers so it can begin its route. It’s raining and I’m in a big crowd. We are all going the same way and there is no way we will fit.
I forgot my umbrella, but it doesn’t matter. I squeeze in between two girls holding pink umbrellas and steal some of their protection. I see the bus. It’s stuck in traffic. The others see it too. The mass starts moving. I’m part of this mass. Squeezed. There will be no lines.
My umbrella free hands give me an advantage. I strongly force myself into the front. The bus door opens. Pushed, pulled, I push back. No mercy. I’m on the bus. I find a seat, YES! I don’t have to stand.
American Alex would have waited for the next bus, but I’ve adjusted. No. Adjusted is not the right word. I’ve evolved. Evolved to survive in my environment. Evolved to not always be the girl in the back of the line because I think cutting is rude.
I open my bag and take out some tangerines. I offer one to the standing girl in front of me, who I just beat in the race to get a seat. She accepts, smiles. No hard feelings. Things are different here.
I enjoy my tangerine.
Friends 朋友
Shi San, 10, and Shi Ji Fu, 13, at the elementary school in Dehang.
I’m convinced Chinese love the NBA more than American people. Seriously, since when has it been cool to watch the NBA? I played basketball with these little ones for a bit. They asked if I liked the Houston Rockets (Yao Ming’s team….). It is just so exciting that I can actually converse a little with people who I want to photograph. There are good things happening, my friends…
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mutual intrigue
I like to walk and see. That’s what I do. I don’t do tourist things. I just enjoy walking and seeing. In Dehang, I was mesmerized by the never-ending paths. I watched kids play and women wash clothes in the river. I’m a people watcher.
I rounded one corner and suddenly felt I was standing in someone’s home. It felt too personal and I started to leave. I looked up and an older man noticed me. He jumped up, motioned me over, and gave me a stool to sit on. He was making bamboo beautiful baskets.
The best encounters are when there is mutual intrigue. I wanted to know about him and he wanted to know about me. I was so excited I could understand what he was telling me. He’s 70 years old. He lived in Dehang all his life. His name is Liang Hong Zhou.
After spending some time with him, I asked if I could photograph him. He was excited. I was too. The only way it could have been better is if I had room in my suitcase for one of his beautiful baskets.
Dehang
Last weekend I went on a journey to Dehang, a small village in south west Hunan. After pounding the pavement in big city China for two months, it was a welcome change of pace. I avoided the village center, which is packed with the cheesy stuff that excites the hordes of Chinese tourists, and explored the never-ending paths and trails that wound themselves around the karst peaks.
Every morning men would herd water buffalo through the village streets and into the hills to graze. I noticed old women chopping down bamboo on mountainsides, completely amazed at how they got there. The sites were otherworldly. I didn’t get one picture that began to illustrate the beauty of the mountains. As the sun set, people began heading home from the village center. I watched them take little paths that seemed to lead no where, but apparently they lead home. In Dehang, you rise and set with the sun. Was I really in China?
Now back in freezing Changsha, I’m going to hibernate in my heated dorm room until spring….
Huang Fu Cheng
Huang Fu Cheng, 66 year old retired soldier, waters his crops on the bank of the Xiang Jiang River in Changsha on October 31, 2009. A drought in south-central China has left the Xiang Jiang river water levels at a record low. Huang must visit frequently to manually water his garden because of the lack of rain, and his family worries how the labor will affect his health.
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pointy bamboo sticks
I took forks for granted. I tried to practice using chopsticks before I left America, but usually gave up quickly. When I arrived in China, I became accustomed to waitresses, friends, and even fellow foreigners laughing at my frustrated facial expressions as I tried to trap a piece of slippery eggplant with two pointy bamboo sticks. The area of tablecloth between my mouth and the shared dishes became a landing strip for cabbage, dumplings, and other slippery food escaping an imminent trip into my belly. It was just not happening.
Chopsticks became my biggest enemy. I easily picked up certain “Chinese habits” required to survive in this city, but every time I sat down to eat, I was reminded that I was still completely out of my element. I couldn’t feed myself without getting a lap full of rice; I might as well have been a toddler. I felt the judging eyes of every native chopstick user in the vicinity. My embarrassment deepened when restaurant workers began sympathetically offering me a spoon.
As weeks passed, I became more comfortable. I started to refuse the spoon out of pride, and my Chinese friends began to notice my improvement. But my hands were still sore after every meal. I still had to look at and constantly adjust my hand posture, and every movement was a very conscious, deliberate action to get that delicious morsel into my mouth.
But today was different. After seven weeks of awkward chopstick use, I sat down at one of my regular eateries and ordered a hearty plate of spicy eggplant and fried rice. Half way through my meal I realized I had not thought about my chopsticks once. I was using them naturally. My hand picked them up, placed them in the correct position. I was scooping up the tiniest pieces of fried rice and delivering it to my mouth without a mess.
I began to smile uncontrollably. I looked up, and the kind restaurant owner, who had witnessed those weeks of embarrassment, beamed with pride. She noticed too.
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drought
The Xiangjiang river has a severe shortage of water thanks to a drought. The poor farmers on the banks have started to rely on run off sewage to water their plants. I am going to keep going down there and hopefully get some more shots, but I hope it rains soon for their sake.
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school field trip
There are so many kids in this city. They walk around in their funny looking school uniforms, take buses home all by themselves, and are always naturally curious about awkward white girls (aka me).
Last week I went to an amusement park while many elementary schools were on a field trip. I walked around a corner and ran into a group of at least 75 little ones. They didn’t even try to hide their excitement. One poor teacher tried to stop them all from running full speed at me, but I ended up completely surrounded.
They threw question after question at me, all in near perfect English. “What is your name? Why are you here? Where are you from? Do you like Chinese food?” My poor responses in Chinese made them all giggle uncontrollably. One by one, their tiny hands reached for mine, mimicking the western handshake they saw on TV. One boy placed a Lay’s chip in my hand, an offering of friendship.
When they ran out of English vocabulary words they went back to Chinese. They understood what it was like to learn a language. They spoke slow, used hand gestures, and even helped correct my pronunciation.
After spending an afternoon hanging out with children all over the park, I really started to think about the cool mind’s kids have. They are curious, questioning, and outgoing. What happens to adults that makes that fly out the window? What happens to them that makes them stare at me instead of giggle and smile?
