"Something special for your dishes"

touching memories of my students in China

Memories of my students at the medical college in China remain vivid in my heart and mind. I’ll always remember their beautiful faces, and their heart-warming and sometimes sad stories. Many of them came from very poor areas, some of them from smaller towns or farming communities. These young people had big hearts and dreams for a better life. Years later, I still keep in touch with some of them, along with other staff or friends I made while teaching there. I wish I had a way to find more of these dear people all these years later. It would be such a gift to talk with them again, and to learn how their lives have turned out in the intervening years.

Many of our medical college students loved to receive an English name from their teacher, so I had the joy of christening many of them with an English name that they proudly used. In China, the Chinese characters that make up their name usually have some special meaning, and the story of someone’s name is something often shared when meeting others. Just as in the case of the book of Genesis, where the Hebrew names of the Old Testament figures often have symbolic meanings, Chinese names can impart a blessing or give people a sense of identity or even foreshadow their purpose in life. In the book of Genesis, when God told the aging couple, Abraham and Sarah, that they would conceive and bear a son, they laughed at the unlikely promise. But they did eventually have a son who they named Isaac, despite their advanced years. So Isaac’s name means “laughter.”

One of my medical college students in Nanchang proudly went by the English name of Jennie. Her sweet round face and bright smile gave her the appearance of a girl younger than her years. I can still see her warm eyes and hear her voice telling me about her life on a farm. She told me how she helped her parents plant rice in the rice paddies, and she winced a bit as she told me about the leaches that sucked the blood from her legs as she helped her parents. Jennie shared how when the time came to take her college entrance exams, her parents saved carefully so she could have some better nutrition before these crucial tests. She said they got her a bit of meat and a couple of eggs, believing the protein would help her think more clearly and score higher. If I remember right, they believed fish would help her brain work well, so they prepared some fish for her before the exam. It touched my heart profoundly as she spoke of their sacrificial love for her, demonstrated by giving her “something special for her dishes.”

In China, my students often came from very poor areas. The young guys wore leather belts that wrapped around them multiple times because they were so thin. (They often wore slacks to class, and white button down shirts. They only had one or two changes of clothing but they took care to dress respectfully. This was in the early 90’s, and older people in the community still wore the dark blue or grey clothing popularized by Mao.) I’ll never forget the tears in my eyes when I asked my medical college students what they were thankful for. One young man held up a ball point pen and told us how proud he was of that pen. Then another said he was thankful for his body, “I got a good one from my parents,” he told us sincerely.

When some of the young women medical students had a birthday, they would splurge on an egg to add to their rice, veggies or noodles. They’d tell me how special their birthday celebration was because they had “something special for their dishes.” I always wished I could invite them over for a hearty meal with all of the protein and fresh fruit they wanted.

Even though many of them had little in terms of material goods or money, they had such generous hearts. They would scrimp and save up to bless someone else with a gift. Giving gifts was such a part of their culture. I’ll never forget how they would arrive at my apartment, sometimes bearing a few apples or other fruit if they were concerned about my health, and I understood that I needed to accept their generosity. Even the manner in which they handed me their gift mattered. They would always hand you the gift with two hands and as the recipient, I needed to receive it with both hands, and a grateful heart, which came naturally.

I used to buy simple paper journals and ask my writing class and the Oral Skills classes to write their names on the cover of their journal. I’d give them a journaling prompt and ask them to write on that topic, and they’d bring me their journals to read. This was such a delightful way to hear what was on their hearts, and some of their stories had me laughing so hard I cried, while other stories had me in tears as I empathized with their experiences. I wrote down a few of the really special stories in a journal and with their permission, I kept those stories when I returned home to the US. I also treasure the letters they wrote me on the thin paper, and I still have many of their wonderful letters years later. Somehow I treasure these expressions of their hearts.

We didn’t have so much technology available back then. Snail mail offered news from home if someone was kind enough to write us letters or send a little care package. Their letters took several weeks to cross the ocean, so when we did get a letter, we treasured the moment. I’d bike back to my apartment, overjoyed that I’d finally received another letter, and I’d make some tea and sit down to savor the words. I especially loved hearing from older relatives who told me about the green beans they had grown and canned, or the canned peaches they’d enjoyed for dinner. In truth my Grandma Kuenzi knew something about this idea of having “something special for your dishes.” I would imagine my Swiss Grandma up on their hill overlooking the valley back home in Oregon. The news about her canned green beans always made me smile.

The younger medical students lived in crowded dormitories. To save money, the college would turn off the electricity in the dorms in the evenings, and so many of these dear students would show up at my apartment in the Foreign Guest House in the evenings so they could enjoy my electricity (light and a bit of warmth) and practice their English. Our power went out too, on the North Campus, at times, but not with the frequency theirs did. We lived on the south side of the Yangtze River, though we were just a bike ride away from this well known river, but that had great significance. A national rule was that if you lived on the south side of the Yangtze, you would not be allowed to have central heating regardless if you were cold. Nanchang was one of the “Five Furnaces” of China, meaning summers were blazing hot and extremely humid, but in the winter we did have rain storms and fairly cold weather. I remember buying sweet potatoes wrapped in foil from the street vendors who baked those over coal fires. I’d buy those to put in my pocket in order to keep my hands warm. My teammates, Tom and Sandy, were a sweet older couple from Colorado, and they often slept with hot water bottles in their beds for warmth. That worked well except for when the rubber hot water bottle burst one night. We all laughed a lot about that adventure when they told me about it the next morning.

I remember waking up during a particularly cold winter storm. The windows on our concrete “Commie Condo” were just glass panes nailed into the wooden frames, and sometimes they would blow out during a storm, shattering as they fell a few stories to the ground. There was a different sort of window in my bedroom and something had blown open during the night. I just couldn’t get warm, so I got out my blow drier and used it to try to get warmed up.

My kitchen and bathtub had a propane water heater mounted on the wall out in the tiny kitchen that I had to light in order to have any hot water for a bath or anything. But the scary part was that when I ignited this heater, it shot flames out! I learned to reach around the corner and carefully light it to avoid singed eyebrows! The square concrete sink wasn’t easy to clean, and there was a slight problem with the drainage. When I ran water in the sink, there was no decent drain pipe that took the water away, it simply ran onto my feet below.

Despite the somewhat primitive conditions, I often found myself amused and I maintained a sense of adventure that served me well. When the upstairs kitchen dripped down into mine, I employed my umbrella to protect the pancakes I was fixing over my single propane burner. I made a game of living with the challenges, choosing to appreciate the fine accommodations that many of my students would have loved to live in.

My students were assigned tickets for bath days once or twice a week, which meant they needed to go to a fairly public bath house for their shower or opportunity to wash up. I remember inviting some students to some event, and a few of them said they’d love to come but they couldn’t miss bath day. They marveled that my apartment came with its very own bathtub. Getting the faucet to stay attached turned out to be a bit of a trick and it took some practice to wash my hair. Conquering the lighting of the propane hot water unit took some courage, but I managed.

Because of the rules against central heating, students and staff alike wore layers of clothing to class. Many students owned just enough clothes to layer up and this was essential to survival. I’ll always remember the story one student wrote about in their journal. They described how their family would heat up some water for baths, and take the same opportunity to hand wash their clothes. They talked about the warm glow they felt as they all sat around in scarcely any attire while their clothes hung all over their small place air drying.

When I’d walk or bike from my apartment on the north campus, I’d see people outside in the late evening using an outdoor faucet and a bar of soap to wash up. I always turned my gaze away to give them privacy, but there was something heartwarming about the reminder that we all shared a common humanity, and all of us had to lather up somewhere now and then for a good scrubbing up.

Outdoor kitchens and the coal stoves that street vendors used to heat up chestnuts or those sweet potatoes or other items were a common sight. In the late evenings, on a warm day, people enjoyed getting out and going to the park by the lake. I loved how people woke up in the morning to do morning exercise together bright and early. Some gathered to do tai chi. Others had a more of a dance routine and waved these special flags around as they gracefully did their synchronized moves. I liked joining the tai chi groups for morning exercise, and they were gracious with my inept moves while I tried to learn.

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I have spent many happy hours writing since joining Substack. It’s fun how I get lost in the flow of ideas and as I write, I usually find myself feeling so happy and content. The house is quiet now, and my husband and our dog have gone to sleep for the day. I will join them in a moment. But this time of day, as the sky grows dark after pastels splashed across the sky on this fall evening, I love having the time to reflect and my fingers translate those thoughts into another draft.

Tonight I’ve been writing about some of my students in China from years ago. The memories warm my heart. Much like reading a really captivating book, I find myself back in Nanchang, reliving the adventure of teaching at Jiangxi Medical College. In the early 90’s, things were still very charming and rustic in many ways. We bought our groceries at the outdoor markets, and we bargained for our vegetables or tofu with the street vendors. Times were so different. Face to face conversations were wonderful…and the pace and simplicity of life still call me back to this rhythm of life that I loved so much. On Friday nights my students and friends would sometimes go ball room dancing above the Emergency Room at the First Affiliated Hospital. I learned how to waltz.

Other college faculty or friends loved to teach me to cook traditional Chinese dishes. Making jaotzi from scratch was a rite of passage, and I loved how cooking together brought such a sense of community. They served up love with the steaming hot potstickers we had carefully prepared together.

Thanks for joining me for these memories.

As the seasons change, I hope you have something special for your dishes!