Me and Ayi
The most rewarding aspect of my experience in China was my home stay with a Chinese family. For that, I must thank Ayi (literally “aunt,” but the respectful term used for older women in China), who helped make my trip special from the beginning. On my first full day in Beijing, she took me on a memorable bicycle ride. We stopped at Global Exchange so that I could meet the teachers and borrow a cell phone for the duration of my stay. Surviving numerous near-death experiences, we biked beside cars and buses on chaotic roads that offered views of the Olympic Games stadiums. It was my first and last ride.
While Shushu provided me with my initial Chinese lessons in China, his interest faded once the camera lights dimmed. Content with a 30-minute “documentary” of a young American’s immersion in a Chinese home, Shushu displayed increasingly less interest in my progress. Fortunately, Ayi was there to fill the void. We spent many nights conversing at the dining room table. She helped me with my homework, most often identifying Chinese characters in my book that I did not recognize. Other times, I would practice forming sentences using expressions I had learned in class. Occasionally, she asked for help with her poor pronunciation of English words. While Shushu mocked her infrequent attempts to say a word in my native tongue, I displayed patience and provided encouragement.
Ayi also took care of me when I was sick. Witnessing my constant nasal congestion prompted her to ridicule the vitamins I had brought from home. When I showed her the Sudafed I planned to take to clear my passageways, she explained to me why Chinese medicine was more effective than Western medicine. I smiled and thereafter mastered my first Chinese “comparison” sentence. Trusting Ayi like I would my own mother, I took whatever medicine she prescribed, including black soupy liquid, a handful of green pills, and a syrupy fluid. When I was beset by a fever, she nursed me back to health overnight.
Perhaps most important, Ayi made sure that I never went hungry. She encouraged me to eat (“chi ba”) until I insisted I was full. Always satisfied by the beef, chicken, rice, dumplings, and fried eggs, I consistently reminded her that the food was tasty (“hen hao chi”), to which she invariably responded by encouraging me to eat more.
Over the course of four weeks, we developed a bond. When she helped me find the passport I feared was lost, she needled me as though I were her own son. Like my real Jewish mother, she ensured I never left home wearing insufficient clothing. And, of course, she tried to facilitate my marriage to a girl of whom she approved. My next trip to China will surely involve unique experiences and new people, but Ayi will forever remain my “Chinese mom.”
Joe
