Hair New Era

A few days later, I found more evidence to continue the quandary touched upon in my last post. I was absently watching ads on the television in a cab. Absently, that is, until I saw the latest L'Oreal product offering and how it was endorsed. First of all, the sub-brand is called "White Perfect", and the products are "re-lighting creams." Once again, whiteness seems to be a virtue in China, and apparently L'Oreal knows it. The choice of words in the ad offended me, and I thought it would not fly in America, nor would this blatant promotion of White is Better. At least I hope not.

It makes me think of more primitive times in our U.S. history when Blacks would try to bleach their skin, which was happening about the same time hair relaxing became a huge industry. Of course they felt they had to do it. Their existence in this country began in shackles that were directly related to the color of their skin. Their livelihood and their quality of life depended on being as "white" as possible. It's sickening to think about that kind of self-hatred today. But the remnants of that destruction are not gone yet in America. I'm sure in Asia people don't even realize that attitude could be interpreted this way. I saw a total of 7 black people the entire time I was in China. I wonder how much THEY get stared at on the metro.

Here sunscreen is not called “sunscreen” but “whitening cream.” The marketing people must have thought, “it will sell better if we remind people it will keep them white, or even mislead them into thinking it will actually lighten their skin.” It’s along the same lines as the full-coverage cape-like shirts and the Darth Vader-esque sun visors that cover the entire face of a woman riding a motorbike. (see picture) And the pretty parasols everyone carries? At first I was impressed. I appreciated this delicate attention to skin protection, and I think they must have much lower rates of skin cancer, but then I began to realize it had to do with whiteness as a virtue. Skin color associations with class—if your skin is dark, you are probably poor and have to work manual labor out in the sun. It’s better to be as “white” as possible and therefore privileged. I know that it’s just ignorance, that it’s not overt racism, that they don’t realize how this might appear to someone who has darker skin himself or comes from a country where there are people with naturally dark skin. But at the same time it makes me cringe a little. Add that to the gaping and staring we get everywhere as objects of exoticism, and I can’t help but value the diversity of home. I’m glad I come from a country where there are many different colors and races and cultures, and it’s not unusual or blog-worthy to see a Chinese person or an African person or a Brazilian person riding the subway.

I have to confess: I'm a little jealous of China right now. There is so much excitement and optimism here. After visiting the urban planning museum and seeing how much they're changing and architecturally uplifting Shanghai as a city in preparation for the World Expo in 2010, I see bright things in the future for China. It's true that there are propaganda-esque slogans spattered throughout the museum, but it's also true that there is construction at almost every turn, many newly successful businesses, a willingness to be bilingual with Chinese and English, and a changeability that I've not encountered before. The country is only going to continue to modernize, and already its on the cusp of moving from developing to fully developed. And with the Olympics coming up in Beijing and something like 95% of Chinese people believing that China will win the entire games, the hope here is absolutely electric.

It feels quite different than home, where our dollar is plummeting, our president has a historically low approval rating, we're stuck in an unpopular war, the housing and credit markets have crashed, oil prices continue to skyrocket, and global warming is threatening our sanity (or mine, at least). There is a sliver of hope, I think, and for me that's the prospect of Obama taking the presidency this fall. I honestly do not know how I'll live in my country if McCain is elected president. But even if Obama does pull it off, he's got his work cut out for him.

So yeah, I'm happy for the people of China. But I can't help being a little envious too.

Brandon's here! It's so great to see him after not seeing him for 45 days. He arrived Thursday night, and we took an airport bus from Pudong International back to our hotel in the northern part of the city. Immediately he got a taste of the insanity of China crowds. They crammed about 55 people too many on the bus, and we were all squished together in the aisles with barely enough room to breathe. Brandon was shoved down the steps toward the door and inhaled an old man's stale breath the entire ride, so I think he would have preferred not to be breathing as well. A guy from Iraq was standing by me. After asking me where I was from, he said, "Ah, yes. There are many American soldiers in Iraq right now." At which point I cringed and said, "I'm sorry." He said it's okay because it's "coming up," whatever that means. He then said that he loves Obama, like everyone else I've met here. Obama truly has international appeal, and I wish that the world had a vote, not just Americans. Our president and our economy affect the world in such a large way, it would only make sense for the world to vote for the next American president. Anyway, this Iraqi guy was a jolly, round-bellied chap who confessed that he didn't like Chinese food and preferred the American fast-food joints to anything else. (Hence the pouch belly.) Turned out he was staying at the same hotel as we were, so we shared a cab back from the football stadium.

On our day off on Friday, we went to Pudong. The best part was going up in the Jin Mao tower. The rest of the area was pretty lame. Plus it was one of those deathly hot days, and we came home exhausted in the middle of the day to nap and escape the scorch. I didn't want the day to be a waste for Brandon's sake, so he and I ventured out to Xitiandi Lu after dark to meander along the road I call "the Short North of Shanghai."

Next day Rach and I had to teach, then we went down to Nanjing Rd. and the Bund with Brandon. Stopped to observe a group of people dancing on the corner (see picture). Love that. Wish people at home did that more. The old guy in the red shirt was hilarious.
Poor Brandon was dragging by the end of the night. I thought I was going to have to carry him home. But he laid his head on my back and fell asleep on the busride home, and that was fine with me. (I was on his lap b/c it was so crowded.) The bus stopped for about a half hour because some guy lost his wallet. Where, we don't know. Did he suspect someone on the bus stole it? No. But the authorities will go ahead and inconvenience half of Shanghai so that we can all be uselessly concerned. "It's custom in China," some guy tells Rachel.

Today Rach and I had to teach again, and Brandon went down to the Old China city on his own. It's nice that I can just let him go on his own and know that there's little chance he'll get lost b/c he's so good with directions/maps/knowing where he is at all times. In class I taught the kids about Halloween, a holiday not celebrated in China. I blabbed about the history of the holiday (did you know it originated in Ireland?), then let the kids go "trick or treating" with me. I gave them pencils and candy as they recited "trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat." It was fun, and once again I owe my mother for being right. All the teaching ideas she gave me before I left have been so useful. I guess she really knows what she's talking about! :)

Tomorrow is the last day of teaching. I'll be glad to be done, to have a break, to rest, but I'm sad to leave the kids and to leave the friends we've met here (Huang Biao, Parker, Rosco). It's been quite an experience. Not sure I would have jumped in so readily if I'd known what I was in for, but I'm definitely glad I came so it's better I didn't.

And then...August 5th, we're taking the sleeper train to Beijing. Can't wait!

All cabs are equipped with "shields," pieces of plexiglass surrounding the driver's seat that take up half the front seat and essentially box in the cabbie. It's supposed to be for protection, but not only does it look ridiculous, there are huge gaps where the plexiglass bends around the seat, and if someone were really bound and determined to assault a cab driver he could easily reach around the flimsy plastic and do it. Some clear shield that's about as effective as Saran wrap isn't going to stop him. It's like, "Hey, I've got this band-aid...that's as good as a bullet-proof vest, right?"

Many Chinese, especially those here in the richest city of China, have great fashion sense. But often you’ll see clashing patterns in one outfit (plaid with flower print, animal print with Hawaiian pattern). And guess what’s all the rage, as in everyone has them and wears them with everything, regardless of whether it matches?: Crocs. Big, floppy, holed-rubber shoes in bright, clashing colors. I have never liked Crocs—I think they’re cute on children because they look like children’s shoes. But everyone wears them, all the time. Check out this picture of a woman wearing flower-print silk pajamas, a sun visor (more on these to come), and bright, ever-obnoxious purple Crocs. What a combo!

Most of our students at camp already have English names from previous English courses. I’ve had to name a few, and gave them names that were special to me—and also what I thought were very American: Brandon (after my beloved, of course), Rachel (after my friend from Ohio and my new friend here from Boston), and Nikki (one of my best friends in Columbus).

Now some of these English names are wildly nonsensical. Rachel and I have ascertained that sometimes words/names are chosen based on meanings or sounds that resemble their Chinese names, regardless of whether they're actual English names. Several are random words that are barely English at all. Here are some of the best we’ve seen so far.

• Lemon (boy)
• Black (boy)
• Red (boy)
• Jany (girl)
• Lily (girl--this is very popular for some reason)
• Pinking (girl--what?!)
• Candy (girl)
• Cookie (girl—spelled “Cicy”)
• Bean (boy—no, I did not give my boyf’s nickname to a Chinese student!)
• Even (girl)
• Kitty (girl—also very popular)
• Zooma (boy)
• Dragon (boy)
• Lala (girl)
• Go-go (girl)
• Toshi (boy)
• Cherry (girl—popular)
• Peddy (girl)
• Winnie (girl—she told me, “like Winnie the Pooh!”)
• Grammy (girl)
• Marry (no, not like “Mary,” but as in “husband-wife union”)

Even Microsoft Word and Blogger are catching these. Not English Names.

Here’s the absolute chart-topper: right now I have a male student named Insect. A little difficult to call on him without laughing. Rachel says there isn’t really a Chinese syllable that sounds like it, so I’m not sure where it came from. Or do I really want to know...

The new students for our final 10-day session are great. They are motivated and excited, which is a change from last session. It’s amazing how the dynamic of a class can make such a big difference. If the majority of the class is studious, I think it motivates others to do their best as well. If there are several bad seeds, it can really throw off the balance of the class and make things much more difficult.

I am getting a little exhausted, though, to be honest. By the end of the program we will have taught 26/30 days, meaning we really only had 1-day weekends. Plus we've been cramming sight-seeing adventures and other experiences in there too.

There are a few things I miss: Brandon (this is a constant), sunrises that occur at normal times--NOT 4:30 AM, bread, cheese, and even McGraw (aren't I a nerd? I can't help it.)

We have a new friend, Huang Biao. He’s the head chef at the army hospital near SISU where we work, and he placed an ad to barter: he will teach a native English speaker how to cook real Chinese food in exchange for concentrated English conversation. Rachel and I agreed this would be worth looking into, so she called, and for the past week we’ve been going to his kitchen directly after our classes for our cooking lessons. So far he’s taught us how to make the tomato-egg slime that we see everywhere (with what we didn’t realize was straight MSG!), and dumplings.

The first time we met him, I thought he seemed nervous, overly polite, even scared of what we might think of him. He took us to a small diner near the hospital to treat us to an authentic Chinese meal. We didn’t know what we were in for. Here are a few of the dishes he ordered: fried spicy chicken, soft tofu with gelatin-like fish eggs on top, stomach-and-liver soup, and chicken feet. Yes, I said chicken feet. It was the first dish to come to the table, and Huang is motioning us to try them, try them. They were cold, clammy, and cartilage-like, exactly what you might imagine for chicken feet. I was horrified, but took one bite for good measure. Rachel took a second helping with Huang’s urging, and I was impressed. Could she actually like them? (Alas, she got sick the next morning.) The stomach-and-liver soup was almost as frightening, but we refrained from asking exactly which animal the stomach pieces had come from. Talk about disgusting.

He is a small man, with longish side-parted hair and endearing smile wrinkles that make you want to give him reason to smile all the time. He’s very sweet, and he’s so receptive to speaking English. I was afraid he would resort to Chinese with Rachel often to get points across, and that I’d be lost in the dust again. But he truly makes an effort, and my-- he is an eager student! Each day we go to the kitchen he says that he’s been studying new words we give him. I wish my students in Class 3 were so motivated!

Today Rachel and I went to the Old City section of Shanghai (see picture). Thinking, as we have several times before, that we wouldn’t be spending any money. It’s the older part of town, and most of the sites are temples and churches, but there were several shopping markets along the way. One of which is a mecca for electronics and other great finds. I bought some gifts for people and therefore can’t mention details about all of our purchases, but here’s our formula for haggling.

1. First, I show interest in the product. Ask questions, finger it, nod, smile, all the while formulating a price I’d like to pay. Keep in mind the exchange rate right now is 6.8 rmb to 1 dollar, and in China often you can get things for half of what you might pay in the U.S.
2. Second, I ask the price. Rachel and I grimace in unison at stated price. Look hurt.
3. We discuss under our breath in English. Mention things that could go wrong with product.
4. About this time the salesperson begins lowering the price on his/her own as we show doubt. We let him/her lower the price as much as he/she seems willing without prompting.
5. Next, we counter offer with a little below what we want it for. Then it’s time for the salesperson to grimace, look hurt, sigh, and shake head.
6. We increase our price slightly, to what we want to pay. Rachel can speak Chinese, and so often they turn to her and begin conversing, thinking they can pull her onto their side and get her to coax me. She’s firm.
7. If the salesperson is still wavering, I begin looking around in exaggeration (this works best when there are several salespeople who are selling the same thing within one market or area).
8. I put money on the table, the exact amount that I want to pay, and tell the salesperson it’s all I have.
9. Finally, if the salesperson hasn’t budged yet, Rachel tells him/her in Chinese that we want to look around and might come back later. This is the clincher, because they know we won’t be back. Then they whine, slam things around, and give the product to us at last for what we want to pay.
10. We walk away smiling.

Needless to say, we made out like bandits. Here’s what I got for approximately $56 (USD):
• Two tiny MP3 players—ipod imitations. Literally one inch by one inch. MUCH better for working out than my clunky dinosaur ipod mini. 1 GB each.
• 5 pairs of underwear
• 1 bendable lighter, 1 specialty lighter,
• 3 strings of pearls (China is definitely the place to get real beauties)
• Hand-carved “gift” made from Chinese redwood (the one I’d been eyeing in the States was about $200)

Last night Rachel and I grabbed a cab home from the pub. Rachel, as always, began by telling the cabbie in Chinese where we want to go. After this the two might converse for a few minutes and that's that. Well, this time the man tried to tell her something that she didn't quite get, and so to elaborate he began writing with his finger the Chinese characters for the words on the cab roof. This was hilarious to me as it is well known among foreign students who study Chinese that the characters are the most difficult part. The learning of them comes last, after being able to understand the voiced language and being able to speak it yourself. So writing the characters when someone doesn't understand what you're voicing doesn't help. Ever. Yet time and time again people will do this. Even to me, a foreigner who obviously does not know Chinese. Someone will try to talk to me in Chinese or Shanghai-ese, and I shrug, tell them "sorry," and begin to walk away, when they wave for me to wait and type out the symbols on their cell phones or grab the nearest pen and pencil to write out the characters. Reeeeeaaaal slow, as though that will help too. It's quite comical. So last night when the cabbie began scratching out the complicated characters upside down, on the roof of the cab, in the dark of night, it was just too funny.

The new kids are here. Suddenly they've dumped some older, high-level English speakers on me, so I'm no longer teaching the equivalent of Levels 3 and 4. I have Level 4 and Level 6, so my planning is not offset like I'd hoped. Though they tried to give my Level 4 kids the Level 6 book, which is way too hard for them. And then tried to not give my Level 6 kids a book. So I moved the books from the Level 4 class to Level 6, and then Tracy tells me that they don't have any more Level 4 books and won't be getting any! So what am I supposed to do? Play games with them over and over. That's all anyone seems to want: games. Luckily Rachel's Class 2 can share their Level 3 books with me, and I'll start near the end where we left off first week for my Level 4 class. And then for my Level 6 class. I had about 5 punks in there who decided that they didn't want to do English, they didn't care, and they would just disrupt class constantly. I was so upset and frustrated that I told the Chinese TAs that they had to be removed from my class. It was a complete detriment to the rest of the students, and I was super grumpy. This camp tries to be ridiculously regimented, but ends up being disorganized more often than not.

Today I was appointed to give a lecture to a high school camp class about "anything American." I talked about the "green movement" that's happening right now--how people are trying to be more environmentally conscious, including myself, and how it all relates to oil and global-warming issues. I talked for about 40 minutes and opened the floor for questions. There weren't many, so I was about to wrap up early when the teacher said, "no, no, there's still 10 more minutes." So what? What am I supposed to do, just stand there? Is it so bad to end a bit early? And then, Lo and behold, a girl raised her hand and asked if we could play an English game. So apparently I was supposed to act as teacher then too. Aren't they too old for games by 11th grade? I don't remember playing games in my Spanish classes over and over by the time I was in high school. It seems a little elementary. So I awkwardly led a game, with a Chinese student telling me what to do the whole time. She told me to write down six different subjects and choose a student to talk about it for 30 seconds. One of my topics was "Dating in China," as I'm curious about this. A student said that they are not "allowed" to date until college, that their teachers in middle and high school won't let them. Seems a little odd. Are teachers involved in students' personal lives? How do they even know if students are dating? She said they have to focus on studying, studying, studying all the time so they don't really date. Interesting. Perhaps this explains the indulgent PDA Rachel and I have spotted with young-ish couples in the metro stations. They have to sneak around? Or they're so excited to make out in public b/c they've had to wait for the freedom to date for so long? One 16-year-old student told Rachel and I that he didn't date, didn't want to, that he was "too ambitious." There seem to be a lot of single people here. Not sure how I feel about it, not that it's my place to feel anything, but on one hand I think it's impressive that people don't get tied into those things and stay so focused on academics. Wish I would have stayed more focused through college (I wasted too much time on Mr. Wrongs, and although my grades didn't suffer, my personal development might have). But then again, how do they do it? Are they that much closer to their families that they don't need immediate fulfillment of that kind of love? Don't they get lonely? I suppose a lot of it has to do with your culture and surroundings. Perhaps I wouldn't have felt so lonely after college if 80% of my friends weren't leaping away to get hitched.

But back to the "lecture." Finally, with not a minute over time, I found a stopping point in the game and told the group "thank you." As I started to walk out they erupted in applause that somehow seemed eerily scripted--loud, fierce, and forced. It's that regimented aura again. It felt a little like the twilight zone.

Every single Chinese person I've met has been kind, calm, and seemingly passive. But when venturing out on the streets or trying to use public transport, I see a different side.

The traffic is horrendous, as it is in any giant city. But I've never seen anything like this. Cars will literally shove through a crowd of people to get through, even when the walk sign is green, loaded buses will come within inches of nipping an innocent bystander who has dared to step into the street. It even happens with kids! The poor little ducklings from camp will be trying to cross the road to get to the cafeteria when a car will blare the horn until they back away. Biked and mopeds do the same, and those could even be the most infuriating b/c often they drive onto the sidewalk and make walking near impossible. Not to mention the incessant honking. What to do when a pedestrian is crossing the street? Honk loudly and plow through, if the walker doesn't get out of the way it's his/her own problem. Even bicycles roll down the street "brrring, brrring!" It's so bad that there are "no honking" signs posted on SISU's campus. You know it's bad when you have to put up a sign to tell people not to honk their horns. Rachel and I decided that pedestrians are last on the totem pole, dead last. I wonder about the fatality rate. Two years ago the rate of assault against cross guards was an average of about 20 times a month: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/20/international/asia/20shanghai.html?scp=2&sq=shanghai&st=cse. Talk about road rage.

Another site of basal, animal-like behavior happens when getting on the bus or metro. Standing back to let those getting out come first? Forget it. Nose in the crack of the door, invisible starting blocks underfoot is more like it. Rachel and I could not believe the shoving that took place when our bus pulled up the other day. As she said, "it was like a huddle of hungry pigs at the trough." Funny thing is, the bus was empty, so it wasn't like no would would be able to get on! People were shoving each other, bumping shoulders, grunting forward. Not only did it look ridiculous, but the whole thing was counterproductive. One by one people could have calmly mounted the steps, but three persons trying to go at once made it impossible, as the door was only wide enough for one.

Parker says that in Beijing they've been having "queue" courses in which they teach people how to stand in lines in preparation for the Olympics. (And they have something like "no spitting" day to try to get people to stop spitting in public places.)

Perhaps I should start teaching the kids in my class about lines and spitting and driving etiquette. Train them when they're young.

Today we went to the Yu Garden (see picture). It was situated within a maze of huge, pagoda-like buildings full of merchants, something labeled the Dragon Mall, and Rachel said it reminded her of a place in Beijing (see picture). The outside was overcrowded with tourists, but once inside the garden was surprising silence and peace. We walked along the bridges and peeked into the many stone nooks and tiny museums, all running alongside ponds filled with multicolored coy fish. Here we are with our parasol, what everyone around here uses instead of sunscreen. I think it's brilliant, and an untapped accessory in the U.S.

Let's backtrack. Before we reached the Yu Garden, group of four students from Beijing—two girls and two guys—approached us outside the metro stop and invited us to join them for a tea ceremony. We tasted the finest ginseng tea, jasmine tea, and sweet fruit tea, and learned a little about the history of tea (see picture).
The experience was interesting, and both Rachel and I enjoy tea, but overall we felt it was rushed, and the exorbitant price of 150 rmb qualified it as a tourist trap. We were bummed because we continue to spend more money than we plan every time we go out lately. Part of that is going where the wind takes us, often with a very loose agenda and only a neighborhood in mind, but all the same we need our money to stretch until we receive our next stipend installment.

In other news, Brandon is coming!!!! I am so excited to see him. Now each time Rachel and I go somewhere new I’m thinking, would Brandon like to come here? Last night we walked by a small park with glittering water and wildflowers galore, and all I could think was how it emanated romance. Something in my throat jumped a little and I felt again a surge of excitement at the thought of seeing him. It’s been 29 days. He will arrive on day 43.

Stare? Apparently not in China. And not when the subject to be stared at is non-Asian. Everywhere we go, especially on buses and trains, people are staring, staring, staring. Openly gaping, unabashed. Yes, we are white. Yes, our hair is light. And yes, mine is wildly curly, “exotic” as one boy told me today.

Sometimes it makes us feel like celebrities when people stop us in mid-walk to ask for our picture or to plead that we pose with them. Or gasp in awe when we tell them my hair is not a perm. It’s flattering. And we’ve even made a few friends when people march right up to us and tell us that we’re beautiful and ask us to talk with them so they can practice their English. But the constant staring gets old. Sometimes I meet the gaze head-on, or I’ll wave or say hello, but even that doesn’t work sometimes, and what I really want to do is glare. But then I remember that I’m representing America and don’t want them to think we’re all arrogant jerks.

It’s also frustrating that our American looks mean nothing but dollar signs to a lot of people. Sometimes beggars will come right up to us--I’m talking literally in our faces--and try to block our path and force us to choke up our millions. Rachel and I are not wealthy, and we’re not exactly on vacation, either.

Funny thing about how English words are randomly put together for slogans, on T-shirts, on notebooks. Or words that perhaps someone thinks capture the essence of the product/service. We walked by a spa called “Oddness.” And a club called “Richy.” I bought a notebook that reads on the cover, “Summer Fantasy: In the hot summer, have a cool, cool excited to get food stupor, after all is a particularly good thing.” Rachel and I surmise that it’s probably just like how Americans get tattoos of random Chinese characters that mean nonsense out of context. Pretty hilarious though.

Today was the last day of the camp’s first session. I have 9 students staying for another term, but most kids had to say their goodbyes. They all wanted me to sign their books and give them my e-mail and phone number. They’re such cute little buggers. I’ll miss them. (see picture) Little Martin had me sign his SISU camp hat. I told one of the Chinese TAs for Level 3 that now he’s ready to be a father. He pretty much looked like a new father by the end of camp—disheveled hair, unbelievably exhausted eyes, and an overall slump to the shoulders and shuffle of the feet as though the very act of moving requires too much energy.

After our short class, Rachel and I scooted off with Parker, another foreign teacher, to see more of the city. Parker’s from Nashville, TN, originally, and has been in Shanghai for the past two years. He showed us around his neighborhood, which is in the French Concession, an area that is already becoming a favorite of mine, and then herded us east, stopping at giant shopping malls, a French pastry shop, and a smoothie joint along the way. These malls were the ritzy ones, with stores such as Gucci, Armani, Dior, etc. Window shopping for us. Along the way throughout the neighborhoods and the malls, Parker dispensed as much knowledge as I’ve gained in multiple history and current events classes. The kid has intricate understanding of China, Chinese culture, the new Lama, who just might put his stamp of approval on the Olympics, Buddhist traditions, Thailand, Tibet, you name it. He came here and began working for an American real-estate company, then quit and began traveling around everywhere a month ago (he traveled Indonesia by himself), and now he’s enrolled in school for Chinese language and is freelance teaching. Needless to say, he was a well-qualified tour guide and a great conversationalist. Rachel and I were more than a little impressed.

Then we headed toward a university on the west side of town where one of Rachel’s friends is doing a summer-intensive language course. We popped out of the metro stop at a park near the school and began scrutinizing our map, as always. Then we hear a tiny voice saying, “Can I help you?” We looked up to meet a young Chinese woman who offered us a beautiful smile and an escort to the park. She is studying English and was excited to meet some American girls with whom she could practice speaking. At one point she told us we were beautiful and exclaimed, “You’re not fat!” To which we laughed and laughed. America the Obese. The world knows of our gluttony.
Lily was her name, and she was entirely generous with her time. She wants to take us out around the town, and we vowed to meet up later. How sweet. I hope for the chance to show kindness to a foreigner in America one day.