This clinic is a short walk from our home. I laugh a
little every time I walk by (don’t judge me). I find it ironic
that “diarrhea” is spelled correctly in a country where the rest of English is not. I only know because I have
spell check.
Know how to say “diarrhea” in Chinese? Want to?
Your answer to that question speaks volumes about you.
Some of you are saying “Stink YEAH I do! Tell me tell me tell me!” You’re the ones who have already skipped ahead in your mind to the people who are going to crack up because you can say a word that you can’t even spell in a language which you know zero other words. You’re going to say, “yeah . . . I speak a little Chinese” and they’ll say, “yeah me too, ‘ching chang willy willy bing bang bong‘” and you’ll be like, “no, seriously I know some real Chinese like the kind they speak in China” and they’ll say “oh yeah? like what?”
And then you’ll say it.
And they’ll say “what’s that mean?”
And you’ll say “Diarrhea!”
And you will laugh so hard your ears hurt. You know who you are.
Then there are those of you who are saying, “that’s disgusting and I cannot even believe that you would squander my valuable time and so desecrate internet space with such a juvenile, repulsive proposition . . . no I most certainly do NOT wish to defile my brain cells with such blatant and utter tomfoolery.”
You are sophisticated, refined and fooling no one but yourself. It’s time to take a look deep inside my friend. NO ONE doesn’t want to know how to say “diarrhea” in Chinese.
How we handle things like flatulence and diarrhea speak volumes about our culture (if you just made a joke in your mind you’re proving my point). Why are natural, normal, universally experienced bodily functions just plain funny? Is it inherent or inherited? Nature or nurture? Is it from repeated exposure to cultural cues or does it run in the jeans? (sorry).
I was recently standing in the vegetable market near our home. Just me, Lotus (our friend who runs the shop) and one older woman in a tiny little shack filled with fruit and veggies. Lotus knew that I had been sick and asked me what my afflictions were (she regularly does this because she likes to look after the foreigners who know nothing about which foods treat which ailments). I told her I had a headache and then in a quiet, embarrassed tone I waved my hand over my stomach, squinted and grunted as if to say . . . “eehhhh you know . . .” She looked confused for a single moment and then the light went on. “Ohhh” her eyes opened wide with understanding, “you have diarrhea?” She spoke in Chinese but I know that word so I shook my head to confirm.
Then it began.
She wasn’t quite sure which pickled vegetable or spiced root to recommend so she shouted to the old woman. “Hey, he has diarrhea, what should I give him?” And the old lady said, “Ahhh DIARRHEA . . . Hmmm.” While she was thinking it over another person entered the shack who was obviously a friend. ” Oh you would know . . . the foreigner has diarrhea, what do you eat for that?” The new lady was baffled and shouted out the door, “Hey honey! There’s a foreigner in here who has diarrhea! do you remember what’s good for that?” One by one they piled in and I swear (this is how I remember it) in less than three minutes more than 400 of my Chinese neighbors were crammed in a building the size of two Buicks to openly discuss my loose bowels. I could only understand half of the conversation but the part I caught loud and clear was diarrhea,diarrhea, the foreigner has diarrhea.
And no one . . . not a single person . . . laughed . . . but I was biting my lip because as much as I wanted to crawl under a rock and pretend that I did not, in fact, know the Chinese word for diarrhea . . . I wanted to laugh even more.
Volumes.
“La duzi” (Try pronouncing it “Lah doodzuh”). That’s how you say “diarrhea” in Chinese. Enjoy that.
author’s sidenote: when I wrote “does it run in the jeans?” I laughed so hard my ears hurt.
A couple of videos – just to prove my point. Millions of people have watched these (including you?). And they have all laughed.
As a follow up to “Confessions of a Language Faker” I thought I might share a story . . . you know . . . for the children . . . in hopes that they will learn from the error of my ways and stay far, far away from the slippery slope of fraudulent linguistic aspirations (if you pretended to know what that is, it may already be too late).
I had lived in China for just more than a year when I developed an acute case of vetebral subluxation. What does that mean you ask (and if you did there may be hope for you yet). It means I threw my back out (not uncommon). My vertebrae were conspiring to realign themselves into horizontibrae and I was in excruciating pain. Thankfully it only hurt when I breathed.
There is a phenomenon in China known as “blind massage.” Just in case you don’t understand (and are afraid to admit it) let me break it apart for you. “Blind massage” is this . . . people who are blind . . . that give massages. Simple right? Just like it sounds. But wait, there’s more. If you’re looking for a relaxing, tension relieving, “Calgon, take me away shoulder rub . . . stay away from the blind massage! However, if your need is genuine relief from back pain and you are prepared for a deep, DEEEP tissue, elbows into your pancreas, spine gouging therapeutic treatment . . . then you cannot find a more painfully healing option. [You have been warned] However, desperate times call for desperate measures and I find that I am at my most desperate when I am curled into a fetal position, unable to move without squealing like a baby pig (with vetebral subluxation). So I went.
The massage was painful but my lack of understanding was even more so. My masseuse may not may not have been able to see me but the fact that I was a foreigner was High Definition clear. He spoke slowly and loudly (much like a flight attendant on an international flight) but I still was only catching bits and pieces of his Chinese. I did understand, “sheesh, you’re spine is messed up dude” and “hold still, I’m gonna’ dig my elbow into your pancreas” but beyond that I was clueless. However I was willfully choosing NOT to fake it. I just kept saying, “ting bu dong” (which roughly translated means, “I see your mouth moving and I hear noise coming out but I do NOT comprehend your meaning”). Then he got all urgent on me. You NEED blabbedy blabbedy blabbedy blah”
“Ting bu dong”
Louder and slower, “YOU NEED blabbedy blabbedy blabbedy blah!”
Still, “Ting bu dong”
So he pointed to his list of services sign.
“Umm . . . Kan bu dong” (same thing as “ting bu dong” only it means, “not only do I not understand what you are saying . . . I can’t read either)
So he violently started poking the sign and speaking even louder, slower and in Spanish (I swear most of this is true) “YOU NEEDO EL BLABBEDO BLABBEDO DEL BLABBEDO BLAH . . . Senor.”
And I cracked.
It was a moment of weakness that I would soon regret but I realized that he wasn’t going to give up. I pretended to understand his Chinese. “Ohhh . . . ok then, I’ll buy that.” And he left the room.
He came back with a rolling table full of glass globes, a stick dipped in rubbing alcohol and a cheap lighter. One by one he lit the stick and held it into the upside-down globes pulling all of the oxygen from the inner part. Then he strategically attached them to my back in an effort to pull out the toxins in my blood, remove the fire in my body (that’s another blog) and realign my twisted spine. The result was 28 massive (although perfectly round) hickeys and a back that felt great . . . until the next day when I returned to the fetal position.
So heed my warning children. When in China, swallow your pride. Stick with “ting bu dong” or even better, learn Chinese but fight the urge to fake it. You may get away with it once . . . twice . . . maybe a dozen times or more . . . but one day you’ll wake up and realize that you slipped on the slope and you might just have a problem. You might also have 28 massive hickeys on your back. I tried to tell you.
There I said it. I feel so free. I pretend to speak Chinese. Not like the typical American Chinese faker with the “ching chang willy willy bing bang bong” or the hilarious jokester who mistakes fake Chinese for fake Japanese (see “On Eating Dog in China” for more about those people). No no . . . my offenses are far darker . . . I regularly pretend to speak Chinese . . . wait for it . . . to Chinese people.
Don’t judge me.
It’s never intentional it just kind of happens. Usually with taxi drivers and it always starts with a legitimate Chinese conversation (the real kind). So before you go pointing your bony little, “I only speak real languages” finger at me there are two things you should know:
1. Chinese taxi drivers are easily impressed: Unlike most Americans who tend to assume that all foreign people speak perfect English and are shocked when they don’t (see “Dear Unnamed American Airline” for more about those people) I have found that most Chinese taxi drivers (and Chinese people in general) assume that non-Chinese people speak zero Chinese and are shocked if we do. Need a confidence boost? Jump in a taxi and say, “ni hao!” (hello). You’re bound to get the smiley thumbs up with the “WHAAAA your Chinese is SOOO GOOD!”
“Why thank you very much . . . I’ve been practicing my ‘hello’.”
2. Chinese taxi drivers are never as impressed as you think they are: It took a good, long while but I finally caught on. What they really mean is, “WHAAAA your Chinese is SOOO GOOD . . . wait for it . . . for a foreigner.
This is how it starts. I begin a conversation. They tell me how great I am. I say, “no no no.” They say “really, you’re Chinese is VERY good.” I say, “well, I guess you would know, you are Chinese.” They ask me where I’m from . . . I say “Illinois” . . . they say, “huh?” . . . I say “Chicago” (even though I’m not) . . . they say “Ohhhh, Michael Jordan” . . . I say “Yeah!” and we laugh and now we’re friends. So we talk about our families and our jobs, they ask me about Obama and how many guns I own and how much money I make and then they go on a rant.
And they talk.
And they talk.
And somewhere along the line the limits of my Chinese vocabulary get stretched to absolute nothingness. So there I sit. Clueless. They might as well be saying “ching chang willy willy bing bang bong” because I’m catching zip . . . but we’ve built this relationship. We’ve bonded. They told me my Chinese is great and evidently they thought it was great because now they’re not even pausing long enough for me to tell them I stopped understanding back at “Obama“.
The worst part is this. Chinese is grammatically designed to enable fakers. Sentences are often finished with a “yes or no”, “right or not right”, “ok or not ok” question to which the correct response is a simple “yes or no”, “right or not right”, “ok or not ok”.
It’s a fifty – fifty chance. And sometimes taking it is easier than starting the conversation all over again. So I take it but for all I know they could be saying, “you sell nuclear warheads to Swedish vegetarians . . . right or not right?” And with big deer in the headlights eyes I pause . . .
“uhh . . . right?”
And they say, “yeah that’s what I thought” and continue talking.
Occasionally, however, I have been busted. Their jaw drops to the steering wheel and they say “WHAAAT?! You sell nuclear warheads to Swedish vegetarians?!! What kind of a person are you?! Who does that?!?” That’s when I play the foreigner trump card and say, “wait, what? did you say sleepless veterinarians? Uhhh, I don’t understand, my Chinese isn’t very good” So they smile and say, “no, no, your Chinese is very good.”
But I know what they’re really thinking. And they’re right.
All of that to say. Learning Chinese is hard. But admitting I have a problem is the first step . . . right . . . or not right?
Dear Unnamed American Airline, (no relation to the real American Airlines™)
I recently flew with you from Chicago to Beijing and have one small suggestion that might improve the quality of your service. Please consider banning Chinese people (especially older ones) from boarding your planes.
It quickly became obvious (and more painfully so over the course of our 12 hours and 6 minutes together) that the cultural challenges of dealing with Chinese passengers (especially older ones) were both distracting and irritating to your flight staff. Repeatedly, flight attendants were placed in an awkward position requiring them to roll their eyes, flare their noses, grit their teeth, raise their voices and repeat themselves over and over and over again. This level of stress cannot be healthy and I believe should be avoided in an effort to protect your valuable human resources.
May I take a moment to commend you, however, on your commitment to bridging that gap. It was obvious that your staff had been well trained in the SATLTAD (scream at them like they are deaf) method of communicating across a language barrier which we all know is the most effective way to help people understand a language they don’t speak.
“Sir you need to sit down the ‘fasten seat belts’ sign is illuminated. SIR. SIR. SIR You’re going to need to sit down NOW. SIR. SIRYou NEED TO SIT DOWN the SEAT BELT SIGN IS ILLUMINATED . . .IL-LUM-I-NA-TED.SIR! SIR!Aw forget it, just stand up.”
It may be helpful, however, to refresh your staff in the more advanced methods of pretending to speak Spanish (to deaf people). “El SEAT BELTO . . . DE LA SIGNO . . . ES ILLUMINATO!” Just a suggestion.
I understand the concern of losing ticket sales and am sympathetic to your bottom line so I also have a second option for consideration. You may consider requiring culture and language training designed to bridge the most obvious barriers and overcome the most common challenges. I feel that adding this as a mandatory protocol for all Chinese passengers (especially the older ones) would be worth the investment in that it would make the entire flight more palatable and enjoyable for your flight attendants which would in turn lead to fewer disgruntled employees, lower turnover and increased profit margins. Brilliant.
Your position is a challenging one and I do not envy you at all. Faced with the global financial crisis that has wreaked havoc on the airline industry you are forced to make the difficult decisions that will give you the greatest return and an edge in a viciously competitive market. Obviously costly details like translating the safety instruction video into Chinese are unaffordable luxuries in this economic climate but I have one final suggestion that would, no doubt, bring a predictable return. Simply include in your branding the mantra of the ugly American: “Speak English or Go Home.”
Wait . . . scratch that . . . they were going home. Ok try this: “Speak English or Fly Asiana.”
It was great to see you again and even though we didn’t have much time to catch up I realized how much I have missed you. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and frankly . . . I think that’s bunk. I am convinced though, now more than ever, that being away for so long has opened my eyes to a whole load of qualities that I never knew I loved about you. I love your baseball and apple pies but who doesn’t? I miss your purple mountains majesty and your fruited plains but China has those too. Ok, I’m not sure they have purple mountains but to be honest I haven’t seen yours either I was just saying that. Where are they exactly? I bet they’re cool. Point is, I’ll always miss your big stuff but it’s your cute little quirks that really got to me this time.
I miss your gas stations.I really miss driving a car but it’s more than that. I feel at home in your filling stations. We have a bond. I know that whether I am traveling your highways or trolling your cities I am not far from a giant, well lit sign with removable numbers that inexplicably add an extra decimal point to your currency. Three dollars and forty three point nine cents for a gallon of gas? You don’t see that in other countries. I also know that I will be warmly welcomed by at least eight different flavors of coffee, a shining wall of refrigerated carbonation and multiple thousands of bags and boxes of sicky sweet, uber-hydrogenated, ultra-processed, slickly marketed variations of corn, wheat, meat and chocolate surrounded by t-shirts and fake license plates that offer brilliant wisdom with proverbs like “There’s too much blood in my alcohol system” and “Did you eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast?”. I miss you America.
I miss your waiters and waitresses. I miss that little speech at the beginning of a meal that goes something like, “Hi, my name is Alan and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” You know why I miss that so much? Because I really believe that Alan will indeed take care of me. He frequently asks me if “WE”RE doing okay over here” even though I am the only one at the table. Why so plural Alan? You know why? Because Alan is in this thing with me. We’re connected he and I and he is genuinely and deeply concerned about how I am doing over here. And if I am not doing okay then WE are not doing okay. I miss that. Some people say it’s about the tip. Cynics. They don’t know Alan like I do. He told me as he gave me the bill (and I quote), “if there is ANYTHING else I need” just let him know. That’s a true friend. Out of respect for Alan I refused to cheapen our relationship by leaving a tip . . . or should I say a bribe? Alan would never take money to be my friend . . . I know because as I walked away he waved and though I could not read his lips he gestured, “you’re number one!” No sir my friend. You are. I’ll miss you Alan and I miss you America.
I miss your loud mouths.I have a confession to make America. On previous trips I have been overwhelmed and even annoyed by your news anchors, your “investigative reporters” and your radio talk show host. Your obsession with presenting the conflicting argument no matter what the original argument is has, at times, seemed to be spinning out of control. Maybe it was the brevity of my trip but this time I found myself chuckling and even entertained. In China the news is accepted with little public outcry but not in you America. You accept nothing. You expose it and crush it and beat the living daylights out of it and when there is no daylight left in it you hoist it on a stick and march it through the city streets. Sure someone fed homeless people but how much did that free soup really cost the taxpayers? Sure someone’s pet goldfish dialed 911 and saved an elderly man who was having a heart attack but should the price of fish food be covered by medicare? I miss you America.
It was good to hang out again America. It was good to be reminded that a nation is not the sum of its stereotypes. It was nice to remember that you are so much more than the face I see on the news and the conversation I have with Chinese taxi drivers.
We just noticed yesterday morning that the world was going to end. That would have been nice to know.
Best part about living in China? The “on/off” switch. We can watch the news . . . when we want. We can follow politics . . . when we want. We can check in on Hollywood . . . when we want. When we don’t however, we can turn it off and never hear another word.
I honestly don’t miss the constant bombardment of trending news events deemed relevant by massive media corporations and public opinion polls. It’s actually quite nice to not feel completely consumed by what CNN and Fox News are arguing about . . . every single moment of every single day. Charlie Sheen’s “winning”, Barack Obama’s birth certificate and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s love child(ren) are stories we can access at will or remain blissfully ignorant of. The trade-off is that we are blissfully ignorant. By Western standards we are painfully out of touch with what’s hot in the news this week. In my opinion that is the definition of a “fair trade.”
However . . . considering the fact that we are 12 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time and therefore theoretically subject to the end of the world at least a half day before most of our family and friends, could we bother someone in the Western Hemisphere to mention that next time? Post it on Facebook? Send us a note? I’m just sayin’. And for scratching our back . . . we’ll let you know a half day in advance when the world doesn’t end as predicted.
