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"I'm going home to eat chicken liver and papa (corn mush)!," 'M'e Moleboheng announced excitedly as four of us trudged home from school. Apparently, I did not show enough excitement at the thought of her devouring such 'delicious' food. She looked at me and said, incredulously, "Haven't you had chicken liver before?!" Her utter disbelief caused my mental list of previously sampled foods to vanish. I tried to rack my brain. I mentally Goggled the night a good friend and I had gone to what we-very accurately-called, Beijing's 'everything on a stick market.' "Goat testicles?," I thought, "Check. Starfish? Check. Silkworms? Check. Random bug/insect looking creatures that I can not really be sure what they were? Check. Duck blood? Centipedes? Check, check." I barely made it through the very beginning of the list before realizing trying to think of every food I have ever tried was going to take an eternity. "Uhh, uhh, when I lived in China, I ate many things. I'm pretty sure I've had liver, but I ca
n't be sure it was a chicken's," I sputtered.
It was clear from their body language that I had gotten as far as the word 'China' before they all shook their heads in disgust and stopped listening. I was caught completely off-guard, and before I could contemplate how to handle the apparent racism, 'M'e Moleboheng asked me what Chinese people were like. I didn't know what to say. I knew that this was an impossible question to answer; I surely could not summarize all 1.3 billion people's personalities and habits into a single sentence, and even though I lived with a Chinese family for almost 8 months, I am well aware that I am no authority on Chinese culture. To matters more complicated, it was hard to decide what had struck me as different being a North American and what she would consider different being Basotho. Most of all, I felt an intense pressure to answer her question in a way that would defend all the incredible people I met during my year abroad and defend all the Chinese expatriates in Lesotho. When she declined to narrow her question, I
spurted out a few inconsequential differences that came to my mind.
The conversation had to abruptly end shortly thereafter. Indeed, it is only a five-minute walk from school. I returned to our house that night wholly unsatisfied with my answer and even more upset with myself for not addressing the issue of racism. On one hand, I felt that I should not start a discussion that could easily lead into a heated debate because I felt still like an outsider and the newbie Grinnellian adjusting to life in a new school during the middle of the school year. I wanted to wait until I felt confident that I had established good enough rapport with my fellow teachers that they would listen to my perspective. On the other hand, I wrestled with the notion that I was somehow silently consenting to their dismal of a whole group of people. In the end, I opted to wait and filed this incident in the back of my mind until the time was right to discuss it in depth.
Now at this point, you may be thinking, "Wait, there are Chinese expatriates in rural Lesotho, that tiny country surrounded by South Africa?!" I must admit while I was still enjoying the summer heat wave in Las Vegas and daydreaming about what life would be like in Lesotho, I did not imagine that my Chinese language skills would come in handy. Surely, during my year abroad in Beijing (2002-2003), I learned the Chinese word for "South Africa," and even one of my Chinese teacher's husbands was a diplomat in Pretoria. I don't really recall why I needed to add the word "South Africa" to my Chinese lexicon, but I do remember thinking it was quite strange that Yan Laoshi, my teacher, was going to live in South Africa with her husband for two years. I pictured her as one of the only Chinese people in Southern Africa. Little did I know then that Southern Africa, particularly Lesotho, could be considered a destination place, of sorts, for Chinese expatriates.
Indeed, Mpatane, the nearby rural village where we buy our daily necessities, is home to "China shop," a store whose name is derived solely from the nationality of the owners. I have met other Chinese expats who also own local stores in other rural villages. In Maseru, the capital, I have seen signs in Chinese announcing an automobile repair shop and an internet café. According to Newsweek, Chinese immigrants are major players in Lesotho's textile and manufacturing industries.
With so many Chinese immigrants living and working amongst the Basotho in Lesotho, I was surprised to encounter such widespread dislike for them. All the Chinese expats that I have met speak Sesotho fluently and have made Lesotho their home. If anything, I was expecting intense dislike for people with my skin colour. To say that the historical track record of white people in Southern Africa is less than stellar would be quite the understatement. Nonetheless, I often feel that being white here is at times akin to being a celebrity. Little kids come running to the road and start dancing for us as we pass by. If we are on a bus, they will dance and enthusiastically wave to us. Our adoring fans are sometimes even older. Once when Adam and I were approaching the gate of another high school for a literature workshop, the Form E (equivalent to 12th grade) students began yelling and screaming with excitement. They crowded around us and started telling us how we were long lost friends and that they would
visit us in America. And yet, unlike the Chinese, I find very few of the lekhoas (white people) speaking Sesotho fluently, myself included, or attempting to live amongst the Basotho permanently.
I was ready to get to the bottom of why so many Basotho I know dislike the Chinese. After bonding with my fellow teachers over fat cakes, slices of potatoes, traditional Basotho meals filled with papa and nama (meat), and meals filled with American 'delicacies' like apple-cinnamon pancakes, I decided it was time to broach the subject once again. I initiated two separate conversations, one with 'M'e Moleboheng and 'M'e Moleleki and one with 'M'e Pontso, a science and 'maths' teacher, and Ntate Kholumo, Mpatane's most dependable and hardest working policeman. Although neither 'M'e Pontso or Ntate Kholumo had been part of the original conversation on the way home from school, they still shared a similar anti-Chinese sentiment.
Throughout both conversations, the phrase, "they treat us like dogs in our own country," was repeated over and over again. It seemed all the intense dislike-bordering on hatred-and the meaning of this statement came down to three central accusations. First, the teacher felt that the Chinese shops are "dirty." Second, they felt that the Chinese shop owners sell goods past their expirations dates and that they sell bags of 2 kg chicken that are "really" less than 2 kgs. Third, the teacher felt that the owners of the factories do not pay their employees "enough." I was careful to listen to their grievances because I wanted to understand their perspective and rationale before jumping to any conclusions of my own. During both rather lengthy conversations, I did my utmost to point out again and again that people should never dislike every person of a certain race based purely on experiences with only a handful of people. I also argued that a couple of their allegations were based largely on hearsay and that
textile workers in Lesotho, at least according to an article in Newsweek, make roughly 2-3 times what factory workers in China make (though I definitely did not argue that the wages in either country were 'enough').
While I did not leave either conversation feeling that I had greatly contributed to reducing racism against Chinese immigrants in St. Rodrigue, I did feel, at the very least, that I caused all of them to reflect on why they held the beliefs that they did. I admire all of them for listening to my points and for being willing to have an open and academic discussion about racism. 'Me' Moleboheng went as far as to correct herself and say that she simply disliked the male owners of the China shop in Mpatane. 'M'e Pontso also acknowledged that she should not dislike all Chinese people everywhere, even if she was unwilling to concede that there might be Chinese people in Lesotho with whom she could be friends.
Lastly, I should say that I was hesitant to write my first quarterly report about a negative aspect of life in Lesotho because my experiences here thus far have been overwhelmingly positive. My fellow teachers and nurses, who work at the clinic where I volunteer, have been incredibly welcoming and friendly to me. They have accepted me into their community and have made St. Rodrigue a home for me. From keeping me updated with the ever-changing bus schedule and to showing me how to get the ubiquitous dirt stains out of my favourite clothes, they all have looked out for me in one way or another. Thus, even if I get angry with them for being reluctant to buy things at China Shop or show disapproval at the mention of the word "China," they have become like an extended family to me, and I hope by the time I leave that I will have convinced them to accept their Chinese neighbors as well. (And, just so you know, the secret to clean clothes here is lots of soaking, tons of Omo, the local soap, and the soon to be
patented Basotho hand scrubbing method).
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