Gaokao

This weekend graduating high school students across China took the gaokao, a high-stakes test if there ever was one. The gaokao, which literally means "high test," is the only basis for determining which university each student attends, if they attend at all - 10 million students compete for 5.7 million spots. There are no essays or application forms here. Students list their preferred programs and universities, then wait for the government to tell them where they've been assigned. (My two students didn't take it because they're going to the U.S.)

The test takes two days and covers Chinese, math, a foreign language (usually English) and three other subjects in either the humanities or sciences, depending on your high school track. Since cheating is a concern, security is always high during the exam period. Officials at our school even issued the foreign teachers special badges so we could access our dorm on campus.

Earlier this year another foreign teacher told me that parents wait anxiously for their kids outside the school gates when the test is over, and she wasn't kidding:



I've heard stories about students leaving the test in tears because they know they've failed and feel they have no future, but that wasn't the case today. Mostly the kids seemed happy and relieved. For them it marks the end of three high-stress years and the beginning of an extra-long summer.

Countryside

Yesterday a student I know, Michelle, invited me to her home in the countryside. It was only a 40-minute bus ride from our school in the city's eastern outskirts, but for most Beijingers it might as well be a world away.

We got there early, about 8:30 a.m. Our first stop was Michelle's primary school, where she wanted me to meet her "little sister" (in one-child China, people often refer to their cousins and even close friends as brothers and sisters). We didn't get to see her, but Michelle showed me around and brought me to the teachers' lounge during recess.

From there we walked to her house, where I met her parents and Michelle showed me the various Chicken Soup books she had ordered online. We didn't stay there long, however, as we were slated to have lunch with her grandparents and "little sister." Since they lived farther away, her parents brought out bikes for us. Now, I hadn't been on a bike in a long time, so it was a rather wobbly affair. In fact, as we rounded the corner and went down our first hill I had a brief moment of panic as I backpedaled but failed to slow down. It was with relief that I found the brakes on the handlebars.

Once I got the hang of it, we had a nice ride over country roads and through wheat fields. I have to admit it was a welcome break from the city. Her grandparents had laid out a lovely meal, and we stayed there for several hours. In the afternoon we rode our bikes back into town to see Michelle's middle school, where apparently she was a star. (Only the top students from each school, plus those whose parents can buy their admission, attend the high school where I teach.) I met with some teachers, one of whom asked me to speak in her class. It was the first time many students had met a foreigner, so they had all kinds of questions. Then two or three students from that class and several others were chosen to meet with me in a conference room down the hall, which could only fit so many people. We talked about books (Harry Potter), movies (also Harry Potter), the Olympics and what they wanted to be when they grew up. It was a fun afternoon.

We had dinner back at Michelle's house, where her mother kept entreating me, "Chi ba!" ("Eat!"). I really had no choice since any time I made a dent in my food she replaced what I had eaten and then some. It was some time before I was able to convince her, "Wo chi bao" ("I'm full"). After dinner, Michelle walked me to the bus stop and I headed back to school.

Love Moon

Last month I was standing outside the bank when two women came by and struck up a conversation. They told me they worked for Mary Kay and asked for my phone number, which I gave them, telling them to send me a text message so I could take my time deciphering the Chinese. On Tuesday the text message arrived. Even after I called back, I wasn't totally sure it was them since I hadn't written down their phone numbers, but we made plans to meet anyway.

A woman met me at the bus stop and I followed her to a nearby apartment, fully expecting a pitch for Mary Kay. During our initial meeting they kept pointing to my face and using the word makeup (huazhuang), a word I had only learned the previous week. Okay, I'll just listen politely, I thought, but I won't buy anything.

There were four other people there when we arrived: a woman I had previously met, plus three men sitting in the corner and looking on curiously. The woman sat me on the couch and opened her laptop to show me a brief video promoting a company calling itself, I kid you not, Success Unlimited. It was the kind of slick corporate video that talks about mission and philosophy without ever saying what the company actually does.

It does not sell Mary Kay. Since our first meeting, the woman had joined another network marketing company that sells one product and one product only: sanitary napkins. She and her partner proceeded to read from their English script while I sat through various absorbency tests. The product line is called Yuelang, which means Love Moon.

They also showed me bilingual company literature, some of which was probably not meant for me to see. Flipping through it, I quickly found this gem: "The principle of making money according to the Jews - it is 10 times easier to make money from women than men." The next page elaborated that since women run the family, they hold the power to consume.

At the end I explained that I was about to leave the country for four weeks and really had no place for a bulk maxi pad supply. They said they were happy just to tell me about their company. Amway and similar companies have really taken off here in the last few years, often offering enterprising employees substantially higher incomes.