Wang Yang: a memoir

By Ryan Andrew Peters

"Without a doubt, this is one of the most exciting books I've read in years!"

In an ancient city, lives the new China - and this book gives you a taste of China.

Accompany Ryan, as he becomes familiar with the intricate Chinese culture and traditions. He makes his new home in Xi'an, one of the oldest cities in the new China. In days gone by, Xi'an marked the starting point of the Silk Road and is home to the majestic Terracotta Warriors.

It's in a quaint Xian restaurant, where he has his first meal in the country, but the amount of things that happen in between are almost ludicrous. Not only does this give him a taste of China, but it opens up a new world.

"Definitely recommended to anyone who has worked, is working, or wants to work teaching English in a foreign country"

Wang Yang, a memoir follows the gripping story of Ryan, a young man of Indian and African origin who grew up in Apartheid South Africa. He moves to China to escape his alcohol and drug fused days in London, and gets way more than he bargained for!

In this story, you meet plenty of foreign teachers, Chinese staff as well as several of the students at his school. Becoming an English teacher takes a lot of practice in the beginning, but he ends up having a blast in the classroom.

"It's raw and honest. Hilarious and heartbreaking."

The Chinese food culture becomes a challenge. Even the China Wok has nothing on this place. The typical Xian restaurant experience is always accompanied with a lot of the local beer. He also passes many nights in the underground gay bars in China. Soon, he finds himself spiralling out of control again as he slips into a destructive lifestyle.

More traumatic events unravel around him everyday, such as the Sichuan earthquake that kills over 70,000 people, leaving him to wonder what the meaning of life really is.

"A portrayal of physical, emotional and spiritual conflict; desire and talent."

Follow Ryan Andrew Peters as he barrels through a life of pain, adventure, love and whimsical hope. It’s a travel memoir that gives you a taste of China that readers cling to until the very last page!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryan Andrew Peters
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311002013

Ryan Andrew Peters

Ryan Andrew Peters was born in Cape Town, South Africa, where he currently resides. He works as the Director of Studies at a language centre, where he teaches English to foreign language learners. He works as a waiter in a vibey African restaurant on the weekend.In the past, he has worked as a computer technician, a call centre agent, a banker, a corporate trainer, a waiter, a pianist, a singer, a language teacher and now, of course - a writer.He has previously lived and worked in Florida, New York, London and Xi'an, in China. He has used some of his travel experiences to write the book called WANG YANG - a memoir.

Book preview

WANG YANG

- a memoir -

Ryan Andrew Peters

First Published in South Africa in 2014

Copyright © 2014 Ryan Andrew Peters

The right of Ryan Andrew Peters to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No Part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of Ryan Andrew Peters's memory. While all the stories in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved. The conversations in the book all come from the author’s recollections, though they are not written to represent word-for-word transcripts. Rather, the author has retold them in a way that evokes the feeling and meaning of what was said and in all instances; the essence of the dialogue is accurate.

Edited by Aradna Sundarlal

First Edition

For more information:

www.ryanandrewpeters.com

DEDICATION

To my mother, brother and sister

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Aradna Sundarlal, Leander Peters, Sarah-Kim Gerber, Kim de Beer, Vuyo Hlabangana, Karen Hendricks, Madge Preyser-Grantham, Samantha Coleman, Jandiera Eldridge, Amanda Hardenberg, Bojan at Pixel Dizajn Studio and all who have played a part in this story.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the author

Chapter 1

Everyone stared. Their eyes scrutinized my every move, and an immediate silence fell upon the people huddled in groups around the airport. They were perched on benches and on the tops of their bags, and they seemed to share the common goal of scoping me out. If it hadn’t been for their luggage, I could have assumed that scanning foreign faces was what they did for a living. I returned the looks, but with less intensity. I tried smiling, but got nothing back. I nodded, but no one returned the gesture. Did they know that I could see them? Their fixed gazes gave nothing away.

It was scary to be the only person who looked the way I did that day – I had my mother’s African curly hair and my father’s Indian facial features. I also had a new Afro hairstyle. Since I couldn’t make myself look more Chinese, I had to learn to get used to the staring. There were two hours left before my connecting flight, so I had to do something to pass the time. I strolled over to a kiosk, and looked over the boxes of cigarettes. None of the Chinese characters made any sense, but the box with the pandas on it beckoned me to buy it.

Standing outside the airport, lighter in hand, I noticed the orange clouds. They were not the same orange clouds I remembered from the breathtaking Cape Town sunsets. These clouds were dark. I’d thought that the London skies were morbid, but these smog-filled skies looked as if they were about to smother me. I lit one of my panda cigarettes and contributed to the dense air. I felt bad about puffing away in the pollution but it also made me feel connected to the other smokers. There weren’t any Chinese women smoking in the area but African women never smoked in public either, so it wasn’t that weird. I looked at my watch and saw that it had only been ten minutes since I last checked.

I wanted green tea, so I headed back inside the terminal in search of a place that served it. I found a restaurant. The waitress at the front handed me a menu with English words on it, so I went inside and ordered a pot. People were smoking in the restaurant, so I whipped out another panda cigarette and lit it up. The tea came with a miniature cup. I took my time to sip as I allowed myself to be present to the newness. I didn’t want to gulp up all my tea, which would have led me back to having too much time and nothing to do.

I smoked a few more cigarettes and then headed for the domestic check in counters. As I dragged my suitcase behind me, the staring onslaught continued. I couldn’t understand it. Then it dawned on me that I was wearing a Danish military jacket. It had to be the reason why everyone was watching me. I hadn’t ever been in Denmark, but I fancied the cut of the jacket. And anyway, surely my blue jeans and sneakers were an indication that I wasn’t there to start a war. I had to make the staring stop. So I paused, took off the jacket and turned it inside out so that the military badges were out of sight. What a relief. Soon, I realized that my attire had had nothing to do with my ability to draw onlookers and so, the gazing went on.

The domestic check-in hall was small. It was much quieter than the rest of the airport. I stopped in the middle of the room to look at my ticket. I was heading for Xi’an. The electronic board overhead listed all the flights, yet the display kept switching between Chinese characters and English. Every time I managed to focus on my flight details, it switched back to Chinese. I watched as my flight details crawled towards the top of the list.

While I was studying the board, a handsome young man in a neat airport uniform approached me. He asked whether I needed any help. His broken English made perfect sense. I smiled and nodded, so he took my ticket and passport and asked me to follow him to the counter. I waited while he spoke with the check-in girl. I didn’t understand what they were saying to each other but I was happy that he was kind enough to help me.

He exchanged a few more words with the girl behind the counter and then he turned around and said, Sir, your luggage is overweight. I have waived this fee for you. You give me 100 RMB for this service.

I’m sorry, sir, but I don't think it is overweight. I took two flights to get here. My luggage weight was fine in London and Moscow. You must be mistaken.

He stepped closer and whispered, I have your ticket and your passport, and if you don't give me the money, you won't get these back.

My heart was pounding. Was this for real? I could be left without my passport, or my ticket, in a country that was strange to me. I didn’t know anybody. I didn’t speak the language. How could I be so stupid? I reached into my pocket and took out the money. Then, with a smug look on his face, he handed my passport and ticket back to me. He turned and dashed out of the room.

I paged through my passport and looked at all the stamps and visas inside. In that moment, I realized the true value of my passport. I understood that my passport and I would have to look after each other at all times. We’d taken care of each other many times before but I had to ensure that no one else would take it from me again. I couldn’t trust an official airport employee. I’d been deceived within my first two hours of arriving in China.

Even though I was violated, I secretly felt a thrill at the abnormality of the situation. The handsome man in uniform might not even have been an airport official. In my heart, I thanked him for the valuable lesson. My luggage glided toward the flapped curtain on the left, while the man disappeared with my money to the right. I went to the boarding gate and sat down to have a little word with myself. What was I doing? I guess that sitting at a boarding gate, heading toward my final destination, was not the right time to reflect. Why was I moving to China?

For the past eight months, I’d been working at a customer care center for a TV station in London. More recently, I’d grown tired of the mundaneness of the job. Most customers called in with the same complaints. I didn’t like television. I had never owned one, so it made my job even more pathetic.

On another dull day at work, before arriving in China, I took a call from a lady who needed me to connect four satellite boxes in her new guesthouse. As we went through the regular motions, I was still filled with the notion that I would have more fun watching the mist evaporate on my bedroom window. I was over the novelty of living in the UK, and having lived in New York previously meant that I’d had enough of these fast-paced, manic, rat-race cities.

Ryan, would you mind holding on? I need to sort something out, the lady said.

Certainly, I don’t mind waiting.

I did mind waiting. Our calls weren’t supposed to be longer than eight minutes. The managers didn’t like it when we spoke for longer – but it was still important to remain polite. In the background, I could hear her tell the movers where she wanted all the beds to be placed. She couldn’t have chosen a better time to make the call. It was already on sixteen minutes.

I tried to look busy to avoid my manager’s eye. Then the lady came back on the line.

Ryan, thank you for waiting. Let’s go on. I need to get a third and a fourth box in two other rooms, and I want to confirm an installation date.

I arranged everything to happen as she wished. As we came to a close she asked me, Why are you working here?

Her question caught me by surprise.

It pays my rent. It’s not all that I do. I paint and play piano when I have free time. Why was I telling a stranger about my personal life? She didn’t even acknowledge what I was saying to her. I waited for her response.

Things are about to change for you in a positive way. You'll be doing something you enjoy much more than this. It'll happen soon. You don't belong where you are right now, and you'll be doing something much better suited to you. You'll see.

I had no idea where that had come from, but I thanked her and we said our goodbyes. Little did she know she’d changed my life. I didn’t know what was waiting for me, but it was important to hear those words. I had already given up on finding any form of direction in my life. After that call, there was a light at the end of the smothering tunnel. I walked with a spring in my step and a fresh tune playing in my heart. I felt as if I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs so that everyone sailing through the River Thames would hear.

I didn't believe everything that I heard from psychics, but I had been told the truth enough times to take some of it seriously. A fortuneteller once told me that there was something in music for me, and a year later, I was playing piano at a cocktail lounge in New York. Maybe this lady was onto something.

The following day, I found an email from a school in China. The sender wanted to do a job interview over the phone. I’d listed myself on a job bank before so it must’ve been how they’d found me. It was my first telephonic interview, but I’d be able to do it. I was already getting paid to talk on the phone.

When the phone rang, I cleared my throat to prepare myself.

Good morning, this is Sid calling from the English school in China. He sounded as if he could’ve been in his fifties.

Good morning to you, too, Sid. How are you doing?

I’m good, thanks for asking. Shall we make this an informal discussion? I’d like to get to know you better.

Sounds great. Where shall we start?

Well, have you considered living in a foreign country and being away from your family?

I’ve been travelling for the past three years. I’m certain that it would be an easy transition. Besides, I keep in touch with my family via Skype.

That was followed by the formalities, confirming my experience and my ability to live and work in the Far East. Everything was kept light-hearted and I sprinkled the serious conversations with humor to keep the older English gentleman interested.

The city of Xi’an is the historical capital of China. It still has city walls. It’s developing at a rapid pace and we are constructing an underground metro system. You’ll love it here.

That was my confirmation. Having a job interview is similar to taking yourself to a market, where you barter your time for their money. When he tried to market the city and its developments, I knew that he had already bought me.

London was getting old. There were too many parties that blurred my weekends. They sucked the vibrancy out of my being. I loved my friends, but I could have done without the narcotic rollercoaster weekends that came packaged with the deal. Where did all the wholesome people go? I guess they were there, but they must have been vibrating on a different frequency. I know that I was to blame for the self-destructive drug binges, but the friends I had were a big part of it. I had to do what I could to bring about the change I wanted to see. I had to get out of London.

I’d never heard of the city that I was moving to. I struggled to figure out the name; it sounded something like Zion, Shyone, or Xianne. I didn’t enter a specific destination when I’d filled out my information, so I felt that the city had chosen me. I received an email a day later with the instructions to arrange my tourist visa, which would be converted into a work visa upon arrival. In my mind, I had already packed my bags.

A few days later, I received official documents in the post with my job offer. I took my time to study the huge red stamps on the pages. The stamps made me realize how strange the land was; yet that obscurity was invigorating. It was a way out of the grimness. I could escape the gloomy weather and the 4 PM sunsets. I wouldn’t be one of the many expressionless faces on the tube any longer. I was about to melt into the broth of a new culture.

The next four weeks flew by. I was hired as an English Teacher, but the school insisted that I had to pay for my own airfare. I worked every available shift at the TV station. I drowned myself in twelve-hour long workdays. I didn’t know that I was capable of working that hard. I didn’t eat much either. I needed every penny for my ticket. So, I only took one day off from work that month, which I used to stand in the queues at the visa office.

I handed out all my belongings and bid my farewells. I moved out of my apartment and slept on a friend’s sofa in Wimbledon. We stayed up late and reminisced about the many nights we spent out. There was the sexy blonde skinhead we’d both made out with under a bridge one night, the hot Algerian footballer she brought home and shared, the 24 hour parties in Vauxhall, and of course - the evening when we were so stoned that we pretended to be wild swans at the White Swan in Limehouse.

Ecstasy, Cocaine, Marijuana, GHB, and Ketamine were our other friends, and I was serious about parting ways with them. I knew that I had to undergo blood tests upon arrival in China, so I steered away from anything narcotic before I left. My farewell party went smoothly and I drank cola all night. Having a drink would’ve led to taking drugs.

On my last night in London, my dearest friends joined forces to spike my drink with GHB. Suddenly, I was floating, and in that state of shifting consciousness, I figured that getting away from all of this madness was the only thing to do. The fact that they’d spiked my drink pissed me off, because I’d seen the paramedics carry many people out of the clubs because of GHB. Why would anyone be that inconsiderate? I’d have to be more discerning when choosing friends. It was the end of that lifestyle. I promised not to use anything that would alter my state of consciousness again.

The Chinese man holding a board with my name on it, wore a black suit and dark sunglasses. He looked like a mafia guy.

Hi, I’m Marc, and welcome to Xi’an. I hope that you’ll have a good time here.

We shook hands, and I looked up at him as he took off his sunglasses.

A pleasure to meet you. The journey was long, and I need to have a hot shower.

He nodded and smiled.

Ryan, we have everything arranged for you, but first, let us get you home. Can I take your bag?

Oh, I’ll manage, thank you.

I didn’t want to part with my belongings after what had happened in Beijing. As we were walking towards the car, I felt the cold winter air brushing against my skin.

Marc, are the winters always this cold?

Well, there are only two seasons in Xi’an, so it may be cold now, but in a few weeks, it will be sizzling.

I stopped to put my military jacket back on and we kept walking. The air was thick outside, but it didn’t take anything away from the icy sting of the winter. Marc had arranged a private driver to take us to the city. The driver didn't speak any English, but Marc spoke it with a British accent. I put my bag into the trunk and made sure that my passport was with me. Maybe I was being dubious, but the black car had tinted windows, and the sight sent a shiver through my bones. If anything would happen to me in the car, no one would even have the joy of being a witness.

Marc kept turning to the back as I told him what had happened to me at the Beijing check-in counter. He was shocked, making sure that I still had my passport with me. He had been working as the HR Manager at the school for over three years and collecting all the new teachers was part of his job. We drove through an undeveloped village and I wondered what my living arrangements would be like. The idea of living in a slum didn’t appeal to me, yet I didn't have the courage to ask if my new quarters were also made of mud. The two Chinese men were talking to each other in the front of the car, which gave me the chance to absorb everything as we moved. My eyes were glued to the humble establishments we passed which resembled the locations in Cape Town – my very own hometown. There were many unfinished walls, windowless window frames, and the places were all dirty and beige.

After a while, I heard the loud buzz of a motorbike drawing closer, and as it passed, my brain stopped processing every other thought to fathom what my eyes were seeing. The biker wore a live goat on his back, which was tied around him like a snugly fit rucksack. The goat’s face was turned towards me, and the look in its eyes was one of complete surrender. I looked at the goat, which remained still. I figured that it was being taken to a slaughterhouse, but I could see that it didn’t have any idea of what was to come. Whatever it was, had to come. It was taken to the end of a world that it knew. For a moment, I was walking in goat’s hooves.

Marc was speaking about Xi’an as the tall city buildings came into view. He pointed out the ancient city walls and shared some snippets about the emperors that reigned before. Apparently, Xi’an had remained the country’s capital through thirteen dynasties. He threw in some names like 'Ming' and 'Tang', which went right over my head. I could only think about the hot shower I wanted to take. It didn’t look as if I was going to live in a small village as I had initially thought. The place was pretty developed. Our driver stopped the car in front of the tallest building in the leafless tree lined street. We were only a block away from the city walls. I took out my luggage and the passers by stopped to have a quick stare. Even though it was overcast, the movement outside made the city feel warm. The outside of the building was covered in dirty pink tiles. I looked up, but could barely see the top of the building.

In the elevator, Marc pressed the number 28. We arrived on the floor within seconds. The apartment was spacious and modern. The glossy wooden floors suited it all well. I hadn’t lived in a bigger apartment before – the place was posh. There were sparkling lights in the ceilings and there were two balconies. My room was the first one to the right in the passage. Marc pointed to the welcome pack on the shelf. It had toilet paper, soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, bread, milk and shower slippers. He said that my welcome dinner would take place in two hours, so I had to get ready soon.

My new housemates were home and they swarmed into my room to welcome me. They didn’t look as if they were in any anguish, so I figured that I hadn’t been sold into slavery. Gerhard’s hands were warm. His Afrikaans accent was welcoming. Rita and Rhonda were pretty British girls. They laughed as they threw their arms around me. Rita rushed out to switch on the kettle. I offered the milk from my welcome pack and we all gathered on the floor in my new bedroom. We sipped coffee, smoked panda cigarettes, and spoke about life in China. The grime in the pores on my face had to be released, and I didn’t want to know about the filth that was cladding the rest of my body. I put on my shower slippers and headed for the bathroom.

The shower was a nozzle that sprayed all