Things they left behind

I just posted on a friend's blog with photos from China, of a near-empty village where many people have moved to Brazil and the United States. I've posted there mainly because the readership of Mauricio's blog is largely Brazilian (Mauricio is from Sao Paulo), and I haven't figured out how to cross-post it onto my blog.

The link is here:

Aqui e Acola: Things they left behind

Taishan, the roots of the diaspora

The above photo is of my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan, literally "Sea Banquet." We had seafood everyday. One meal I counted a total of eight different kinds of fish.

Side note: Blogger has a somewhat annoying format in that it seems to post photos backwards in the order in which I upload them.

Anyways, I've spent the past few days in the countryside, in the Guangdong county of Taishan, a major exporter of fine Chinese products. I mean immigrants. In many of the countries I've been to so far, a large number of the immigrants have come from this single county, Taishan. I think I read somewhere that over half of the population that is "Taishanese" is actually living abroad.

Apparently I am 75% Taishanese, which I had no idea about until recently, when I found out that my paternal grandmother's family was originally from a village in Taishan. Going back to my "old home" in China is an incredible experience; an auntie who helped guide me around the villages pointed out villages in the distance, commenting, "that village went to England. That village went to Brazil."

Brazil.

Everyone was talking about Brazil. Brazil is the new America, by the way. Seriously, everybody was talking about Brazil, and everybody is going to Brazil. I guess people have started realizing that America isn't America anymore.

Old ladies in my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan. They have just been given 100 RMB (about $14 USD) by a successful entrepreneur who made it out of the village.
The ancestral temple in Haiyan. The first character on the temple reads my mother's last name, "Rong," or "Yung" in Cantonese.

The house that my maternal grandfather built. He was a "Lao Hua Qiao" (overseas Chinese) who went to America, and apparently South America as well. He died when my mom was five and she has no recollection of him. Apparently he suffered prejudice in America. Surprise.
The ancestral shrine in the house my grandfather built.


Now we can move on to my paternal grandmother's village, or at least what I believe is my paternal grandmother's village. She was born in California, but her parents were from Taishan. She even has the same last name as my maternal grandmother, Wu, or "Ng" in Cantonese. Yes, nnnnnngggggggggg. It's not missing at consonants. Try it.



Actually, the village wasn't that remote.


That's me in front of my paternal grandmother's village.


The final village is my maternal grandmother's. I had an "American returning to his roots" moment in which I jumped on the back of a motorcycle to get to this village, because it was inaccessible by car. It was deeply romantic, and I wish I had a film crew on hand.


The driver checks to see if it's the right village. I take photos. This is the ancestral temple.


The Communist ancestral temple. No, just kidding, but I think it used to be the party headquarters, see the faded star?

Happy Chinese New Year

I'm writing from Liverpool, the only, and incidentally, the oldest, Chinatown in Europe to be celebrating Chinese New Year today. Today is actually Chinese New Year Eve, and almost all cities have their official celebrations on the first Sunday following Chinese New Year.

I rather like Liverpool. Whereas Birmingham was simply postindustrial, Liverpool is charmingly postindustrial. Apparently the Chinese arch is the largest ceremonial arch outside of China. You get the feeling that Chinatowns are competing for the biggest, the oldest, the goldest, the most expensive. Wing Yip -- the richest Chinese person in the UK, who made his fortune in groceries -- had a pagoda built in Fujian and shipped piece by piece to Birmingham, where it was then gifted to the city, and is currently at a rotary in the city (have pictures, but not here)

Liverpool Chinese gate

This is my mom's ancestral hometown (although my mother grew up in Guangzhou), "Hai yan," 海演, in Mandarin.

Qin-Qi! (Relatives!)

This post is probably an inaccurate description of my relations, but that doesn't seem to matter because however tenuous the relation, we're somehow relatives:

Today I met up with distant distant relatives; I think it goes like this: my mom's dad's distant cousin's child married a woman, whom I call Goy yi-yi, who is also a distant relative of my mom's, but has a different last name (Li as opposed to Rong, my mother's maiden name). Apparently the government moved Goy (Li) to the "Wang" village after a dam was constructed flooding her village, and the "Wang" village shunned her, and she asked my mom's family (Rong or the Wu's... my maternal grandmother's family) to get her out of China. My mom's family in the U.S. had a distant relative who was willing to marry Goy and thus bring her to the United States. They now live in New York City; Goy sells fruit on the streets.

Goy is close to my mom's family, she shows up at all of the family gatherings in NYC. She is an extremely generous person, despite what little has come her way. Goy's younger brother's wife is the younger sister of a woman who I am staying with her. So there you go. We're Qin-qi (relatives)!

I think I've complained here more than once how conservative and "closed off" the Chinese community is, just about anywhere. I'm not saying they aren't nice, but in general, they aren't the sort of people who will let acquaintances or even friends into their personal lives easily. I've found this insularity is both somewhat lessened and exacerbated within the diaspora. For instance, one family in Curitiba was extremely open to me, even after knowing me for just a couple hours. I'd hypothesize that it might have to do with the relatively small Chinese population in Curitiba -- to see another Chinese person was cause for great excitment. When I insisted on paying for a drink and they refused, they said "You're Chinese! Chinese people must help one another!"

On the other hand, in a big city like Sao Paulo, where there are many clans and subcommunities within the Chinese population here, people tend to be more suspicious. You can't just be "Chinese," you have to be "Li," "Wang," "Xie," and not only that, but from the right clan of Li Wang or Xie. Throw in the recent violence (and the likelihood of complicity within the Chinese community) against the Chinese, and everyone has slammed the door, and probably locked it, on the gringo-Chinese dude who popped out of nowhere with the funny accent. And the funny last name (Bien is extraordinarily rare... as is Rong, my mother's last name).

On the other hand, if you have Qin-qi, you're golden. Even if the relationship is as unclear as it is to them as it is to you, most Chinese people will treat you like a long-lost child/sibling.

Panyu Ancestral Temple 番禹会馆 Lima, Peru

Continuing on the same theme of "ancestral temples" as the previous post, I had a chance to attend another temple gathering within Barrio Chino. This was at the Panyu temple, which is supposedly based around clans and kinships from Guangzhou City (广州市).

This gathering was held on Monday, the day before Peruvian independence. A lion dance was held outside and made its way inside.




Throughout a hallway and within a special room were photos of the original immigrants from Guangzhou.

An introduction to El Barrio Chino in Lima, Peru

"Chifa" is the word used to describe Chinese food in Peruvian Spanish, a slight corruption of the Chinese compound chi-fan, literally translated as "Eat Food." Chifa seems to be ubiquitous in Lima, even outside the Chinatown area. In my district, Miraflores, there are two Chifas only two minutes away from my apartment building. It appears as if the Chinese influence in Peru has at least permeated its cuisine, and foods such as sopa wanton and chaufa (fried rice) are found everywhere. Often after attempting to explain my project to Peruvians, I ask them if they've had Chifa, and if so, if they like it. I have yet to meet a single Peruvian (or more specifically, someone from Lima) who isn't aware of the Chinese population here, or who hasn't tried Chinese food. They have all said that they like it, but that may be a different matter.


The Chinese have settled in Peru for over hundred years, and continue to do so today. Lima's Chinatown is one of the most established in the Western Hemisphere, and is perhaps the most famous Chinatown outside of the United States. Geographically, however, "El Barrio Chino" (the Chinatown) is quite small -- it is composed of only two perpendicular streets, Calle Uyacali and Calle Capon.

I arrived in Lima one week ago, and I quickly obesrved that the Chinese community here in Peru isn't really a unified entity. Similar to the Chinese community in, say, New York, the Chinese community in Lima is an eclectic mix of recent immigrants, first-generation Chinese (such as myself), and descendants of Chinese immigrants who arrived here as early as the mid-1800s.
Cantonese immigrants were the first settlers in Peru. Many of their descendants are already well-integrated into Peruvian society, no longer speak Cantonese, and seem to separate themselves from the more recent immigrants. These different groups don't necessarily interact on equal terms, either.

Roxane Lok, who works at a foodstuffs store, arrived from Guangdong less than ten years ago. She was friendly with me on my first day in Barrio Chino, and was willing to pose for a photograph with her boss, Julia, a Peruvian-born woman of Chinese descent, called tusan, another Peruvian Spanish term that is derived from the Chinese tusheng, or locally-born.

Roxane appeared quite aware of the disparities between these two groups. I asked the two where they live, and Julia replied San Isidro, a posh suburb where private guards and electric fences are the norm; whereas Roxane replied El Barrio Chino, which despite its touristy veneer, is the first stop for many newly-arrived immigrants. Roxane simplified the difference between these two groups as symbolic of her relationship with Julia, "La duena y la trabajadora" (The Boss and The Worker).

Most recent immigrants have also arrived from Guangdong, but many more have come from another southern coastal province that has historically sent many immigrants abroad, Fujian. Mr. Lu, an acupuncturist in the Barrio Chino, estimates that within the past eight years the Fujianese population here expanded from only 200 to over 5,000. I don't know whether that is true, but many of the new Chifas that are popping up around the two main streets of the Barrio Chino are run by Fujianese.

Mr. Lu

Mr. Lu, however, does not fit into either of the two predominant categories of Chinese here; he is neither a part of the recent migration from the southern provinces nor is he a descendant of early settlers. Mr. Lu is from Shanghai, and at the age of fifty-five, he managed to get a visa out of China in 1987 (do the math... I did). Unlike most of the other Chinese here, too, Mr. Lu seems enamored of his adopted country and highly critical of his country of birth.

Mr. Lu almost immediately began describing to me the great freedoms he had in Peru, that although China's economy has opened up, its government still hasn't, and that the Chinese are all after money whereas the Peruvians are much more humane. More than once, Mr. Lu grandly described the "libertad" in Peru, which he asserted was near-absent in China.

Mr. Lu's age already hinted at the fact that he undoubtedly lived through some of the most traumatic periods in Chinese history -- the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution during the 1960s and 1970s. Mr. Lu's iconoclastic comments further contributed to a suspicion that he must have endured unspeakable hardships in China. One common theme that will undoubtedly run through this project is attempting to understand why people left China, and perhaps more historically, under what conditions they left.

Because of my thesis work on China's barefoot doctors (Chijiao yisheng) during the Cultural Revolution, I was interested in whether Mr. Lu had trained any doctors, since he had already finished medical school (in Chinese medicine) by 1961, at the Medical University in Anhui province. While writing my thesis, I learned that China was able to rapidly train over 1.5 million "barefoot doctors" -- minimally trained rural paramedics -- largely through the help of forced rural conscription of urban doctors.

He said that he was "sent down" (xiaxiang) to the countryside in the late 1960s, which was quite common for urban residents with the wrong politics, and yes, he trained many barefoot doctors in rural Anhui, as well as "worker's doctors" (gongren yisheng) outside of Shanghai. During the Cultural Revolution many political undesirables -- intellectuals, "capitalist roaders," teachers, doctors -- were forcibly sent to the countryside to engage in grueling manual labor.

Mr. Lu also indicated that he would not have been able to go to medical school later on, because as he put it, his parents had a "hacienda." The nice thing about talking with these Chinese-Peruvians is that when my Chinese fails (i.e., I had forgotten had to say "landowners" in Chinese), we can often switch to Spanish. Both Chinese and Spanish are currently occupying the very small space my brain has allocated for foreign languages, so mixing up the two is inevitable. Back to the Hacienda. Shortly after Mr. Lu must have entered medical school in 1957, class struggles would have made it impossible for Mr. Lu, the son of landowners, to attend a medical school. On the other hand, those who had grown up as peasants or landless laborers would have had a far greater chance at higher education.

Mr. Lu is spritely and in good spirits at 75, and seems to have adapted to Lima quite well. He has a Peruvian wife and his three children (I assume from a previous marriage in China) are scattered across the world -- one in Canada, one in China, and one practicing acupuncture in you guessed it, Cote d'Ivoire. I told him that this was a little strange, going to Cote d'Ivoire, and he goes "Yes, it's hard there, but it's still good."