Powdered almond milk — one product among thousands that kept the Chinese healthy. “… consists of nutritious ingredients including many kinds of Vitamins, animo acid, almond, protein and trace elements etc. This product is good for the brain, it can nourish the lung and the intestine, increase body fluid production and lubricate the skin, it also has the function of reducing cholesterol, softening the blood capillary, delaying senility and preventing cancer etc.”
I’d followed the directions: tuberculosis inoculation within six months of arrival. Unbeknownst to me the rules had changed, tightening that window to three months. My shot missed the new mark by a month.
The waiban had driven me to a hospital to validate my health records when the problem was discovered. I needed a second inoculation. Right then.
I’d read about Chinese hospitals. They didn’t always use clean needles, and despite government denials, AIDS was a developing problem. I’d followed the rules; I didn’t want a shot. I told my waiban this. He went back to the little window in the wall to see what could be done. After a while he forced his way through the crowd at a second little window.
They kept sending him back and forth between the two windows. With each switch he whispered a progress report – “I think maybe yes” – that sounded more like the Chinese reluctance to say flat-out no than real hope. Over an hour later he returned my records to me.
I needed the shot.
I scrutinized my immunization form for a loophole, glaring at the offending date: May 8. Why hadn’t I procrastinated? The same day in June would’ve been fine.
It occurred to me then, just how similar May and June were in numeric form: 5, 6.
My black pen hovered over the month figure, pointing out the irony with a pantomime of the simple stroke it would take. To my surprise the waiban said, “Yes, I think this is a good idea,” as if he’d been wondering why I hadn’t reached this conclusion sooner (sparing him the runaround).
Would it be illegal? Would I get caught? Could I be deported?
I really didn’t want that shot.
So with a skill born of urgency (plus the experience of a few trial runs on a scratch sheet), I doctored the form, my waiban brought it back to the window, and the health registrar stamped it. I was legit.
How they failed to recognize the forgery mystified me – they’d already seen my shot record several times, looking at the precise date in question. As we exited the hospital I wondered whether I’d stumbled into the Chinese manner of dealing with red tape.
January 10, 2008 at 7:17 am
The next day the waiban brought other American teachers to the same hospital for the same purpose. A woman who lived on my floor ended up needing a second inoculation. Although she objected, her sense of integrity prevented her from doctoring the form as the waiban suggested. So she got the shot. On her return she vented to me about the whole incident. She was really upset.
That probably wasn’t the right time to confess I’d weaseled out the day before, but I felt so awkward I did anyway.
My lack of integrity infuriated her.
January 10, 2008 at 12:40 pm
Wow! That raises the whole question of ethics; in a corrupt country, to what extent should a Christian rise above and demonstrate integrity, and to what extent would that be foolish in-the-foot-shooting? Would a missionary to China be able to get anything done if he never greased a palm, if he never bent/broke the “rules” the way the locals consider routine?
January 10, 2008 at 1:07 pm
Yes, the question of rules becomes interesting when one society’s differ from your own. I’ll hit on that later regarding my attempt to wait in line in a country that didn’t believe in lines.
I broke a handful of rules when I was overseas — some in line with Chinese culture, some contrary to it. Partly that was because I was young, wild and stubborn; partly it was because I lacked respect for the Communist Party. In retrospect I wish I had kept this passage from Romans chapter 13 more in mind:
Obviously, abiding by this passage becomes complicated when discussing corrupt or inhumane governments (such as the Communist Party). But in general, my rulebreaking had less to do with civil disobedience than it did with personal rambunctiousness.
One way I responded to differences in culture was by not taking things very seriously. You’ll get to read a few such incidents in this book, most of which I regret to this day.