Lao Wai

In the Forbidden City (winter).

At the bus stop: “Lao Wai.”

Across the room in a restaurant: “Lao Wai.”

From bicycles whizzing past as I waited for a bus, the second syllable softer, Doppler-style: “Lao Wai.”

I heard it around campus, in the subway, on crowded sidewalks, like a squeak in my shoes. No one said it to my face. They just muttered that soft incantation under their breaths as they passed, as if warding off an evil spirit: “Lao Wai.”

Literally it meant “Uncle Outsider.” Wai was used in waiguoren (“foreigner”) and waiban (“liaison who helps foreigners”). Lao, a family term used ironically, came from the sing-song rhyme Lao Wai hen qi guai (“Uncle Outsider very strange”). About one in fifty people in Beijing muttered “Lao Wai” upon sighting me; periodically, perhaps once a week, I was treated to the whole refrain. Small towns and countryside villages, unaccustomed to the presence of foreigners, produced higher rates.

Americans admonish their children not to stare at anyone who appears unusual. Some Chinese parents actually pointed me out: “Look at Lao Wai, hurry, you’ll miss it!” Even adults indulged in unabashed staring. I supposed that among such an immense population they weren’t likely to see me again, so they got their looks in while they could.

As we walk through life we make impressions on others constantly, inescapably – impressions we hardly realize because they’re rarely, if ever, voiced. So it was an odd experience to travel through China receiving regular acknowledgement of my presence, as if I were some minor celebrity.

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