Concrete and shops
Trip Start
Mar 01, 2008
1
2
Trip End
Ongoing
Christchurch, South Island, New Zealand
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Prior to preparing for the Orientation Week I was told that thirty new students were coming. On the first day five turned up. At the end of Day 2 the manager of the English language unit, for whom I was organising the Orientation, instructed me to "radically revise" the sessions. Two weeks of hard preparation vanished in a flash. Then the manager disappeared.
Should I care?
How do I reconcile my boredom and the need to justify the Orientation? The manager once said to me if we are taking a week's tuition fee for the Orientation Week we will have to do something - whatever it may be. The University of Canterbury's campus is ugly. Replete with angular, grey, concrete and Stasi-inspired buildings. I needed to get out before the surroundings got me down again.
Neighbourhood tour. This was my Thomas Edison moment.
How well do I know the area? Quite well. Back in 2000 I was training to become a secondary school teacher at a teachers' college adjacent to the University of Canterbury and lived in a sharehouse nearby. Eight years later the same landmarks still shape the scenery. Situated at an intersection of major Christchurch roads surrounding a church, the intersection is widely known as Church Corner. Several buses stop there and student accommodation make the location conducive for business. During these intervening years the Bush Inn Shopping Centre got expanded and cleaned up. Countdown supermarket still opens long enough for hungry students. Church Corner shopping centre is a weird time warp zone full of Chinese-run shops and Internet cafes, small independents ranging from a second-hand bookshop, chemist, and bakery. And of course, a fish-and-chips takeaway.
On day 3 only two students turned up. One from Saudi Arabia and the other from Mainland China. The Saudi guy is quite cheerful and eager to practise his English. The Chinese guy is quiet but responds well to me.
On the way out to Church Corner the Saudi guy, Khalid (not his real name) pointed at lawn. He asked me what it was. I said 'grass'. He looked as if he had never seen it before. I repeated and took out a small book and a pen. He wanted to know how to spell it. I said "G-R-A-S-S". He wrote down the letters carefully. For the first second I thought he was joking. But he just did not know it. By way of application, then, I pointed at something else and called out 'Flowers!' within a few minutes, his notebook had four new words "Grass, flower, tree, leaf". The Chinese guy, Hong, and me pointed at the objects and got him to call out what they were. He was not faking his ignorance.
The very first shop I took them was Salvation Army charity shop or op shop shortened from opportunity shop in the antipodean lingo. As soon as I opened the door the distinctive smell of op shop wafted out - that clean-but-old clothes smell. The shoppers looked nonchalant. Elderly ladies running the shop looked equally unassuming. I explained the concept of op shop and showed the prices. Khalid could hardly conceal his amazement that decent looking clothes went for $2 a piece.
Across the road we went into Countdown supermarket. This was my local grocer back then. I tried to show them discount bins where one can find past-date food and damaged packaged goods. However, recent refurbishment meant I could not locate where the bin was. Khalid then asked me where we could find an electric razor. I said I did not know because I don't use electronic razor. But I pointed that he could use manual razor and shaving foam. "No, no, I want electric". Khalid said firmly. Perhaps he has never shaved with a handheld razor.
Giving up on the electric razor, Khalid then asked for shampoo. He told me that he had not washed his hair for a while. I took the students to the appropriate aisle and looked around. Choosing shampoo for me was a simple and straightforward affair. Having short hair I don't really buy them often. When I do I just look at the cheapest option. However, for Khalid it was a matter of life and death.
He muttered a brand-name "Bri..." something. This was a brand that he used in Saudi. So far as I understood, the motel in which he was staying did not have this brand. He did not wash his hair because of that. He wanted me to ask shop assistants for it. I could not be a slave to Khalid, and told him that he should get some English.
"No, no, no - you ask" Khalid grovelled and begged.
"No - you ask. It's your hair, your shampoo" I responded.
After a few turns, I drilled a sentence in his head
"Where can I find shampoo? Bri..."
Hong and I escorted Khalid to a shop assistant. Khalid rose to the challenge of repeating the sentence. A few seconds of nervous gaze later the penny dropped. The shopkeeper took us to the shampoo aisle. Khalid then muttered his favourite brand name. I intervened and asked the assistant whether the supermarket stocked the product. It did not look like it. I showed and compared different shampoos and told him to get the cheapest. Hong's look approved of my suggestion. We also showed Khalid that the one I suggested was discounted heavily from the normal price so that it was not cheap.
"No, no, I want the best" - he declared his princely intention. I found it futile to carry on and persuading him to shop in a way to help him stretch his budget further.
At the check out he was about to get his wallet out of his cargo trouser pocket. He looked troubled - it was a zip pocket, and the zip got stuck.
"You'll have to come back again tomorrow," I suggested.
"No, I want it now!" Khalid looked desperate to have his hair washed.
"Open, open, open" he was pulling the zip. Hong and I looked on. Nothing happened. I repeated "Tomorrow". I felt like a mum promising to buy sweets to a nagging five-year-old kid. The difference was that Khalid was around 19 and he was not my kid. There was little incentive for me to modify his behaviour.
"Do you really want the shampoo now?" I placed emphases on 'really' and 'now'.
"Yes" Khalid responded. I stood for a second and said
"OK, we'll open the zip".
I grabbed the tag of the zip and Hong held onto Khalid's trouser to create tension between the zip and the fabric. The scene was set for three men standing near a checkout counter pulling a zip.
Snap! The tag came off. A moment of silence later came uproaring laughter from all three of us.
"Tomorrow" I said.
"No, now" Khalid said.
I decided that the next option was to borrow a pair of pliers from the service counter and somehow force it open. For Khalid, the $7 shampoo and having his hair washed was more urgent than ruining and mending the zip on his trousers.
I approached the service counter, explained the problem and asked for pliers. A big lady at the counter looked excited at the problem and said, "Yep, I have a few kids and can do this". She tried to open the zip using pliers. But this was not working.
"I will have to use scissors and may have to cut the pocket open. Do you really want to do this?" the lady asked Khalid.
Khalid nodded sheepishly.
The lady stuck the pointy end of scissors into a little hole between an end of the zip and the trousers, and jiggled the scissors around a little. The zip loosened. Then we were away. Khalid looked visibly enlivened with a big smile on his face. He took his wallet out and shelled out the dough for the shampoo. Boy, he was happy. On the way back to campus he eagerly showed off his botanical knowledge. He turned up next morning, looking revitalised and happy. I asked him if he had washed his hair and how he liked the Australian-made shampoo (NZ has to import a lot of things from Australia). His answer indicated he would e would start his business importing Australian shampoos when he finishes his studies.
