Getting tested

I went for an HIV test yesterday.  This is the first time that my job has directly influenced decisions about my health.  In fact, I have caught myself thinking differently about all kinds of things since last summer: how important it is for people to be able to explain their experiences themselves; how lack of education prevents some experiences from ever being shared with a wider public; how NGOs can maybe help to bridge the gap…but most of these thoughts haven’t changed how I act.  So, the way the brainwave “I am responsible for my sexual health” translated into a trip to the local STI clinic was unusual.

By coincidence, the evening before I went to the clinic, a friend had sent me a translated short story about someone getting tested for HIV in Taiwan (see the link below, if you are interested in reading it yourself – the website itself is also worth a look).  

http://asymptotejournal.com/article.php?cat=Special_Feature&id=55&curr_index=3

The story was depressing, yet too different from own experiences for me to identify very much with the main character.  On the other hand, it did make me stop and think for the shortest of moments about what it might be like to be someone else going for a HIV test – a young Chinese guy, or someone 20 years ago. 

The test itself was over in less than 30 minutes, and the people at the clinic were professional and incurious.  This was a surprise, as I had assumed that I would be treated to a round of nosey, flirtatious questions from the gay Chinese staff.  Being foreign in China isn’t what it used to be.  I haven’t ever tested in the UK, so I can’t make a meaningful comparison in terms of service quality, but few clinics in Beijing are open outside normal office hours.  For people who work, this obviously adds to the inconvenience – little wonder that some people choose to buy self test-kits that they can use at home.

The thing that most struck me happened at the end though.  I asked if I could make a donation to the NGO that runs the clinic, because the staff there don’t have any kind of salary at all, just a small allowance that covers lunch and not much else.  My suggestion took them aback.  Although they were grateful for the suggestion, they not only refused it, they also added that they didn’t want to be in some kind of “master-servant relationship” with the clients.  In other words, they didn’t want to receive a donation, because in some way that would reduce them to the level of servants.  I understood where they were coming from, but wanted to shake them at the same time – more money means they can provide an even better service – perhaps the money could be used to pay for new equipment, or technical training, or…the list goes on.  Do they think they are “above” money?  That somehow their organization doesn’t need money to get by?  But I didn’t say any of this.

In fact, after I left, I thought about this some more.  I may be spinning my conclusions beyond the realms of the available evidence, but it seems to me that the staff would rather provide an OK service with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude, than provide a truly excellent service that would require them to take on board the comments (including the potential criticism) of the clients.  It’s not unusual to hear foreigners lamenting the lack of “service culture” in China, but perhaps this is where it comes from. 

One other thing this week that I really want to share – Blade Runner.  Go and see it!  Like the Island of Dr. Moreau, and basically any other good sci-fi, it asks what it is that makes us human.  Memories?  Empathy?  Love?  At the end of their life, who won’t be left mourning the loss of “all those moments….like tears in the rain.”?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tears_in_rain_soliloquy

Inner Mongolia

Five Reasons to Travel to Inner Mongolia:

Have just returned from Xilinhot, which is a small town in the grasslands of Inner Mongolia.  It’s the kind of town where, no matter which direction you look in, you can see the countryside.  Here are some more reasons to go there:

1.       The landscape

Except for power lines and the occasional yurt, the grasslands outside the town stretch undulating and unbroken.  They are immense as ocean waves, and driving through them, I had the same feeling of exhilaration that I get when standing on the deck of a ship, yet with none of the sense of danger.  

2.       The skies

The skies match the landscape: calm and seemingly endless.  There are slow sunsets that bleed and expire into the night.  The height of the plains also means that the air is 10 degrees or so cooler than Beijing.

3.       The local entertainment

The sporting event that we took part in included a “Mongolian” banquet and bonfire.  The bonfire was fun, but odd – Westerners partying outside to disco favourites from the 80s onwards, as a thunderstorm started to move in, covered by the darkness of the empty countryside.  But better still was the show that the local government laid on during the banquet.  “Ethnic” people in “ethnic” costumes singing “ethnic” songs – check.  Entire roasted sheep presented quivering on a platter – check.  Local, overweight celebrity singer with penchant for hip gyrations in tight white satin suit – check. 

4.       The language

Although everyone in the town speaks Chinese, we did actually hear a great deal of Mongolian being spoken, and even the Han people who live there can speak some, which suggests that the different races are more happily integrated than is the case in other parts of the country.  It was also refreshing just to see Mongolian script – its curly, vertical writing is visible on all shop signs, and goes a long way toward making you feel you are in a “foreign” part of China.  As for the sound of Mongolian, I rather liked it – it’s much throatier than Mandarin, but it has a caressing quality, which undercuts the harshness. 

5.       The local welcome

Even though the marathon is in its sixth year, you feel as if the locals are still sizing up foreigners.  Outright curiosity is thus the order of the day, although people are much more likely to try to talk to you or ask to take your photo than to witlessly stare at you.  In fact, my impression was that the locals were utterly indifferent to the race itself, as demonstrated by the fact that hardly anyone clapped or cheered, even though there were hundreds of locals tightly bunched up on either side of the finish line.  Instead, they looked on, swapped gossip and took photos.  Curiosity even persuaded some of them to drive or cycle alongside the exhausted competitors as they entered the last kilometer – again, no words of encouragement, just naked interest.  Still, I was pretty curious about them too – it was fun to notice the differences between the locals and the people I see in Beijing (skin colour, clothes, features, facial hair – all these things revealed some differences).