Coming Home: From Wuhan to Canada

My family left Wuhan on Monday night. Our son Adryan was picked up on the other side of Wuhan and then the hired bus met Emily, Wyatt and myself in front of the school where I teach. After that we headed to the airport, getting stopped at a checkpoint for the longest 40 minutes of any of our lives, we arrived at Wuhan’s Tianhe Airport.

This was by no means the end as any number of things could have resulted in us being denied entrance to the plane. Green ribbons were placed on our bags so we could retrieve them quickly in case we were turned back.

The processing took more than five hours for the 200+ masked and exhausted souls who had gathered together in this otherwise deserted international airport. Emily has prepared fried rice, so we ate our fill at 17:00 and then again at 11:30. Wyatt was not happy that he had to throw some of his Nasi Goreng (Indonesian for fried rice) away.

We had our paperwork from the Canadian embassy and our letter of permission from the Indonesian embassy. While Wyatt and I are Canadian, Emily and Adryan are Indonesian citizens. This was the first of the possible reasons we might not get on the plane. The second was the possibility that we might already be infected. As we filled out forms while moving through the line, we tried to stay focused, but the question remained; what would happen if one or more of us couldn’t get through. We made it to the gate. We were ready to step through to the boarding area. Then Adryan disappeared.

Neither Emily I had any idea where he was, so after calming each other down we asked the guard. Automatic sensors had flagged Adryan with a fever. He was in a room about 200 meters from our location, but we couldn’t see him. Adryan and the husband of a woman from our group were part of a small group of similarly flagged passengers.

We waited. Emily walked back through the gate while I stood with Wyatt, alternately deflecting and answering our 15-year old’s many questions. We agreed then and there that we would stay, all or none of us would board the plane. Emily persuaded them to test Adryan again. He was wearing a winter coat and carrying a heavy bag. After 10 minutes his temperature was low enough to pass another 10 minutes passed and Adryan appeared.

We made our way to the boarding area.

Sometime after midnight, we boarded the plane.

We sat together in the center row and waited expectantly. The medical staff and the flight crew, all Canadian military, was introduced and our obligations to remain masked and to self-report symptoms were explained. the large airbus was set up with an isolation area we’re anyone who became sick or symptomatic during the flight would be sequestered. The jet airliner taxied out and within minutes we were airborne. The first meal was a box lunch, as was the second. The masks made things uncomfortable, but safe. Temperature checks were scheduled, and the medical staff moved about; checking passengers, and sometimes to ask people to sit down, and sometimes to ask them to mind their children. The cries of infants and toddlers were the soundtrack of this journey.

We were asked to disinfect our hands with hand sanitizer after eating and to change our surgical masks. the old masks were collected by a suited medical worker.

We landed in Vancouver, but we didn’t leave the plane. This was my first time back to Canada since 2005 but sitting in the center row I didn’t see the city lights.

Vancouver was were some refueling would take place and some embassy officials would disembark. There were some minor personnel changes, but like us most were masked. The medical flight crew’s head to toe gear made recognizing anyone unlikely.

The trip, running like a military mission, did not brook delays and we were soon on our way.

We arrived at Canadian Forces Base Trenton, a Canadian Forces base located within the city of Quinte West, Ontario. in the dark on September 11th, Tuesday morning. In the rush to get off the plane most of the passengers had quickly grabbed their luggage and placed it in front of them.

We were no different. Border and customs officers appeared, and it would have been hard not to be intimidated by large uniformed men in masks. Individually, and as a group, they were efficient but polite. they let us know there would be a delay as passengers were brought off in shifts. They asked that no one remove luggage from the overhead compartments, but that had already been done. I moved our four bags to my seat and sat on top so to be out of the way. uncomfortable to be sure, but it kept the way clear. 30 minutes later it was our turn to disembark. We were brought off the plane in shifts until we had all walked down the steps, through a sheep-dip disinfectant for our boots, onto a bus, and then into a large hanger.

In the hanger, we were fed the most amazing box lunch/breakfast. Who would have thought ham and cheese on a bagel would taste like heaven. A wave of relief washed over everyone and small conversations began to spark. We are social beings after all.

We were processed, had our health checked, and our immigration status verified.

Things took a turn here. Our oldest son Adryan collapsed.

We were able to get him back to a chair, and he appeared fine. After about 20 minutes he collapsed again. This time he couldn’t get up. We called for a medic and within 90 seconds the team was there and together we got Adryan onto a gurney. The paramedics from Health Canada assessed him quickly. There were no symptoms of Coronavirus. The medical team diagnosed Adryan was suffering from malnutrition and dehydration.

In the two weeks that Adryan had been trapped on the other side of Wuhan, he had eaten what was available and had not drunk enough water. Adryan was brought to the emergency clinic where he was put on IV.

Emily, Wyatt and I were brought to our rooms in the Yukon Lodge, the VIP visitor’s hotel at the military base which had been refurbished and set aside for the 14-day quarantine of evacuees.

Within 3 hours Adryan was being escorted across the exterior quad by base personnel, looking quite stylish in his long white coat and Korean popstar hairdo.

Emily decided Adryan was to be our Drama King for the next few days. We had our first meal in the hotel, delivered to our room. Wyatt pronounced the WiFi excellent.

Our meals are all delivered, we have two temperature checks per day where we’re also asked about symptoms. when medical staff Health Canada and the Red Cross knock on the door we are expected to appear masked. this is not inconvenient, it is necessary. Coffee, snacks, and fruit are available in a common area. We have four one-hour periods a day when we can move about outside. These fresh air exercise periods are staggered between four groups.

The meals that are delivered are excellent and I’m eating things I haven’t had for years. The best was a small package of Dad’s Oatmeal cookies.

We have 10 days left in our quarantine. On Thursday morning the snow was falling, and we took Adryan outside to see his first snowfall. To see the world through their eyes, fresh, pure and hopeful.

We can’t help but be concerned about our colleagues, students, and friends still in Wuhan. The situation continues to worsen, and in other cities, friends are either locked down or self-isolating.  We are trying to keep the world’s attention on the situation. I continue to do interviews in the hope that aid will get through. The evacuees have put together about CAD $18,000 in donations for the Red Cross.

After this, we will travel to Toronto and spend time with friends. Tim and his wife Kisha are nurses, and they have two small ones. They had visited us in Indonesia just after they got married. Tim is also Wyatt’s godfather. Tim and I have been friends since high school, and even our short unremarkable stint in the military hasn’t dampened our friendship.

This experience has not changed my appreciation and love for China and her people. They will weather this crisis.

For Canada … Canada has stood up for us and brought us home. I’m indebted to our government, this nation, and the Canadian people. We are grateful to the people at Global Affairs and the Canadian embassy who put this evacuation together.

We are thankful for the medical staff and flight crew who brought us home. We have been in the care of the Canadian military, the Red Cross and the health care professionals who always stand on the front lines of these operations, and they have been brilliant, professional, generous and kind. They have gone above and beyond.

A special thank you to the Indonesian embassy in China who helped us to organize a private taxi, without which we’d still be in harm’s way.

To our friends, and family who’ve stood by us, offered guidance and listened to my inane prattle from time to time, thank you. We could never begin to repay the love and support you’ve provided.

Beijing Tour

We just spent the week in Beijing.

We returned home last night by high-speed train (6:14 to 22:30 pm).IMG20180713194952.jpg

Emily and Wyatt had to renew their Indonesian passports so we had to make the trip to Beijing. Unfortunately, there is no online option. We took the hard-sleeper to get to Beijing. Three berths stacked on either side of a small compartment, Emily in the bottom bunk, Wyatt in the second bunk, and me kissing the ceiling. All good so far … then the family shows up.

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Two little boys, their mom, and their grandparents. Luggage is strewn on the floor. The noise level escalates. Grandma immediately lays down. The kids take the middle and top bunk. It’s about 8:30 pm. We are finishing our takeaway meal and hoping to sleep the hours away. Hope and sleep are both fleeting on this journey northward.

Now, what is happening with grandpa and Mom? Surely they don’t intend to sit outside the room all night? Surely not. At 10:00 pm the lights go off and they snuggle into the middle and top berths, thankfully they choose the correct ones.

The noise dies down except for sneezing, coughing, and intermittent conversations.

Now in the hallway, we’ve got a steady procession of old-smokers making their way to the bathroom, their passage heralded by hacking, throat-clearing and the uncertain shuffling of feet – following by the gentle horking and spitting for which older Chinese seem to have a knack.

I sleep for a few hours, and the kids start up. Then the two grandmothers begin to talk, as we discover there is no mother in the equation. She may have wisely jumped from the train. 2:30 seems an ideal time to have a conversation. This goes on until one of them nods off and then the kids wake up. This is followed by climbing, almost falling. Oh why did I feel the need to interrupt the plummeting children?

At about 4:00 am one of the Grandmothers decides it’s a good time to catch up on some family photo-taking and begins snapping pictures with the flash. I showed her my own phone for a time-check and she seemed to get the point.

We arrived in Beijing a bit before 7:00 am and the tour had sent a driver for us. Beijing has changed considerably since my last visit in 2004. Some amazing new buildings, lots of plants and trees. enough shrubbery to keep the Knights of Ni happy.

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More Later
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Weekends only postpone the inevitable

What lurks behind that portal?

A friend just posted something about teaching a something something workshop on Saturday. As much as I respect and have genuine affection for this friend, I do find myself questioning his sanity. See, he’s at the point where he could decline and could possibly assign the work to others. Although, as I said I respect this man and I respect that he wants the work done right. But Saturdays!?!

There are reasons classrooms and offices have doors – so you can close them tightly – because doors are portals that must be physically shut and mystically sealed against annoyances and nonsense which needs not have purchase in our times of rejuvenation and regeneration – in other words, don’t screw with my free time. I’ve worked a lot of Saturdays and a frightening number of Sundays; I’ve done it for money, for friendship and for escape. I’ve done it out of loyalty, out of desperation, out of necessity, and until I was out of my mind. If you can manage to avoid it: through negotiation, compromise, intimidation or guile; Saturday needs to become sacrosanct. It needs to be set aside, untouched, pure and unsullied by schedules, calendars, watches and social media reminders.

On Friday afternoon you close what needs to be closed, hide whatever evidence that your work actually ended on Tuesday around 11:30 – and run- don’t walk. You will actually feel care slip away – like oversize footwear. As distance and time grow, 200 meters and/or 30 seconds sounds about right – you may have only a vague recollection of what lurked behind that portal.

Saturday morning you awake, a temporary resident of an alternate reality. You may be suffering from trans-dimensional ‘ jet-lag’. Saturday afternoon is spent trying to remember some of Friday night. This disconnect doesn’t require any substance other than distance and actual enjoyment.

Sunday morning finds you still dimensionally detached, and this will last through the afternoon. This disconnect may last longer if you linger over brunch with a few friends. Adult beverages are optional.  … Eventually, around 7:00 pm you feel an ominous presence – some obscure and ancient warning that may cause some to feverishly plan a duvet-day escape plan- but it will only delay the inevitable.

Monday lurks, and it will arrive, like an elephant in musth, intent on trampling your tranquil oasis and befouling the waters of your serenity. You must face Monday with calm bemusement and feigned self-assurance. Monday will smirk knowingly. Don’t take it personally, that’s just how Mondays are.

Monday greets you at the door. It accepts your sneers generously and chortles as you capitulate, broken and sobbing, to the inevitable beginning. Your mandated 100% of effort is fueled and on deck. You suit up and wait for the go signal. Maybe today you’ll have the nerve to buzz the tower. As lunch approaches, you’re not sure if you can make it. Two o’clock seems so far away, and five is a dream left for the mad and newly employed. Somehow you make it, with only a little sweat and a few tears. Careful, Mondays feed on tear-stained dreams … and coffee-soaked anguish.

Tuesday is waiting and you’re there ready to give your full 70% – after all, you’re saving yourself for Wednesday. Be warned, if you’ve managed to dodge Monday, Tuesday is quite prepared to emulate, imitate and stand-in for its much-maligned sibling. After all, that’s how weekdays are.

Wednesday is festive, zesty, and almost giddy. It’s a quiet giddiness that may occasionally titter and has been known to share a shy smile. Energy levels are neck and neck with productivity, cruising at about 50%, slowing for the occasional coughing fit or sarcastic chants of love for the company.

Thursday arrives, and your commitment to giving your full 30% is the only thing keeping your toes on the office side of the threshold. Your toehold on a fast dissolving reality isn’t really fooling anyone, but surely even a not quite halfhearted effort is appreciated.

You slip into Friday almost effortlessly. You even manage to remark,” I can’t believe it’s already Friday.” You then look around nervously just in case Thursday has overstayed its welcome. Friday, when even your shadow isn’t fully committed to being in the office, is a day both joyous and fraught with tension. You have to be light on your feet because extra work, unplanned meetings, and the dreaded question, “have you got any plans?” dwell just out of the corner of your eye. Move quietly. Don’t jingle keys, or slam doors, or linger at the copier. The clock, your watch, and the artfully inaccurate timer on your desktop all conspire to keep you at work longer than necessary. Certainly, it’s longer than the time required by human-decency and that provision of the Geneva Convention that applies to working-class heroes.

There is a sharp clang as the gates open. Your desk is done. Your bag was packed on Wednesday morning. You burn rubber leaving the parking lot – and you’re walking. The lingering beast snickers, but you don’t have time to care. You’re out.

Don’t work for the weekend. Work to stop the senseless waste of hours in the unending quest to appease the beast behind the portal.

Happy St Patrick’s Day

Students see English as … a) Unnecessary b) A burden c) A strange, possibly alien, elective d) Something that interrupts naptime e) A chance to catch up on homework.

Happy St Patrick’s Day, unless you’re a snake. If you are a snake perhaps you see this day as something to be dreaded or you actually sneer at the ridiculous notion that you were driven out of anywhere. Do snakes sneer?
Truth be told, we’re not celebrating. Some people are, even here in Wuhan … just not us. That doesn’t mean we’re snakes, have any sympathy for snakes, or secretly in league with, in cahoots with, or otherwise compromised by … snakes.

Life is okay here. From time to time the classes can be more stressful than they need to be.
Students see English as … a) Unnecessary b) A burden c) A strange, possibly alien, elective d) Something that interrupts naptime e) A chance to catch up on homework.
We’re still training teachers through TEFL International but the current situation in Indonesia, with random checks and inconsistent rules, means running a course is more difficult than ever.
We have just cancelled this year’s June and July courses.

 

I should elaborate on my current state of discontent. The students are good, but the level of English isn’t. I have been pushing them to be more responsive, engaging them in ways that are unfamiliar to them, and generally having expectations that take both students and myself out of our comfort zones.

Students generally sit in a classroom and those in the back tune out.  I don’t teach from the front of the class, I move about and interact and engage. I want students to speak, to respond and to participate. I don’t care if the answers are incorrect, but I do care that they attempt an answer. I don’t worry that they stumble over words or phrases, but I won’t allow classmates to talk over, or belittle the efforts of their peers. I do not ask for unwavering attention or cowering subservience, but respect is a must. Don’t read or draw when you should be listening. don’t leave the class without asking. Don’t come late and start a conversation. Don’t do your homework in my class.

I will answer any question you ask but try to be on topic. I have one student who constantly asks how old I am.  I am beginning to suspect short-term memory loss, perhaps complicated by a genuine lack of interest in any answer I may give. Perhaps he needs a list of non-sequiturs to add and broaden his range of non-conversation starters?

What does any of this have to do with St. Patrick’s Day?

Not much. Just that, since the world has kindly embraced a barely remembered religious figure and created a day of green shakes, green beer, funny green hats, and small fictional gold-hoarders. Perhaps my students will embrace English; in the same way some people learn Klingon or the migratory habits of sponges.IMG_20180202_024331_798IMG_20180206_235627_704IMG_20180209_112919_513

Living in Wuhan

We had a nice unexpected holiday, so we had a chance to relax. It was much needed as I had a flu to get over and on Sunday we had a chance to explore the neighbourhood a bit more.

These are photos from this morning as Wyatt and I prepared to walk to school. They were taken as Wyatt intoned mournfully, “Oh Dad, you’re so embarrassing.”

Sports Day at Weiming

All the grades, and every student, participated in a cultural and athletic event at Wuhan’s Weiming Experimental School.