Interesting times

It’s just over a week since the first quake. Since then there have been hundreds of aftershocks, some virtually imperceptible and some strong enough to shift the furniture around your room. People are weary from being woken in the middle of the night or from simply not sleeping at all. And then last night it was broadcast that another severe shock in the range of 6 or 7 on the Richter Scale may hit in the next two or three days.

You can imagine the panic this caused. It was 10.30 at night and it seemed everyone in Chengdu fled out into the streets in a cold sweat. Some jumped in cars and headed east away from the mountains causing huge gridlock outside my apartment. It’s a wide two-way street but the whole of it was taken up with cars with only one direction in mind and no intention of obeying silly things like traffic lights. Then there are those without cars. They set off for the nearest bit of open ground and set up makeshift tents made from stripey and tartan plastic tarpaulin material – the kind of stuff shopping bags are made of. Wherever you go in the city you see tent cities like these full of people too scared to stay in their own homes.

Stubborn or stupid, I’ve stayed in my seventh floor apartment figuring that it withstood the first earthquake so why shouldn’t it do the same for a second, lesser shock? Apart from that, I’m not aware that any scientist is actually capable of predicting the next earthquake anyway. Stable doors and bolting horses spring to mind. So here I’m staying despite the continuing shudders which still send a chill of fear through your body every single time as you wonder: maybe this one is going to be the big one…? The sensation is the same as feeling seasick. The trouble with sea-sickness is that even once you get back on firm ground your legs are still a bit jelly-like and you imagine the earth moving even when it isn’t.

At 2.28pm on Monday 12 May I was teaching. It had been a pretty tedious lesson to be honest. We all felt the first tremor, looked at each other and expected it to just pass. But it went on and on and on becoming stronger and stronger. Ceiling tiles began to fall from the ceiling and cracks to appear in the walls as the ground beneath our feet shook more and more. I think most of the students were already heading for the door when I shouted “Get out, Get out” and we all headed for the stairs in a walking don’t panic kind of a run.

At 2.28pm on Monday 19 May we were all in the same classroom, standing for three minutes' silence while outside sirens and car horns wailed a sad lament. I felt a little out of place. China is hurting and I think the students would have preferred consolation in Chinese not English. They certainly weren’t in the mood for a lesson on ‘The language of complaining’. Me neither.

Four girls at the front wore white tee-shirts with “I ♥ China” which pretty much sums up the national mood. But funnily enough, these tee-shirts which everyone seems to be wearing weren’t manufactured post-earthquake. They became popular a few weeks ago when Tibet kicked off. And the understandable – almost sentimental – message of solidarity on the front is often matched by the rather more sinister words in 300 point on the back: LISTEN TO CHINA’S VOICE.

The Chinese were also incensed at the treatment of the Olympic torch as it travelled the world. They took it as a personal insult that anyone could possibly protest as it spread its message of peace and harmony. They think everyone hates them. They are just not used to criticism. The French in particular have been vilified because of their vociferous protests (and President Sarkozy’s support for them) which has led to the Carrefour and Auchan megastores here being boycotted by shoppers for the last few weeks. Clearly we’re not meant to listen to France’s voice.

Defensive, beleaguered and tired: this isn’t how China expected to feel in the run up to the Olympics.