my chinese family tree

It's true. I've acquired a Chinese relative.

As of Tuesday I’m tangentially related to a little girl named Tang Ci Yan. I don’t know where she lives, and I’m not super clear on which Chinese characters make up her name, but it’s all been recorded in the town register so I guess it’s official. Or at least as official as these sorts of holiday-driven-godparent-like-pseudo-adoptions of strangers’ children go.

There isn’t a parent in any country that doesn’t want their kid to grow up big and strong, to find their way to a long and prosperous life. And here in China, where by law most people are only allowed to have one child, there is a traditional holiday, 保保节, BaoBaoJie, that pairs children with strong-looking strangers in the hopes of drawing on that strength to give the child some additional life-long protection.

To become one of these “godparents” you have to travel to the one town in all of China that still celebrates the holiday with fervor --- 广汉 Guanghan. And fortunately for us, Guanghan is only an hour’s drive from Chengdu. So on Tuesday we drove over and went straight to the park where the event was being held.

Once you’re there, you find yourself walking through thick crowds that are multi-tiered and eyeing all of the prospective candidates like meat in a market. But don't assume that a person automatically gets to be one of these sort-of-godparents. It's not that simple. You have to be selected. Or more accurately put, you have to be dragged off by strangers.

A relative or a paid finder literally handpicks their target from the teeming crowd and drags them through the masses to meet the child. And in my case, as in all the others, as the dragging began, the crowds quickly parted to let us through. Then after we'd passed, the crowds closed behind us again with a near audible thud. All the while the man who had taken hold of my arm was yelling, “来了! 来了!” She’s arrived, she’s arrived.

This is probably the closest I will ever come to experiencing the insanity that comes with fame, the thousands of eyes trained on you, along with their cameras. There was a lot of excited shouting and I quickly learned that if I raised my hand, or gave a whoop, the crowd responded by ratcheting up their own hoots and hollers. 

I felt like I was on the floor of a stadium and the crowd was doing the wave, except that I was the one crossing the space, and the peak of the wave -- that cresting surge of standing and screaming -- never moved from the front of my face.

There is no way to accurately express what it feels like to have a wall of people part to let you through while at the same time pressing in to see you more closely. Along the way I was also pulled aside to hug children, was interviewed on camera, and took a photo with a man who told me this was the first time he had ever seen an American.

I didn’t see any other non-Chinese in Guanghan that day and when I walked down the sidewalk people would literally turn and stare. Even from across the street I could read their lips: 外国人. Foreigner. I was visiting the city with two of my Chinese teachers and one of them told me that after she had been separated from our group it was very easy to ask random strangers where the foreigner was. When she’d started to describe me further they would cut her off and say, "The foreigner went that way."

It’s exactly that foreigner aspect that made me an attractive candidate to “adopt” the little girl. And it’s the same foreignness that made the crowd hoot and holler. I could say I felt like a victorious gladiator before a roaring crowd, but I’m guessing I more closely resembled a dancing bear, or better yet, a unicorn – something rarely seen but said to have special powers.

The TV crew that trotted alongside me first asked if I spoke Chinese. After I said yes the reporter asked a series of questions including what I thought of the event? I said it was really interesting and a lot of fun. I didn’t mention that I appreciated the irony in placing one of the government’s omnipresent slogan posters, a red banner with white lettering, immediately inside the park's entrance. It read: 少生晚生 都要优生 生男生女 都要优育 or very roughly, "Having fewer children is awesome and remember that having a daughter is just as nice as having a son."

Despite the festive atmosphere, some passersby actually put up a fight at being selected. I imagine this is because for the newly minted Chinese “godparents” this new relationship can actually involve a commitment of time and money. They're expected to occasionally telephone and check in on the child, or to give them small gifts each year. But for me, most of these expectations are lifted.

The "adoption" process was very simple: I gave my four-year old new relative a big hug and a simple gift (a lollipop) to cement the relationship, and then we were officially registered in the town's logbook. Another hug and that was that. Now I just need to think of Tang Ci Yan each year on 保保节. And I will.

Later that night when I was watching the news I learned that the man who paired me with Tang Ci Yan is a sort of professional dragger who makes money from relatives for finding a suitable candidate. Good to know that even the professionals thought I was a good catch. 

But the part of the news that I really wanted to see, I missed.

According to one of my teachers, once we were back in Chengdu she turned on the nightly news and there I was, being interviewed as I moved through the crowd. I was speaking Chinese and per her account I made no mistakes. Zero.

She went so far as to tell my other teacher that I had never spoken Chinese as well as this and that my tones were a lot less “weird” than usual. Yes, she actually used the Chinese word for weird: 奇怪. Coming from her this is high praise.

As for my new Chinese relative, the most important thing is that a big, strong stranger is thinking of her at least once a year and sending good vibes her way.


Happy 保保节 Tang Ci Yan!