"Standing Out"

Have you ever felt like you were sticking out like a sore thumb? I think of certain times in my life when this was true. Once many years ago in Zambia, I was quite sick and was waiting for a procedure in  a hospital. I was lying, naked, on a gurney with one small sheet over me. The gurney was lined up in a hallway along with about 7 or 8 other gurneys, all full of other people in the same situation as I was. The problem was that I was the only white person in sight. It seemed like every nurse, doctor, visitor, relative that came down the hallway stopped and talked or stopped and stared at me. I was quite an anomaly. It would have helped if I had had clothes on, but only slightly.

I find myself in a somewhat similar situation now. I am rather used to being the only Caucasian around. In Taian, a town of 4 million where we lived for 4 months, 2 years ago, there were only about 300 expatriates. Our picture was taken pretty much every day, sometimes by request, and sometimes surreptitiously. A year ago, traveling through the Kunming airport on my way to Thailand, I remember looking out over the immigration hall where there must have been 1000 people. Rick and I were the only foreigners that we could see.

So, first off, I am a blonde. Fake or otherwise, it stands out. Although it is obvious if you are Chinese or not, at least if you have darker hair someone might question it from behind for a short while. Then I am old. There are many old people around me in China. This being a section of town that has multiple universities in it, there are more young people than old people, but one still sees plenty of older people, being escorted by sons, daughters, grandchildren, spouses. There are always treated respectfully and helped in anyway possible. However, there are very few older foreigners. We usually cannot get visas to work after age 60 here. Only by the grace of our Father have we been able to continue.

And NOW I am also handicapped. I can only walk outside with a walker/cane/crutch. I pack something on my bike even, so I can get to my destination after biking. Now there are other older people with walking aids, but not many…and not packing them on their bikes. I am invariably helped, excessively. We have had subway security guards escort us long distances to find elevators and be sure we are safe. At one point, I was struggling down a long staircase in a subway mall. A young man went to the bottom of the stairs and as he studiously looked as his phone, he started back up the stairs directly in my path. I kept thinking he would move over, because I obviously could not. He got directly in front of me and raised his eyes from the phone directly to mine, and said, “Can I help you?” At one point at the university, I was being helped down two flights of stairs and on to my bike by Rick, a maintenance worker, and another professor.

I am stopped quite often by other older women. I can tell they are giving me advice about my health, but I cannot tell the details. I stumble out in my pigeon Chinese: “Two months ago the doctor cut cut my (and I touch my hip.) It is all new, (and I make a socket and joint motion with my hands…if I am not using my cane when I only have one hand available.) They commiserate with me and give more advice. I thank them, and then we continue on our way.

So I am an old, blonde, lame foreigner. I stand out. I am thankful for the help with heavy doors, and arms offered going down steps, etc. However, such scrutiny is sometimes burdensome. It becomes particularly difficult if we would want to worship in certain situations or with certain people. It is just too public and not advisable for us…or for those with whom we are. You get the idea.