Foreigners from Botswana

A lot gets made in the newspapers about Chinese companies working in Africa. Our company is in on the act as well, with projects in Nigeria and Sudan. Such contracts are normally signed with major state-owned companies, who then sub-contract out various projects to other companies, such as ours.

Last Saturday, representatives from CEC, a Beijing-based state-owned company, and representatives of one their clients, the Botswana National Grid, came to Xian. The purpose, if the red banner hanging over the entrance was anything to be believed, was 'Visiting and Looking'.

As usual with our company, everyone only found out about it about a day or two beforehand. Everything runs through the boss, so only when he lets other people know, do we know. This meant that the day before, the translation department (including me) were busy hastily translating contents pages of manuals from Chinese to English. Preparation is, without exception, either rushed or non-existent every single time we have had important "foreign guests" visit. So I've given up trying too hard. Which is actually the best way to deal with it.

Being the company "vase", or token foreigner, I had to go along for lunch. The boss expects that my presence says "our translation department, and company in general, is high quality because we have a Westerner". Never mind that that's not true, it's perception that counts.

Lunch was to be taken in the Holiday Inn, a brand new, faceless hotel built on what five years ago was fertile farmland. We arrived quite early, before the others, so the boss got to ordering the food. With the customary rudeness and disrespect that rich people display towards poor(er) people, the boss barked his orders at, and made jokes at the expense of, a series of young waitresses.

Having dispatched them, he talked to me about his daughter. She likes cosplay, a Japanese invention where people dress up like videogame characters. Her parents forbid her from doing it, and expect her to take over the company when she is older. Obviously she is completely opposed to this, and the friction between her and her parents is typical of the huge generation gap. Not being an expert in parenting, I just nodded noncommittally to most of what he said.

Later the guests arrived: four Botswanans, two Germans and three Chinese from the contractor. Sideways glances and mild brow-furrowing suggested they were a bit surprised to see me, and it took an announcement five minutes into lunch to explain who I actually was and what I was doing there.

I spoke to the Botswanan engineer next to me about what he thought of China. He mainly noticed that it was very safe, which I've heard foreigners say many times before about China. He also marvelled at the economic development. I asked why so many African countries co-operate with Chinese companies in areas where technical quality is a requirement. The answer - cost.

At meals like these, there is always the problem of translating/explaining some of the dishes. And with broken English from our side and zero Chinese from their side, a lot of conversations drift into confusion, and jokes peter out into empty silence. The boss spent most of this time discussing "zhengshi" - real issues - with the representative from the contractor, leaving the chitchat to us underlings.

On my left was the "head of the business department", Mr Li Zhao. He is a middle-aged, slightly oily-looking man with a thinning side-parting and bad teeth, and he likes to carry one of these black briefcase-cum-handbags that are the preserve of unfashionable Chinese businessmen. He used to sell air conditioners. His supineness is the only reason he works here. (Only the boss has any real authority and power, hence the quotation marks around Mr Zhao's job title).

He said in Chinese to the girl from our business department "Why don't you tell everyone about the history of the dumpling". Perhaps aware of her own deficiencies in culinary history, she then cunningly said to everyone, in English, "Now Mr Zhao will tell you about the history of the dumpling". Then she said in Chinese to Mr Zhao, "I just said you will now tell us a story about dumplings, they are very excited".

The sweat beads started forming on his head as everyone looked expectantly in his direction. He first mumbled something about long history, different types of dumplings in different places, "the dumpling consists of an outside and a filling", and various other uninteresting pieces of bleedin' obvious information. Translating for him was quite awkward because his content was so weak. He said that the Italian pizza came into being when Marco Polo tried to make dumplings back in Italy, but couldn't do it and so just put the filling on top and called it a pizza. This might sound funny to Chinese ears, but the silence it was treated with let even Mr Zhao know that he was losing his audience.

Afterwards in the lobby, the translator from the contractor displayed some of the finest sarcasm I have ever heard from a Chinese person. "So Mr Zhao, I didn't realise you knew so much about dumplings, maybe next time you can tell us about the history of the noodle." Mr Zhao smoked his cigarette, content at the praise but being modest: "My actual speciality is Chinese history". "Wow, Chinese and culinary history, you know so much," came the reply.

In the afternoon, we held a small presentation about the company in the head office. During the Q and A, our boss displayed his skill at fending away very pertinent and direct questions from the German engineers. "Fobbed off" is I'm sure the feeling they felt the most. By the end, the head of their delegation was lamenting at the chaos and suggesting it was time to go to the simulation centre. But our company's relationship with the contractor is the only one that matters, so I don't think the boss is too fussed about what the 'laowai' (foreigners) thought.

The simulation centre is actually quite amusing. It is part of, and belongs to, the Xian Electrical College, and we just use it when we need to train some laowai. But we're very cunning. We put a battered old metal company sign on the door saying "XXX Company Simulation Training Center", and hey presto, it's ours! One Indonesian trainee asked me last year, pointing at all the dormitories on campus, "are all these students studying at XXX company?" Ahh, if only he knew.

The girl from the business department opened up a PowerPoint presentation to discuss the training plan. As soon as she opened it, the words "Trainin Scheduel" stared me in the face. As expected, at the first opportunity the Europeans asked me about the spelling. It should be highly embarrassing for me and the company, but I've already given up trying to make things better. It seems to me very obvious that anything like this should be checked (by me) first, and that if they don't give it to me, I can't check it.

But no one cares. It's interesting that it doesn't matter how bad the presentation is or how unprepared our project manager was, the boss never says anything. Keep your head down, speak when spoken to, don't give the game away, and you'll be fine.