Translating ‘Money’ into Chinese

LUOYANG, China—We met Mike in the bar of the Peony Hotel for drinks, marking the first time we had sat down to chat with another American in weeks.

It’s not often that we run into foreigners in Luoyang—a city tucked away in this country’s interior, known more for its ancient history than for its present influence in current affairs. So whenever we do, it’s a happy chance to hobnob with one of our very own.

Mike teaches English at a private school for young children here. In an existential mood, not so long ago, he asked his class: what makes “the good life?”

“One with lots of money,” they replied in unison.

It’s been about three decades since former Chinese premier Deng Xiaoping proclaimed “to get rich is glorious,” and the Chinese people have taken him at his word. Luoyang, though a far cry from the sparkling metropolises of Shanghai and Hong Kong, is hardly austere. Ladies in posh dresses and heels browse marbled department stores. McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken are expensive eats here, serving meals that might cost up to three or four U.S. dollars. And the prices for luxury items rival those of American stores.

But for all its commercialism, it’s hard to believe that the minimum wage is in Luoyang is about 300 yuan per month, equivalent to about $37. It’s especially difficult to imagine what this means while volunteering at the Luoyang Welfare Institute, a state-run home for 500 orphans and foundlings, a majority of them disabled.

What does it mean to buy three packs of macaroni for an arts and crafts project at 24 yuan, when that same amount could feed eight, clothe at least one, or pay for five haircuts? Should we spend more on food and supplies for the kids—hardly a burden on our wallets—when they wouldn’t expect such things anyway?

It doesn’t seem to matter to them. It astonishes me every day how they are always smiling, always eager to help us relive the crafts that we haven’t done since the second grade.

Needless to say, money goes far in Luoyang. Dinners out can be found for less than a dollar if you’re not choosy. Counterfeit DVDs sell for under a dollar as well, and many other items sell at bewilderingly low prices, provided that you’re willing to bargain. Sellers make a show of being reluctant but grin broadly when you hand over the bills. I recall the first day on our own, when we sat down to 25-yuan plates of food, gloating at what a deal we had found, only later to discover that right next door a large bowl of noodles could be found for a fifth of the price. We often joke that it’s like going shopping and finding incredible bargains anywhere and everywhere.



It’s been difficult to take my mind off what money must mean to the Chinese, and I still catch myself dividing price stickers by eight to check the price equivalent in dollars. But it’s rewarding to take advantage of it. I’m not here because I believe I can undo the societal kinks that make foundlings out of perfectly adorable children, or because I believe I can reform the orphanage system. In fact, I am pretty sure I can’t make a profound effect on either, and I try to be realistic about both my budget and time here. But to believe that the difference between a familiar meal at McDonald’s and a bowl of noodles on the street can mean a little extra something for kids who don’t often indulge—that, that is an amazing feeling.



Lydia N. Lo ’09, a Crimson design editor, is a social studies concentrator in Dunster House.