A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

After the English class ended on Wednesday afternoon, Chang Peng called out to Abudu, who was about to leave.

"Abudu, come here, there's something I need to tell you."

Chang Peng opened his laptop, clicked on a file, and said, "Next week we will connect with our classmates in Dalian again. This time it will be a joint effort between two teachers, and the theme is our hometown."

I'd like you to be in charge of the Xinjiang section. You'll need to introduce it in English and then simply translate a few key terms.

Upon hearing this, Abudu's expression changed instantly.

"Teacher, I can't do it."

I was lucky last time; I had memorized those words for a long time.

This time...this time I really can't.

Chang Peng closed his laptop and looked intently at Abudu: "Why can't you do it? Didn't you explain it quite well last time?"

"That's...that's what I memorized beforehand."

Abudu's face turned red with anxiety. "And speaking of cotton, it's something I know."

"This time I'm talking about my hometown, there's so much to say, my English is simply not enough."

He paused, then lowered his voice even further: "Teacher, please don't lose faith in me."

It's not that I don't want to learn English, it's just that... I really can't learn it well.

Chang Peng paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "Who said I've lost faith in you?"

On the contrary, I have great confidence in you.

Abudu raised his head, his eyes full of suspicion.

"Do you know what the teachers in Dalian told me?"

Chang Peng reopened his computer and opened the chat history. "He said that after the last event, many students became interested in Xinjiang cotton."

Chen Hao from their class even made a PowerPoint presentation about Xinjiang cotton and shared it with the class.

"Look, this is a message from Chen Hao: Teacher Chang, all the students in our class say that Abudu's storytelling is very realistic, much more vivid than the description in the textbook."

Could you ask him to talk about other things in Xinjiang next time?

Abudu leaned closer to the screen, "They...really said that?"

"certainly."

Chang Peng opened another file, "Also, there's a clip from the video from the last video call. The teacher from Dalian posted it in the teachers' group, and several teachers said that this kind of hands-on teaching method is particularly good."

They said the students would definitely remember your description of cotton as "soft like a cloud."

Abudu's face started to burn again. He remembered how nervous he was that day, his hands were shaking, and his English was all jumbled up. How did it become "well-spoken" in other people's mouths?

"Teacher, shouldn't they... be a little more polite?"

Abudu still didn't believe it.

Chang Peng shook his head: "Abudu, do you know? The most important thing in learning a language is not how standard you speak, but whether you can convey the meaning."

You did it last time, and you did it very well.

He pulled out a photo, a screenshot from the last event.

In the video, Abudu is holding up a cotton boll. Although he looks tense, his eyes are bright.

The students in Dalian were all staring intently at the screen.

Chang Peng pointed to the photo and said, "Look, they're not just being polite; they're genuinely listening to you."

Because what you're saying is real, something you've personally experienced. That kind of thing has power.

Abudu stared at the photo for a long time.

He had never seen himself from this perspective before.

So this is how he speaks English.

"But teacher, this time we're talking about our whole hometown..."

Abudu still hesitated, "How can I explain all this?"

"No need to talk about the whole of Xinjiang."

Chang Peng had already thought it through: "Just talk about cotton fields, which you're most familiar with, in Chinese, and then pick a few key words to translate into English."

He took a piece of paper out of the drawer: "I've thought it all out for you."

For example, the Tianshan Mountains...

Ten of these kinds of words are enough.

The rest can be spoken in Chinese, which the students from Dalian can understand.

Abudu took the paper, on which were neatly written a dozen or so English words and phrases, all familiar with his hometown.

"This...so little?" He was a little surprised.

"Yes, that's all."

Chang Peng said definitively: Your main task is to let the students in Dalian see Xinjiang, not to be an English translator.

Your vivid Chinese speaking skills are more useful than your fluent English.

On Friday morning, Chang Peng finished setting up the equipment and took a deep breath.

The computer screen is divided into two parts: the left side shows an English course in Xinjiang, and the right side shows a multimedia classroom in a middle school in Dalian.

"Students, our Dalian-Xinjiang Cotton Field English live exchange activity is now starting."

Chang Peng's voice was a little excited, "Let's first invite Abudu from Xinjiang to introduce the cotton planting and harvesting process to everyone."

"hello!"

The students from Dalian greeted him warmly, and some even waved back.

Abudu opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Chang Peng quickly whispered a reminder: "Don't be nervous, just use the simplest words we've practiced."

Look, everything is laid out in front of you.

On the table are cotton seeds, several photos of cotton plants at different stages, and a few ripe cotton bolls.

Abudu stared at these things; he was very familiar with them.

He took a deep breath and began, "First, we put seeds in the ground in spring..."

His voice trembled slightly, and he spoke English haltingly.

But when he pointed to the cotton seeds on the table, his hand steadied a little: "These seeds, plant them in the spring."

The students in Dalian quieted down and listened attentively.

Abudu picked up a photograph of newly sprouted cotton seedlings: "Then...small plants come out."

He changed the photo; the cotton plants were already in bloom: "In summer, there are flowers. Yellow first, then red."

Gradually, his English became less stuttering. When he picked up a cotton boll, his eyes lit up: "This is a boll."

He brought the cotton boll close to the camera: "When it becomes big and white..." He forcefully broke open the cotton boll, revealing the snow-white cotton inside, "...we pick it."

A question suddenly popped up on the screen: "What does a cotton boll feel like to the touch?"

Abudu paused for a moment, then picked up a cotton boll that wasn't completely split open: "Hard." He thought for a moment and said in English, "Hard." Then he picked up a split one, pulled out the cotton, and said, "This one is soft."

Another question popped up: "What special tools are needed to pick cotton?"

"Hands." Abudu stretched out his rough hands. "Hands. We use hands."

……

The number of questions increased dramatically, and they came in all shapes and sizes: "Can cotton get sick?"

How many times a year can you collect them?

How do you water the cotton plants?

Abudu answered to the best of his ability.

If he didn't know a word, he would gesture with his hands or pick up an object to demonstrate.

Chang Peng would occasionally whisper a word or two to Abudu, but most of the time he let Abudu say it himself.

More than twenty minutes have passed; it's time to end this.

A teacher from Dalian appeared on the screen, "Thank you, Abudu!"

Your description was so vivid that it made us feel as if we were actually seeing the cotton fields of Xinjiang.

You've shown us that the cotton clothes we wear and the quilts we use grow from the ground.

The video conference has ended.

Abudu sat there, looking at the cotton seeds and cotton bolls on the table, and suddenly felt that these things were a little different.

A week later, in the afternoon, Chang Peng found Abudu with a package in his hand. "It was sent from Dalian, it's for you."