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It’s inevitable to be referred to as waiguoren, laowai
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PART of the charm of living in the world’s most populous nation is that it is probably the polar opposite of my native New Zealand: big, bustling, crowded and noisy. I just love it. But with my height, green eyes, and white-ish skin, I’m also sometimes an oddity, even in Shanghai, China’s most international city.
It’s inevitable to be referred to as waiguoren or laowai — terms which more-or-less translate as “foreigner” — on a daily basis if you’re out and about.
This is usually done at full volume since the vast majority of foreigners in Shanghai can’t speak or understand the lingua franca, Mandarin, so curious onlookers assume you won’t know you’re being talked about.
When it’s whispered in someone’s ear sitting next to you, it sounds so much louder.
In the beginning it didn’t bother me as much, probably because my ears at that stage weren’t so tuned to Mandarin and I didn’t notice as much.
Living in Tianjin and Kunming for short spells while studying was so new and exciting, even if I was always the white elephant in the room. But now that I’m living in Shanghai full-time, I’ve started to view this place as my new home.
I have all my rituals, my favorite restaurants, my favorite bike routes and all that. So it’s started to bother me, just a little, when strangers keep referring to me as an outsider. A waiguoren. A foreigner.
I know they’re not saying it in a rude way. I know it’s not racist or meant to make me feel unwelcome. But I just can’t help but feeling that little bit disappointed — that little bit unwelcome — every time I hear waiguoren or laowai whispered or blurted in my direction.
My friends often tell me: “Don’t worry about it, they’re from other parts of China — you’re still strange to them!” It’s true, I guess.
Most Shanghainese are used to the sight of foreigners in their city — “outsiders” have been here for decades. But since the population is made up of a staggering 40 percent from smaller cities, towns and villagers here to earn a living, many migrant workers see their very first foreigner when they move here.
I think the part that gets to me is the wai in waiguoren or laowai, which means “outside.” For some reason I keep likening it to the terms waipo and waigong which, in China’s huge web of familial titles, means maternal grandmother and maternal grandfather respectively.
In English we just have the blanket terms grandmother and grandfather, because maternal and paternal grandparents have the same place in the family. But in Chinese languages — owing to different roles and different positions — maternal grandparents are perhaps viewed as being outside. It’s the paternal grandparents who take up a key role in the family, often living with their son and his wife and helping to raise their grandchildren on a daily basis.
This is what cemented in my mind the idea that when I am referred to as a waiguoren, I am being placed in a location that is outside, that is apart from the rest.
That’s why I often feel disappointed — maybe just a little — when the grandfather in the noodle shop points to me while whispering, so loudly, to his grandson: “Look, a laowai!”
So I chatted with a friend recently who is living and studying English in a Western country. I told him my feelings about the terms waiguoren and laowai, and cried — metaphorically — on his shoulder about being on the outside in my new home.
“Get over it!” was his quick reply. I was a little shocked, but then he explained. “It’s not racist, it’s not meant to offend you, and it’s much better than the racist terms I get called here!” He went on to detail some of those terms, which I won’t repeat, and how they’re often finished with: “Go back to China!”
Disgusting.
He’s right, of course. China and her people are hugely welcoming, much more welcoming to foreigners than many Western countries today, who are racing to close their borders at an alarming pace.
Sure, I might be an oddity to some, and people will sometimes stare and whisper waiguoren. But they’ll smile when they do it. They won’t tell me I’m not welcome. And they certainly won’t tell me to go home.
I think I will listen to my friend and “get over it!”
Editor’s note:
Andy Boreham comes from New Zealand’s capital city, Wellington, and has lived in China, off and on, for the past four years. Now he is living in Shanghai earning a master’s degree in Chinese culture and language at Fudan University. He welcomes your feedback on all of the issues he covers — you can reach him at andy.boreham@shanghaidaily.com.
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