We meet Joyce's grandmother and great-aunt at Tai Wai and flag a taxi. She asks Joyce if I speak any Cantonese. I say, “Lay ho ma?” "How are you?" My pronunciation must be poor, because she appears confused at first, but begins to chuckle after a moment. She is talkative and, via Joyce, shares some anecdotes from her four years in Canada.
In southern New Territories, we meet-up with Joyce's mother, an aunt carrying a small boy, and a little girl. Walking to Joyce's uncle’s home, the little girl chants a sing-song refrain. Joyce translates, “Two little snails walk in the back.” Joyce and I walk in the back.
On the 104th day after the winter solstice, families in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia and Singapore gather to honor their ancestors by cleaning their graves. The traditional Chinese festival 清 明 節 is known as Grave Sweeping Day, or by direct translation, according to Joyce, “Clean and Clear Festival.”
Joyce’s mother’s side of her family, who we visit, had swept their ancestors’ graves on Monday morning.
We arrive at a towering residential complex, ride the elevator, and enter Uncle Andy’s home. His wife says, “Hello,” and speaks English with me throughout the night.
Everyone pays great attention to the little boy, who entertains the crowd. On television, news footage from Beijing shows throngs of people descending from the Forbidden City and visiting grave sites.
Today marks the first time that the People’s Republic of China recognized the day as a public holiday. The officially atheist Communist Party of China previously deemed the celebration “superstitious.”
We eat an amazing dinner (some of the dishes are Hakka, the ethnic group to which the grandmother belongs). The little boy says he has finished eating. The grandmother corrects him. To say he is finished eating would imply death and bring bad luck. Joyce translates. The grandmother tells him to say, "I'm full."
After dinner, the family crowds the television on couches and chairs. The grandmother's favorite drama is on TV. She watches it everyday. After an actor speaks, she chuckles and repeats the line.
The boy wants to play with me. He realizes that I don’t speak Cantonese, and he says, “Ha-lo.” He runs away and returns. “Ha-lo. Ha-lo. Ha-lo.” I show him my camera. He likes to press the button. He says, “Gumma. Gumma Gumma.” Translates to, “Push. Push. Push.” I point the camera at his face. He clicks the button. After looking at the display screen, he laughs. “Baby. Baby.” He pronounces, “Be-Bee. Be-Bee.”
After the drama finishes, the party leaves. When I get my backpack, the little boy says something that translates to “Don't go to work.” Evidently, his father, not at the dinner because of work, wears a backpack when he leaves for work. Walking to the bus terminal, the little boy wants to hold my hand. We hold hands.
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