Ancestral village

I was born in Guangdong Province, China near the city of Guangzhou (previously known as Canton) in 1975. The region, which goes by the name of “Renhe” (人和) in Mandarin (Jan4wo4 in Cantonese (Jyutping transliteration)), lies only 30 minutes by car (or metro) from downtown Guangzhou. Back in the 1970s, however, the only option was a full-day’s trip by bicycle (or an infrequent local bus).

Renhe has its own dialect of Cantonese. The difference in our version is mostly a “lazy” tone and pronunciation. However, we also have a rich portfolio of words (and word usages) distinct to us. When people from my village speak our dialect in the city (i.e. Guangzhou), most just assume (and somewhat correctly) that we are farmers. Or in the case of Hong Kong for me, the assumption often is that I am an overseas Chinese who speaks poorly and/or with a strong accent.

At one point in my life I did speak Cantonese poorly. I left my childhood village at an early age and grew up in Toronto. For fear of not being able to learn English, my father forbade me from speaking in Chinese with my siblings. Therefore, growing up I spoke (dialect) Cantonese only with my parents and adult relatives. Given my parents’ busy schedule trying to make ends meet, and the growing cultural gap between them and myself (which meant we had little to talk about), my Chinese language abilities faded. It also did not help that I did not attend Chinese school.

When I did speak Chinese outside of familial situations, I was often ridiculed – both because of my accent and the lack of depth in my language. (My parents were educated only until middle school.) Moreover, as a child, I was not aware that the variety of Cantonese I spoke is a dialect.

Over the years I’ve regained my Chinese to a high level of proficiency, and even added standard Cantonese and Mandarin to the mix. I am still most comfortable in using my dialect when I speak Chinese – it is my mother tongue, after all.

When I visit Renhe I am part of a dying breed that can still speak the local dialect. Standard Cantonese became much more common as the area urbanised. In fact, Renhe is now a suburb of Guangzhou, a city that grew from 4 million when I was a child to now over 15 million. More recently, due to a mass influx of migrants from other parts of China, and because of the Chinese central government’s push for linguistic unity (e.g. all schooling is done in Mandarin), even (standard) Cantonese has taken a backseat to Putonghua (i.e. Mandarin) in my ancestral land.

My particular village within Renhe, “Maobu” (茅布 / Maau4bou3 in Cantonese), has stayed mostly the same since my childhood. It is still a simple peasant hamlet with dirt roads, dilapidated houses, and chickens running about. Farming is still a way of life for many. However, once leaving Maobu the modernisation and urbanisation are in full display. There is now a metro subway station 20 minutes by foot, and the adjacent highway is teeming with shops and restaurants blazing with neon.

On my visits to Renhe, and especially to Maobu, I often stand out as the area remains working class and semi-rural. My urbane look and demeanour stand in strong contrast to the otherwise gritty surroundings.

When I speak the local dialect in Renhe it catches attention. In fact, the older natives will often ask me where I am from or who my family is when they hear me speak. One time I even bumped into an old man who mentioned to me that he helped walk my mom to the hospital when she was to give birth to me — unsuccessfully as my mother actually had to stop halfway and I was birthed on the streets.

My maternal grandmother’s house and village, “Tugang” (兔崗 / Tou3gong1 in Cantonese) — also within the Renhe district — was razed in 2023 as part of the development supporting the expansion of the Guangzhou Baiyun Airport (which opened in 2004). I last visited Tugang in 2003. Although it was a simple place, with open sewers, squat toilets, and littered with chicken poop, it will be missed.

Not sure how much longer Maobu will be around. I last visited it in 2019. That was my first trip there done totally solo. Even without assistance or instructions from relatives, I still managed to find my village. My homing pigeon instincts kicked in.

I have many fond memories of my childhood village: Collecting eggs from the hens; Playing in the vegetable fields; Catching fish and shrimps from the adjacent pond; Sharing meals with my grandfather; Etc. It scares me to think that one day the house that I grew up in as a toddler will no longer be there, and that my hamlet will likely become a soulless collection of concrete buildings.

Visiting my childhood home also gives me an interesting perspective on life. I am very lucky to have grown up in Canada and to live the life I have. But at the same time, I am overwhelmed at the progress in China. My family left in 1979 because the country was poor and backwards – now China is an economic superpower. I myself have transformed in that time from a malnourished baby to a global citizen, yet my childhood home has largely remained unchanged.

Maobu seems to have been caught frozen in time, even as Renhe — and especially Guangzhou — have raced ahead with progress.

However, I just learned today that my father is in Maobu to “fix up” our ancestral house. He shared pictures and videos with me. The place has been completely demolished and is being rebuilt anew. I feel like a part of me has been lost.

Time stops for no one.