Baby formula smuggling in China

 It's been about 20 minutes and the palms of my hands are beginning to sweat. 

"What's going on?" I think to myself "Will I pay a fine? Will they deport me back to Canada!?"

Irrational thoughts roll through my head, as only they can when passing through border immigration.

The man who took my passport, has now called a colleague over to discuss my case. I feel my back starting to sweat so I place my pack down, and deliberate whether to run, or face the bullets head on.

It all started two weeks ago, when Serena informed me that we will be taking baby formula with us when we visit her family for the spring festival (Chinese New Year). Her cousin is expecting, and unfortunately China has been stricken with numerous food safety scandals, to which formula has not been made exception. The latest scandal involved boiling down leather to supply the protein in a popular brand of infant formula.

"No, problem!" I said at the time.

While the Breastfeeding vs. baby formula debate briefly danced through my head. I figured that having non-toxic baby formula on hand sounded like a reasonable request. 

But now everything has changed. The border guards know I'm hiding something, they can smell my fear. There are three of them now, and one is on the phone with the higher ups. 

Before leaving Hong Kong, Serena and I made sure that we didn't take more than the maximum amount allowed. But now I'm not so sure. Did the rules change? Is it different for foreigners? Is it really milk powder in those tins? Or is baby formula slang for some illegal substance? That's it! I've been duped, and have found myself as an unsuspecting drug mule. 

I think back to the pharmacist who sold it to us. I never trusted him, the lone white glove, he wore Michael Jackson style, and the pot of boiled greens he quickly slurped down as we approached the counter. The certificate that hung on the wall behind him, from the Hong Kong pharmacy and poison board, must surely have been a fake. He must be in on this, switching the baby formula for something more insidious at the counter. 

As the guards continue to examine my passport, and I go through every possible worst case scenario, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. 

A message from Serena, we were split up at the border, since she is native Chinese and I'm a foreigner.

"Is everything alright?" her message reads

"Don't seem panicky" I think to myself

"Should be soon ;)" I type with shaky hands.

"Okay, I'm outside :)" She responds.

Something should be soon. The guards have broken their huddle, and one of them walks briskly towards me. 

He doesn't say a word. Nothing needs to be said, we both know I'm guilty. I close my eyes and cringe, as I raise my hands to accept the handcuffs. But instead of feeling hard steel on my wrist, I feel something slide into the palm of my right hand. I open my eyes and see my passport. The guard, looking bored, waves me through.

Relief sweeps over me.

They didn't even check my bag, and I now realize there was no way they would have known that I was even carrying milk powder. Yet my imagination tells me I just successfully smuggled an illegal substance across the Chinese border. My clammy hands still shaking, I sling the bag of "milk powder" over my shoulder. I take a deep breath and walk to find my co-conspirator waiting on the other side.  

Basketball Diplomacy

While Dennis Rodman was playing out his version of basketball diplomacy in North Korea, I was participating in my own in Hong Kong. Both events seek to form cultural understanding, and to bring two seemingly different, and at times "clashing", cultures together through sport.

The main difference between our forms of basketball diplomacy is that Rodman is operating on an international stage, in a valiant attempt to bring world leaders, who have been enemies for decades, together in the name of sport.

Whereas I'm trying to make some new friends.

After failing to integrate myself during my first stint in Hong Kong. I'm back, looking to find community and a sense of home. So armed with my partly inflated basketball, I head down to Southourn Playground. A large outdoor sports facility right in the heart of Wan Chai, equipped with 4 full size basketball courts, 1 soccer field, and a few dozen senior citizens reading the newspaper and chain smoking cigarettes.

The sun touches only half of the playground in the early morning, as it peaks over the skyscrapers surrounding the facility. I'm cold in the shade, but start bouncing my ball and taking some shots to warm up.

On the court adjacent to mine, a group is practicing Tai Chi. The leader shouting instructions over a screeching megaphone, which I assume is used to balance the peacefulness of the ancient Chinese practice.

The sun has now creeped its way to my court, and I take a minute to breath it in. Feeling warm, I take off my sweater, and continue to take jump shots.

I'm approached by someone who asks if I want to play some 3 on 3. It's myself and two other "foreigners", vs. three local guys. I say "I'm in", trying to stay cool, and hide my excitement.

I'm doing well, using my height to my advantage, I'm collecting rebounds at will and making some short range shots. In the end we win two out of three games, we shake hands, and exchange complements.

I talk briefly with my teammates, one of who is a fellow Canadian. I'm surprised how good it feels to talk, even briefly, to someone who has a similar background.

What I'm finding in Hong Kong is that I'm constantly seeking out foreigners, and better yet, Canadians to hang out with. To hear english, to talk about hockey, even if just for a few hours a week, really improves your mental health.

Canada is no different than other countries, in that new Canadians are expected to assimilate to the dominant cultural norms. I'm not an immigrant in Hong Kong, I don't plan on staying here for the rest of my life, so my experience differs drastically from that of refugees or people seeking a better life in Canada.

But if I were to move to Hong Kong could I adapt to local customs and cultural norms? or will I constantly be clinging to ones that I grew up with and am used to. Probably a combination, but I'm sure I would remain heavy on the latter.

I leave the court feeling satisfied, slightly more connected, and my head heavy with thought, which is probably more than Dennis Rodman can say.