Kung Fu Trip

by Benjamin Zephaniah

  Chapter Six

  Zen and the Art of Breathing

  Once again I slept very little and I was awake early the next morning. As I lay on my back and stretched, I opened my eyes and saw a pair of kung fu fighters painted on to the ceiling above me.

  ‘Wow!’ I said aloud.

  Ever since I was a young boy images of kung fu had inspired me to practise. When I left the cinema after watching martial arts films, I would kick and punch my way down the street. If I watched a film at home, as soon as it was over I would push the furniture aside and practise the moves I had just seen. Now, when I saw the fighting men above me I was energised once more, threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed. As I jumped, the blankets got tangled with my feet and I fell over. I looked up to the fighting men and laughed.

  ‘You two, you tricked me,’ I said, and then I reached up and untangled my feet.

  I stayed on the floor and did twenty press-ups, I turned and did fifty crunches, and then I ran on the spot for fifteen minutes.

  After I had showered and dressed I took an envelope from my computer case. Back in London my Shifu (that’s the Chinese word for teacher) had given me this important envelope which contained vital information. Inside, on one sheet of paper was the name Zhang Yanli and a phone number. I had been advised to contact her as soon as I got to Dengfeng. On the second piece of paper, written in Chinese, were notes for the teacher about my level of kung fu and the type of training that I needed. Growing numbers of tourists were visiting the Shaolin Temple, and many kung fu teachers were beginning to charge students high prices for poor teaching. So the second paper also made it clear that I was to be introduced to a top-quality teacher.

  I called Zhang Yanli. Less than an hour later she was knocking on my door. She was in her early thirties and full of smiles. She looked like a school teacher with sensible shoes, sensible glasses and a skirt two inches below the knee, carrying an old-fashioned leather briefcase. I felt the way I used to feel when I saw my biology teacher. She said I could call her Yvonne, but I insisted on calling her by her Chinese name, so she said I should call her Yanli.

  I handed Yanli the paper containing the notes and we left the hotel straight away. We got a taxi, and as we reached the outskirts of Dengfeng we started to drive up a steep hill. The hill got steeper and steeper, and the town with its busy shops and eating places soon gave way to a twisting road with kung fu schools on both sides. I asked Yanli if the taxi could stop, and I spent ten minutes watching about three hundred young kung fu students as they practised their form.

  Forms are sets of kung fu kicks, punches and stances, strung together to make one long sequence. They are hard work. The moves must be done in a very precise way. The timing must be perfect. Even the breathing has to be done in a controlled way. I knew a few forms, but the biggest class I had been to had about forty students, so when I saw so many students all working together I was inspired. A Shifu (teacher) high up on a platform would shout instructions. At the shout three hundred fists shot forward; another shout and three hundred feet kicked high; another shout and three hundred bodies would leap into the air, kick, spin and land on the ground. Then, as they landed on their sides, all the students would kick out again. I wanted some of that.

  ‘Take me to the master,’ I said to Yanli, and we continued on our way.

  When we reached the gateway to the temple grounds, I was shown a huge statue of Bodhidharma. He is the man who is said to have started kung fu as we know it today, and he is also the founder of Zen Buddhism. I’ve met a lot of great people in my time on Earth, and I’ve read about many others, so I really mean it when I say that I believe that Bodhidharma was one of the greatest people that ever lived, and I’m not a Buddhist.

  Bodhidharma was born in India, the son of a great king. He himself could have been king but he was interested in higher things. He left India and went on a journey to find enlightenment. It’s quite ironic that he left India for that purpose, when so many people now go to India to find their spiritual home. The traveller was not seen for many years until he got to China in the year ad 527. He met with the Emperor Wu Ti but they did not agree about Buddhism, so Bodhidharma went north.

  There are lots of stories about Bodhidharma and here’s one.

  On his way north Bodhidharma came to a great river. He had to cross it, but there were no boats. All he could see was an old woman on the riverbank, minding her own business. Bodhidharma noticed that she had a bundle of reeds so he politely asked her for one. She gave it to him and he placed it on the water, stood on it and sailed across the river. OK, it’s not the same as walking across the water, but it’s still not that easy.

  The emperor had sent someone to follow Bodhidharma. When he got to the river, he had the same problem, so he went to the woman and took a handful of reeds from her without asking, tied them together, put them on the water and stood on them. He sank.

  When the man got out of the water, he said to the woman, ‘How does that work? He does it on one reed, but I take a bunch of reeds and I almost drown.’

  ‘It’s easy,’ replied the woman. ‘He asked politely. He had manners, so it worked for him. You just came up and stole my reeds so you should not expect the same results. Now dry yourself off and go hire a boat.’

  And here’s another amazing story about Bodhidharma. When he died, his body was put in a cave and there was great mourning all over the Buddhist world. A man from the government called Songyun had been away on a mission and knew nothing about the great man’s death. On his way back from his mission, Songyun saw Bodhidharma walking towards the west. He was barefoot with one shoe in his hand.

  Songyun asked Bodhidharma where he was going and Bodhidharma replied, ‘I’m going to paradise.’ Songyun thought it was a joke. There was good music in the west, and the weather was good, but it could never be called paradise. When Songyun got back, he insisted that he had seen Bodhidharma so the emperor made an order that the tomb be opened. When they opened the tomb, it was empty, all except for one shoe.

  So now in kung fu and Buddhist shops all over the world you can buy little statues and dolls of Bodhidharma sailing on a single reed or walking with one shoe in his hand.

  When Bodhidharma got to the Shaolin Temple, the monks were practising Buddhism by reading books, chanting and praying aloud. That wasn’t for Bodhidharma, though. Instead, he wanted to promote Zen Buddhism, which simply means silent or still Buddhism. He believed that it was better to be silent.

  To help his Chinese students to understand this, Bodhidharma gave them yoga exercises. The most important of these was sitting cross-legged in the lotus position. At first the Chinese thought this would be easy, until they realised that you need to be very fit to sit still for such a long time. Bodhidharma was smart. I’m putting this in my own words now, but this is what he said.

  ‘OK, it is too difficult for you to sit still, so I will give you moving yoga. This will help you to get fit and use your breath in a yogic way. Now copy me.’

  Then he taught them a series of movements similar to t’ai chi. Later he added more movements based on the way animals move. When the emperor ordered his troops to kill all the monks in the temple, Bodhidharma made his students speed up their movements to defend themselves. This led to the creation of kung fu, where fighting isn’t the most important thing: the most important thing is self-awareness.

  Now that’s all well and good. In fact I think that’s amazing, but that’s not why I think Bodhidharma is the greatest human ever to walk the planet. This is why I really think he’s great. He converted the whole of China and beyond to Zen Buddhism without preaching or standing on a soapbox, without any helpers, and he didn’t have anything like the Bible or the Koran or the Torah to spread his message.

  Bodhidharma was just an ugly bloke who never shouted his beliefs. He liked being on his own, and it is said that he lived in a cave for nine years. When people came to him for help, he told them to stop looking out at other people or up towards the sky.
He told them to look inside themselves. He told them to listen to their breath. He told them that through silence they could find the truth.

  So as I stood in the temple grounds and looked up at the statue and looked down at the shops selling Bodhidharma cups, baseball caps, key rings, watches and T-shirts, I couldn’t help but wonder what he would make of it all. It was so commercial.

  Chapter Seven

  Watching the Monks

  When our taxi reached the grounds of the temple, my guide Yanli just waved her hand and we were let through the gates, unlike the crowds of tourists who had to queue and pay. Then I saw the building that I had dreamt of seeing for so long, the Shaolin Temple. I had arrived at a place that was thousands of kilometres from my home, but it was a place that seemed completely familiar.

  The taxi stopped and we got out. I walked away to admire the temple on my own. Tourists were taking photos and stallholders were selling their wares. I felt great. Then I had one of those moments when you feel that there is someone else with you. For a moment I wondered if it was the spirit of Bodhidharma himself.

  I looked around to find a man standing right behind me. He was dressed just like they dress in classic kung fu films. He was wearing a long fancy gown over a satin kung fu suit. The gown – covered in embroidery – looked very heavy but very beautiful. The man was in his mid-thirties. His beard left his chin like a dark icicle, ending in a perfect point at his waist. His delicate moustache hugged the top of his lip as if it was painted on, then crawled down the side of his chin in the same direction as his beard. It had a lot of catching up to do.

  ‘You have come to learn more about kung fu?’ he said. I recognised his accent.

  ‘Hey, you’re from Birmingham,’ I said. ‘Me too. I studied karate at temple school. Did you?’

  ‘I don’t need to study,’ the man said sternly. ‘My style of fighting is the art of fighting without thinking.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I replied. ‘Very Zen. So are you from Birmingham or what?’

  ‘This is my home. That place you call Birmingham was just a pit stop on my earthly journey. Why have you come here?’ he asked, looking as if he didn’t approve of me.

  ‘I’ve wanted to see the temple since I was small. I grew up watching all those kung fu films in Birmingham, and I am sick of learning second-rate kung fu, so I came here for the real thing.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said loudly, ‘let me tell you something. There is also lots of rubbish kung fu here. It is hard to find the good kung fu here, but I can teach you.’

  ‘I already have a teacher,’ I said.

  ‘Who is he?’

  I pointed towards Yanli and said, ‘I don’t know who the teacher is but she’s taking me to him.’

  ‘Don’t trust her,’ he said. ‘She will take you to nowhere, where the teachers teach you nothing.’

  ‘Do you know her?’ I asked.

  ‘I know her kind.’

  His words reminded me of the many times people have come up to me in the street, or on a train or a bus, and told me that they are poets. I never write off such people outright, but I do ask myself if they are a mad person or a genius. I have come across both.

  I was rescued by a shout from Yanli.

  ‘Benjamin, let’s go.’

  ‘So your mother and father gave you the name Benjamin?’ the man asked.

  ‘I have to go,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t have to do anything, but you must never do nothing,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right in your own way,’ I replied.

  ‘Remember, the good kung fu is here. I was taught by Bruce Lee and I know the secret of the art of the smelly finger. I can set free your thing. Remember me, my name is Fat Thumb. I was given that name by the big balloon. Fat Thumb.’

  This was weird. ‘Thanks, Fat Thumb. If my thing needs to be set free, I’ll come back,’ I said, and I went back to the taxi.

  We drove up a bumpy, half-made road that ran along the outer wall of the temple and arrived at a large open square with houses on all sides. We walked up to one of the houses. Yanli shouted and two very young boys came out wearing yellow robes. They smiled and bowed. I smiled and bowed. You know that you’re getting old when the monks look younger than you.

  I was invited to come in and sit down with a series of hand gestures. The place looked as untidy as most student flats, with plates of leftover food on a table and half-full cups everywhere. The television was blasting out a kung fu film at full volume.

  We had just sat down when another monk walked in, wearing orange robes. Everyone stood up on his arrival, and so did I. Yanli introduced me and told me that this man was the abbot. We bowed. People made room for the abbot to take the best seat in front of the television, and then we sat down to watch the kung fu film.

  So there I was. I had arrived at the great Shaolin Temple. I had met the monks and the abbot, and what were we doing? Watching kung fu films made in Hong Kong about Shaolin monks fighting off really ugly bad guys with black teeth who had come to steal their ancient secrets. All that was missing was the clumsy English voice-over, a part of kung fu films that I always enjoy.

  One of the monks made some tea, and after that he then made sure my cup was never empty.

  As we sat in a semicircle, eyes glued to the TV, the monks would speak to each other in Chinese, but I knew they were talking about me because every now and then I would hear my name.

  Yanli then made a call on her mobile phone and soon another monk turned up at the house. This older monk was full of energy. He shook my hand and greeted me as if he knew me. Yanli spoke to him for a short time and then she turned to me.

  ‘This is Shifu Li Guofu,’ she said. ‘He will be your teacher. You can call him Iron Breath.’

  ‘Shifu Iron Breath,’ I said aloud.

  ‘No, just Iron Breath,’ said Yanli.

  ‘Does he speak English?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘He doesn’t need to. Language will only get in the way.’

  We started to discuss the fee and once again I was made aware of the fact that I couldn’t speak Chinese. I just let Yanli and Iron Breath talk to each other while I tried to look as if I knew what was being said. At last Yanli spoke to me.

  ‘He wants nine thousand yuan.’

  ‘Nine thousand yuan?’ I exclaimed, and everyone looked at me.

  I took out my money converter to work it out. Nine thousand yuan was about six hundred pounds, which meant that my fourteen lessons would cost more than forty pounds each. I began to do some quick thinking. It would be great to have my own Shaolin monk, but it did seem like a lot of money.

  ‘It’s too much,’ I said to Yanli.

  She spoke to Iron Breath again and then to me.

  ‘He said if you really want him to teach you, you will pay his price.’

  ‘But I don’t even know how good he is,’ I said.

  She spoke to him for a while and then everyone else in the room stood up and went outside to the courtyard.

  Iron Breath spoke to Yanli and then she said, ‘Iron Breath said you must hit him.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, hit him using your hands and your feet. You can hit him anywhere but his face.’

  Iron Breath nodded and I took my place in front of him. To try to catch him out I suddenly aimed a punch at his stomach, but he just breathed in enough for me to miss him. I then tried a kick to his knee, and he lifted it as if in slow motion so that I fell forward. I managed to stay on my feet and tried a back-spinning kick, but he just laughed as he sidestepped it.

  ‘Wait,’ said Yanli.

  I stopped. Iron Breath breathed in and out deeply three times, fixing his gaze in front of him.

  ‘OK,’ said Yanli. ‘You can hit him now, anywhere you like, even his head, but not in his face.’

  He raised his arms above his head and I punched him in his stomach and my fist just bounced back at me. I kicked him in his ribs and his thighs, chopped him in his neck and punched him in
the back of his head, and he just kept looking in front of him. Nothing moved him, but my hands and feet were suffering.

  ‘Stand back,’ said Yanli.

  I stood back and all the other young monks ran to Iron Breath and started to punch and kick him. He did not move an inch. When they had finished the attack, one of the monks handed me a wooden table leg.

  ‘Hit him on his head as hard as you like,’ said Yanli.

  ‘Are you mad?’ I said. ‘I can’t hit him with this, it’s so hard.’

  ‘Hit him,’ she said. ‘With all the strength you have, or he will make you do it twice.’

  I took the chair leg. He leant forward and I jumped as high as I could and hit his head with all the power I had in me. The leg broke, but Iron Breath raised his head and winked at me. Then he began to walk away.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ I shouted.

  ‘He thinks you don’t like him so he is going. You think he’s not worth it,’ said Yanli.

  ‘No. I mean yes,’ I shouted. ‘He’s worth it OK. There’s absolutely no problem at all. I’ll pay him what he wants.’

  She called him back and we became friends again.

  Chapter Eight

  All in the Mind

  Iron Breath turned up at my hotel later that afternoon. I handed him nine thousand yuan in a plain brown envelope and we pushed the bed against a wall, giving us just enough space to practise.

  After the warm-up stretches he began to do the movements and I followed him. The stances were low, and low stances hurt, but learning how to do the moves while you are in the stances is what really pushes you to the limits. There were times when I wanted to cry because of the pain but he didn’t understand English so when I said ‘Can I have a rest?’ or ‘I think I’m gonna die,’ he just carried on. Soon I realised that I just had to go with it. After all, I was paying big pounds for it.

  There isn’t a word for kung fu in English. The nearest you can get is ‘hard work’ or ‘dedication’. You could also call it concentration. Kung fu is about the way you use your mind. Martial arts is the fighting bit. Learning punches and kicks is just one part of kung fu, and some say the easiest, which is why kung fu has the highest drop-out rate of any sport. Many people watch a couple of Bruce Lee films and want to do the fighting, but when it comes to the non-fighting part they drop out because it isn’t easy.