A Chinese Man in Jrashen

Movses walked us through his family's village, Jrashen, which translates roughly to “built on water,” suggesting the soil was good and water was plentiful for growing crops. Sammy and I were looking for different locations to shoot a short film and Movses was offering suggestions and negotiating with locals for us. 

Behind us a group of children followed. Every once in a while one would yell out “Jecky!,” and Sammy would turn, and the kids would smile at him. Sammy, being Chinese, assumed this was some local racial epithet. 

I did not correct his assumption.

A month earlier Sammy abruptly decided to visit me in Armenia and arrived less than a week after his decision. He had been one of my closest friends in Los Angeles prior to moving to Armenia, as well as being my writing partner, and so I was excited to get to spend time with my friend. 

Sammy quickly took to Yerevan living, learning very basic Armenian and meeting friendly locals who were enamored by his charms and exotic nature. On one occasion he was made a judge of a local photo competition; on another, a young woman asked to paint his naked form.

Some mornings he would step out on my porch, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, a tank top and sweats, and greet the young women going to the linguistic institute nearby as they passed by. 

Many Armenians found his presence a novelty, often inquiring why he would visit. Others would initially assume he was from Central Asian, either Uzbekistan or Tajikistan, and would talk to him in Russian, only to be taken aback when he responded in English. 

During the first few weeks of his stay we began to work on an idea for a short film together. A small idea that went through multiple revisions before it was ready to film. Sammy was insistent on filming in Armenia as part of a larger project. So I asked Movses, a friend of mine, to help. 

Over the next week we planned our shoot. 

As mentioned earlier, one of the places we filmed was Jrashen, where Movses’ mother was from. Immediately upon our arrival Sammy was surrounded by children and teens, many of whom had never seen a Chinese man before. 

Movses acted as translator and ambassador for Sammy, explaining his intention to film a short, and that he came from America to do so. 

There was surprise and pride amongst the villagers that this man, this foreigner, had chosen their village to make his movie. News spread quickly. Villagers were whispering it to one another, pointing, yelling “Jecky!,” laughing, shyly hiding their faces, or running away.

Sammy was treated like a celebrity. Kids asked for his signature. The school allowed him to walk from class to class and even film in one of the rooms. We were invited to all their homes, offered food and drink, and approached by more people than I could ever name.

It was an overwhelming amount of hospitality.

By nightfall we were exhausted. The final scene took hours to finish, taking place in one of the filthy, odorous barn; a mix of cow flop, urine, milk and time. I was tired, feeling sick, and wanted to go home. 

Instead, I was forced to watch the town drunk, whom Movses had wrangled to play the father in our short, flub his lines while play-beating our protagonist.

A few weeks later Sammy flew back to Los Angeles and started the arduous editing process.

Later Movses casually informed me when we arrived in Jrashen he had told the villagers that Sammy was Jackie Chan.