All of my brothers looked older than I remembered. We met all the sisters-in-law, and all the children immediately called Mary and me Sixth Mother and Sixth Father, but Mary attracted the greatest attention. Even strangers at the airport asked my brothers who this Western girl was. "Our sister-in-law!" my brothers proudly replied and they all fought to carry our suitcases.

My family had borrowed two trucks to take us home. Mary was pushed into the front seat of one, next to the driver, and I was pushed into the other, and the rest of the family members piled into the back of each truck.

Along the dusty road on the way to my old village I once again smelled the familiar country air-full of the scent of human waste still used as fertiliser in the fields. Childhood memories returned once more. I loved this distinctive manure smell. It was the smell of my own town, and at long last I knew I was really home.

As our trucks slowly rolled down the old streets, people lit up firecrackers to celebrate my return. All the villagers had come out to greet us, standing on both sides of the streets, waving at us as we passed. Some I recognised, many I couldn't. After nine years, the countless older uncles and aunts, younger uncles and aunts, great-grand-uncles and grand-aunts, grand-nephews and their wives, had all muddled up in my mind, with the exception of a very few. I couldn't even remember what their proper titles were. All I could do was nod my head, smile and repeat "Ni hao," "Ni hao," "Ni hao…"

As soon as my family saw our truck turn into our street, my fourth brother, who had stayed home to help Niang prepare food, lit a long string of firecrackers. More firecrackers! It was just like it was when I was a small boy-the noise, the light, the smoke, the smell of gunpowder and the flying fragments of red paper.

Our trucks stopped and a sea of people gathered around us.

And then, through the crowd, I glimpsed my parents. They were standing by our gate with my fourth uncle and aunt, happy and proud. I rushed to them. I hugged Niang. I shook hands with Dia and Fourth Uncle. Just as I was going to shake my fourth auntie's hand, Niang threw herself at me and hugged me tight. "Oh, my sixth son! I missed you!" she sobbed.

Mary had got down from the other truck by now and immediately people's attention turned to her. As she walked towards me, the villagers parted the way for her, whispering about the colour of her hair, the size of her nose, the pattern of her shirt, the height of her heels. Mary was the first Westerner to come to the village since 1949. She was a sensation.

In the shady courtyard of my old home, a small square wooden table, knee-high, had been placed. Many little wooden folding stools were carefully positioned around it. A big floral teapot and teacups sat in the centre of the table and one of my sisters- in-law began to fill everyone's cups. Plates full of roasted sunflower seeds, peanuts and sorghum sweets were passed around. We popped open the sunflower seeds with our teeth and cracked the peanut shells with our hands. I remembered the sorghum sweets I used to take to Beijing with me. Every object was drenched with memories.

It was late in the afternoon by now. The sun was setting and had painted the sky a beautiful orange colour. I watched Mary-she was surrounded by my sisters-in-law and nieces. They seemed to understand each other without me having to translate for them at all. It was almost as though Mary had always been a part of this family.

Mary and I had brought some American cigarettes and candies and these were passed around and shared. The children feasted on the chewing-gums and sweets, and loved the American skipping ropes that we'd also brought for them. But the thing that excited and astounded everyone was our Polaroid camera. They were beside themselves with amazement. How could their own images, pictures of themselves, come out so quickly! It was thrilling. I was sad to discover, however, that the children in my village no longer seemed to play the simple games from my childhood, such as marbles or one-legged fights. Instead, they were crazy about small Japanese electronic gadgets, just like children in America. I was amazed that these sorts of sophisticated games were available in my village at all. How times had changed.

The children in my family welcomed Mary and me by putting on a singing and dancing show. We cheered and laughed as they each did their little numbers. The younger ones, from two to five years old, did their best trying to keep up. My two-year-old niece was knocked over a few times by the older children, but after a piece of sweet and some encouragement she was participating once more. Then, just before dinner time, many of the villagers returned from their work in the fields and popped their heads through the windows to get a glimpse of Mary and me. I could see they were too embarrassed to come in, so I took Mary outside instead. Within minutes a large crowd had gathered and an old man, whom I accidentally called Great Uncle instead of Great-Grand-Nephew, asked us to dance.

"Yes, please! Dance for us, please!" the crowd urged.

Mary and I looked at their eager faces. We exchanged a glance and Mary nodded.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She nodded again. "Let's do an arabesque lift from Nutcracker."

So a small space in the middle of the street was cleared for us and the crowd gathered around. I lifted Mary high above my head, then flipped her down into a fish dive. The crowd gasped, then cheered and roared with applause. "Zailai, zailai!" More, more! they demanded.

I picked Mary up with one arm and twirled her around in circles. The villagers screamed with delight.

By the time we went back inside, my niang and my fourth brother had prepared a table full of colourful dishes. It was too hot inside so they set two more tables up in the shady courtyard, so there was one for the men, one for the women and a third for the children. Big bottles of local beer were popped open under the tables and there were many "gan beis" that night. All of my brothers could cook and each of them cooked their favourite dish.

So many questions were asked about our life in the West. My parents had told them something of it, but still they wanted more and hung on our every word. They had little idea, of course, of the ballet world from which Mary and I had come. But they were not celebrating the famous dancer that night. For them, they were just happy that their sixth brother had finally returned. I fitted back into my sixth son position just as though I had never left, nine years earlier. So much had changed, but what endured was love and trust.

My family bombarded Mary with questions. They wanted to seat her at the men's table as a special honour, but she insisted on sitting with the women even though she only spoke very limited Chinese. She told my parents that she just wanted to be treated like everyone else in the family. She wanted no special privileges.

Rather than stay in a hotel, Mary and I had decided to stay with my parents, but I worried that Mary would find it hard living in such poor conditions. There was still no bath or shower and no hot water. The hole-in-the-ground toilet outside was exactly the way I remembered it from my childhood. And although Mary liked Chinese food, I wasn't sure she was really ready for three weeks of it in our village.

But Mary took everything in her stride and everyone loved her. I translated for her as much as I could that night, but when I eventually lost my voice through talking too much she stopped asking me questions.

Then, within days of our arrival, the local police came. They took our passports. We became suspicious, worried. They told us it was for registration purposes. We could only hope that we would get them back before we were due to leave.

Everywhere we went in the commune in those three weeks, people's eyes were fixed on us. They couldn't stop talking about Mary-her hair, the colour of her eyes, her white skin. They watched her every move. Only when she said "Ni hao" to them, did they remember that Mary was a person too and they would burst into laughter.