Hope among suffering

 The most handicapped orphans are kept on the fifth floor of Saiqi orphanage, where they spend almost the entire day confined to uncomfortable wooden boxes -- "cribs" -- which they share with one or two other infants.  Some of the babies are so painfully tiny, premature, and delicate that when I first arrived at Saiqi (in Summer 2007) and held them in my arms I was afraid to move a muscle.  I couldn't help but think that there was so little that I (or anyone else) could do for these children, and I had never felt so helpless. They had not been given a chance in life, and I could not help but cry openly as I first held a few of them in my arms.

    Poverty and suffering in other countries are difficult for us to conceive, let alone personalize. But when it's in front of you, in your arms, it's the only truth for that moment in time. The inescapable realities of life in places like Saiqi are those of extreme poverty, hard and unrelenting labor, little hope, early death, and considerable tragedy in between.  But the feeling I took away from my experience was something other than that of despair or abandoned hope.  

    The caretakers in the orphanage, all of whom were basically uneducated, middle-aged Chinese women, taught me by example things that would have been difficult to learn in a classroom. The caretakers washed cloth diapers, bathed, and fed the children in the orphanage as if each were their own child. They gave their entire lives to this unglamorous, menial, but important and essential, work. They taught me that, on most days, you will work until every muscle in your body aches, and it will still not be enough. They also taught me by example, in their quiet and unassuming way, that it takes not only physical endurance but mental strength to commit oneself, day after day, to the task of caring for these orphaned children. I cannot frankly think of anything more challenging, more worthwhile, or more inspiring.

--- Katie, 2007 Summer Intern

A Summer in SaiQi: Meeting, Loving, and Missing the Kids

  Humming a tune the kids sang during the Chinese Duck Duck Goose game, I jumped up to chase Xiao Bin after she dropped a small beach ball behind my back.  Everyone laughed when I as the “Goose” promptly disgraced myself by tripping and nearly falling in my efforts to tag her.  By the time I finished my turn, I was more than happy to head toward my new seat in the circle, opposite of my original spot. 

     Happy, that is, until I saw six year-old Si Si, looking at me as I did not return to sit next to her again. Her confused and disappointed expression did not last long, however.  Chosen next to be the “Goose,” she dropped the ball behind the person to my right, quickly ran around the circle, and with a smile, leaped onto my lap. 

     Before arriving at the orphanage, I wondered whether or not I could connect with the kids when I could not speak their language.  Would the kids even like me if I could only respond with the blank stare like that of an innocent baby when they spoke to me?  I discovered the answer for myself.  It was only the third day of our trip to SaiQi, but it struck me as I hugged Si Si, “I am really going to miss these kids.” 

     During our month in China, Edith, Tiana, Katie and I, along with five Hong Kong Polytechnic University students, were at the orphanage generally from 8:45 AM to 5 PM every day, with a break in the middle for lunch.  From karate, ballet and arts and crafts during the mornings to cooking, English lessons, and games in the afternoon, we always tried to do creative, fun activities that the kids otherwise would never get to do. 

     These talented kids learned English fast and eagerly.  They excitedly tried out s’mores, jello, and fries.  They loved making picture frames from the funny-looking wood that are called Popsicle sticks. They even braved the smell of fingernail polish to experiment with nail painting.  They tried to avoid getting wet by the water balloons, though. 

     In the afternoons, we were able to spend time with the children who are more severely disabled and who often lie on their beds all day.  Just simply holding the children and providing them stimulation made a huge difference in bringing smiles to their faces.  The time I have spent with them, seeing their smiles, made any difficulties with adjusting to the filth and diet of the small town of SaiQi more than worth it for me. 

     It has been inspiring to see all these kids overcome the many challenges that they face and accomplish so much.  For instance, Qiao Yun, who is one of our brightest and most enthusiastic students during English lessons, has abnormally well-developed muscles.  Miao Yu, who is one of the friendliest and most eager kids, is mostly blind.  Si Si, who surprised me with her energy and talkative nature after her initial quiet reluctance to participate in activities, cannot use the right side of her body as well.  

     As a result of this summer, I decided to learn Mandarin Chinese, and what we do in Harvard China Care has taken on new meaning for me.  I will never forget our last day in SaiQi, especially when Si Si suddenly kissed me on the cheek. 

     In the near future, I hope to be able to visit every single one of the adorable, amazing kids in SaiQi Orphanage again.  We can look over the hundreds of pictures I took of them with my camera.  I can try to speak Mandarin well enough to hold the conversations I wish we could have had this summer.  And just maybe—if I am lucky—we can even play a game of Duck Duck Goose.

--- Elaine, 2007 Summer Intern