From the Orphanage Hallway

    At the orphanage there’s a long hallway, from which all the other rooms—the bathroom, the storage room, the baby room, the kitchen, the office, and our bedroom—stem. There’s something a little tempting about such a long hallway, something that makes you want to run from one end to the other. One night when I was feeling particularly energetic, or perhaps just particularly mischievous, I stole speedily and sneakily down the hallway in my blue plastic slippers. Whether it was due to the thrill of getting away with something behind everyone else’s back or simply to the length and emptiness of that hallway, by the time I was done I was grinning. I remember once, too, that I ran down the hallway with a plastic bag like I did at the supermarket that time when Dianne [my twin sister] and I were little.

      But the hallway also saw stranger, sadder times. 

      One day, a little baby girl was brought from the government-run orphanage downstairs to our Children’s Home on the fourth floor. She was so, so sick, but neither the nurses and doctors downstairs, nor Rony and the A-yis upstairs knew what was wrong with her. Because the baby was too frail to make the train ride, Rony couldn’t send the baby to the Beijing Children’s Home, which has more experienced A-yis and which is nearer to better hospitals; and chose not to send her to the Baoji Hospital, which during the weekends is understaffed and could do little for the tiny girl. So the little girl stayed in the baby’s room in her own crib, with Rony almost constantly by her side.

      What I remember most clearly about the girl was how gray her skin was, and how her eyelids didn’t fully close when she was sleeping. Instead of sleeping peacefully with her eyes closed, she displayed a little half circle of blackness of pupil, framed by white underneath, like a ghoul.

      The second night she was here was unbearably hot. I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating in my mosquito net, unable to sleep. The light outside turned on, and I heard voices and footsteps going up to the roof. I got up from bed, and sat in the kitchen for a while. I started to get that absentminded headache I always get when I sleep too late or don’t get enough to eat. It wasn’t until Joan sat across from me with her Bible that I realized that the girl had already died.

      At night the A-yis wash the mats that cover the floor where the babies play. The mats are shaped like colorful puzzle pieces—in blue, red, and yellow—and they were lined along the hallway to dry. And as I walked down the hallway, I thought—how surreal this is, to see this hallway decorated so brightly and bizarrely. The A-yis had also washed the babies’ diapers, and hung them on the stairway railings. The rows and rows of pink diapers looked like a plain of pink flowers, spiraling upwards; looking at them, I felt like both crying and laughing.

      But not all my memories of the kids were sad. There was a girl, named Wang Kaihui, who was a year and 7 months old. Older than the other kids, she was bored just staying in the playroom, and loved attention. Joan, a fellow volunteer, named her Andy, and the name suited her so well. She looked like a boy, with punkish rock star hair and two rows of sharp, pointy teeth, which she revealed frequently in a full-face grin. From the beginning, I spent the most time with her, picking her up and walking along the hallways, pointing at the pictures on the walls. She had absolutely no fear, so as we got more familiar with each other, I would begin twirling her around as we walked together. One time, I put her on my shoulders, so that she could peek through the high window looking into the babies’ room. All the Aiyi’s stared! And Andy laughed so much!

      I remember I took her to the little park next to the orphanage, and she wanted to touch every tree and every bush. And when the wind blew against her face, every time, she would grin and look at me. And then, when we went under the willow tree, she looked up and smiled so wide that I looked up too—and it was really beautiful, because you could see bits of blue sky glinting between the swaying branches. It’s funny, how things seem new when you’re with a baby. I felt like being with Andy made me see things as she saw it; when she laughed, I wanted to know what it was that making her laugh. And then I realized how new everything was to her; and it felt new to me to. There were many times Andy was a pain in the butt—like when she fussed about not getting enough attention—but I miss even those parts about her now!

--- Daphne Xiao, 2008 Summer Intern

Peking Opera to Snow White

Days in Luoyang are hot and humid, but almost never over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.  That's because, ironically, the smog blots out the sun, preventing it from ever really cooking but keeping it hot enough to be uncomfortable.  The locals have adjusted--nobody talks about the Chinese siesta, but it is practiced in full force, at least in Luoyang where the world seems to go on vacation from 1-3:30 PM.  That's just one of the many different rhythms of life that an American living in China, however briefly, has to adjust to--that and the squatters, the smells, the street sellers, the low-hanging trees, the lamb kebobs, the old women sitting on their stools to watch you as you pass on the sidewalk, the egg seller with his bizarre little wangling horn, or the way that the kids loved to watch Peking/Beijing Opera.   

Every afternoon, the kids of our little orphanage in Luoyang's Old City would crowd around the TV to watch the CCTV's high-pitched, jangling Peking Opera productions.  When I asked them if they liked it, they would nod and make a small noise in the back of the throat (the Chinese affirmative reply)--after all, some of them were even learning how to sing opera themselves or play the instruments.  I suppose it's a culturally acqured taste--in the two months that I spent in China, I never was able to get used to the sound of Peking Opera.  Our role in the orphanage was relatively simple, though loosely defined.  We were buddies, role models, teachers, counselors, visitors, friends, ambassadors, and most importantly to me, older brothers and sisters.  Everyday, we spent the morning with the younger ones, aged 8 and below before resting the afternoon (it's that Chinese heat and humidity) and rising again in the early evening to teach English to the older ones, aged 9 to 18.  Eventually, though, the lines demarcating us as teachers and adults versus older siblings (and therefore fun) faded, meaning we were soon playing wall-ball, basketball, and football with the kids.  Sometimes we would go up to them, sometimes they would come down to the first floor to us.  In particular, the kids liked watching clips of Yao Ming on Youtube from our computers, proving that Chinese kids are not necessarily all that different from American kids afterall... 

At some point in the trip, our experience began to revolve around our orphanage's little play production of Snow White.  Masterminded by one of my fellow interns, it was our job to write, direct, produce, design, and run a production of one of Walt Disney's best stories, starring the kids--all in English, of course.  There are so many memories from China, including late-night lamb kebob runs, strange taxi rides, awkward restaurant ordering, and shopping pilgrimages, but Snow White is the capping masterpiece, the culmination of, at least, my time there.  We spent over a month prepping, from grueling practice sessions ("No, Sleepy, a yawn is more of an eeyhhhhhh sound") to set-painting marathons (56 square meters, no problem).  Everyone got invovled, from the 3 year olds who played the kindly animals in the forest, to the orphanage's resident "Playa" who we recruited to play--who else--Prince Charming, to the orphanage plummer who manned the light board.  There were two shows, a genuine fog machine, and, of course, a kick-butt afterparty for cast, crew, and directors.   

In retrospect, it's hard to believe I spent so much time there.  Two months?  Everything now seems to blur into a kaleidascope of whirling colors, smells, laughs, and bad English accents.  Like my friend says, sitting here back in my "normal" life in the U.S. worrying about midterms and college dating, it's almost as though China were only a dream or a passing fancy which played in the back of my mind as I procrastinated while making my study guide.  Did we really eat scallion pancakes fresh off the street vendor's pan?  Did we really bargain vociferously with grumpy vendors in back alleys over mere pennies?  Or was that all a reverie?  Most of China you can never take back with you; I have some cheap shirts and trinkets, but the real stuff--the heat, the bustle, and of course, the kids--are only memories now.  Except one thing...that Peking-Opera-style excessively-high, piercing wailing still reverberating in my ears...well, unfortunately I may be stuck with that one forever.

--- Dexter Louie, 2008 Summer Intern

Reflection on Summer in Baoji

Living and working in Baoji was a wonderful and challenging experience. Being housed in the orphanage, and sleeping a few rooms down from the baby room, allowed me and the interns to fully immerse ourselves in our volunteer role, and experience a real taste of the everyday life of the children and workers of the orphanage. Everyday we were lucky enough to see the babies as soon as we woke up, right before bed, and anytime in between. Our typical daily schedule went something like this: breakfast, shower, play with babies, lunch, nap, play with babies, take a few babies outside to the playground or for a stroll, dinner, explore the city (which often meant trips to the grocery store), more baby-time (around night time that often meant putting the babies to sleep and tucking them in), sleep. I was very pleasantly surprised by the conditions of our orphanage- a nice, well kept, new building with great facilities- and with the cleanliness of our 4th floor. The baby room was always kept very clean. Only indoor shoes could be worn inside, and the babies were kept off the floor and on a playmat for the majority of the time. I say majority because towards the end of our stay several of the babies had learned to crawl and had become very rambunctious. Some of the funniest moments happened when I would be walking down the hallway and suddenly see a little head poking outside the door of the baby room- a slowly emerging baby, followed by one of the nannies running after him or her. The nannies were so wonderful and motherly with the babies. There were normally about 7 nannies per shift for about 13 babies, so our help was always a relief, since 2 babies per person is a lot of work.

            Most of the time we played with and entertained the babies, giving them a lot of individual attention and love- two things that a child growing up in an orphanage could lack. The orphanage had a whole array of toys and games for the kids, and we added to that collection by buying a blue bouncy ball and an inflatable pool for them! The ball was a big hit, especially with the older babies, and the pool was meant for a pool party so they could all splash around in it. Unfortunately, some of the troublemakers (who were normally the crawlers) deflated the pool as they were playing in it before we could ever fill it with water. On cooler days, a few of us would take some babies out to the playground that was right outside the building. We went down slides, picked leaves and flowers, and gave the babies a nice change of scenery even if just for a little bit. Our stay didn't always consist of fun and games, however. We went on quite a few hospital trips for blood tests and vaccines. Our presence there was especially appreciated since there had to be a one to one ratio with nannies/volunteers and babies, and there was always a lot of screaming and crying, followed by feeding bottles and carrying.

            Overall, this summer with China Care was a great learning and eye-opening experience. The China Care organization is making great strides in orphanage care in China. I'm happy to report that several of our babies (including my favorite one, Xiao Yan) have been adopted and placed in foster care since our departure. The babies were, of course, absolutely adorable and lovable and I will admit that I wanted to bring all of them back home with me. We all got very attached to them, but we were able to leave in peace knowing that they were under great care surrounded by people who love them, and that China Care is working hard on finding them all homes.

--- Gracia Angulo, 2008 Summer Intern