The moment we walk through the entrance, the small dog that’s chained to a pole next to the chicken coop, barks and wags its tail in excitement, while the children flash reluctant grins as they seem to be processing the arrival of 14 high school students and two teachers into their space.
With the stench of manure and urine permeating the room, I try to look at ease rather than grimace in disgust as I stand behind the students examining my environment. In addition to the dog and chickens, the dusty room is clustered with three tables, plastic stools, a raggedy sofa and a small television.
Looking up at the sheet metal that acts as a roof, then over at the huge gap above the entrance, I imagine how awfully difficult winters must be with the damp cool winds gushing in. On days when it rains heavily, which are extremely common in this region, the room must surely get soaked.
Feelings of sadness and disdain overwhelm me, when a student tells me that the beds are in the back room. How can the government of Yongchuan allow orphans to live in such an unsanitary and decaying structure?
While the students move around the room greeting the children and handing out lollipops, I remain somewhat shocked, but I try to project a calm demeanour. Though we’ve just arrived, there’s a part of me that wants to leave and return when I’m not filled with so much bitterness for the local authorities and pity for the orphans.
“Hello,” says one girl, appearing curious and apprehensive, as she holds onto a female student’s hand. Wanting to offer her more than an enthusiastic “hi”, I move towards her to shake hands. She immediately hides behind two students, saying in Mandarin, “I’m afraid of him”. Knowing that she, like many children in China, probably needs more time to get used to my size and skin color, I try engaging a boy who’s sitting at a table with a 16-year-old that I taught last year.
My former student is attempting to play cards with him, but she’s having trouble understanding his utterances. With a lollipop in his mouth and drool sliding down his bottom lip, he hands me five cards and makes more unintelligible sounds.
At another table, volunteers have some of the youngest orphans, one of which has Down syndrome, seated on their laps as students crowd around and play with them. One brave girl with a hunchback approaches and welcomes me with a warm “hello”.
The leaders of my school’s Student Union tell me that there are 15 orphans, some of which have physical and mental disabilities, who reside here. Every month, the city gives the orphanage 200rmb (30$) per child.
“Hello,” says the girl, who ran away from me ten minutes ago, this time she’s holding hands with another orphan. The two girls tell the group of students, which are encouraging them to attempt an introduction of themselves in English, that my height is frightening. Squatting down, so that the girls are slightly taller than me, I ask them for their names.
Zhou Xiao Han, the girl who was initially terrified of me, and I, strike up a friendly rapport quite quickly. For every question that I ask, she has one or two of her own. The 10-year-old tells me that she’s lived in this home since birth and attends a nearby elementary school.
She proudly shows me the four certificates she’s earned from her remarkable paragraph writing and a shuttlecock she made out of paper that she kicks around like a hacky sack. Despite her crooked teeth and the scar above her top lip, which I presume is the result of cleft lip and palate surgery, her smile is radiant and genuine.
The entrance of the orphanage and the fancy buildings in the background.
Behind the orphanage stands a chain of recently erected high-rise apartment buildings and across the street from them, the construction of a Walmart is well underway. One member of the Student Union tells me that the woman who runs the orphanage is frustrated with the municipal leaders’ false promises. Apparently, they’ve been promising her a new and improved residence for over three years.
Walmart is coming to Yongchuan
Sadly, I’m told by several students that this isn’t the only orphanage coping with dire circumstances; they claim to know of several others around Yongchuan.
“Don’t take too long to come back,” says Zhou Xiao Han, as she waves goodbye to me from the entrance, where she’s standing with her peers. Her words tug at my heart, making it all the more challenging to walk away. With water building up in my eyes, I promise to return in two weeks.
The group photo we took before leaving.
