by Jenny Bowen
Baimei doesn’t remember much about her early years at the orphanage. She remembers that no one liked her. The ayis and the other children called her the Garbage Picker because they said she ate garbage. She doesn’t remember eating garbage.
Baimei attended first grade at the local community school. She thinks she did well. But at the end of the year, there was an exam. Baimei didn’t understand that the test had a time limit. She lent her only pencil to a classmate who’d forgotten to bring one, and waited for her turn. When the girl finished, Baimei wrote her name on her own exam paper—and then the time was up. Her test score was zero. Little Pretty Chen told Baimei that she was stupid and could no longer attend school.
For the next two years, Baimei begged to be allowed to return to school. Finally Little Pretty said, “All right. If you can learn to recite the multiplication tables before the next school year begins, you can go to school.”
The new school year was only three days away. Baimei borrowed a book and, in just three days, somehow managed to memorize the tables. She tried to recite them for Little Pretty, but Little Pretty had no time to listen. Baimei was never allowed to return to school.
When the Big Sisters program began, Half the Sky hired basic education and music teachers for Baimei. Her quarterly progress reports were glowing:
Baimei’s enthusiasm for learning grows more and more. She has changed from one who received knowledge passively to one who is actively exploring, seeking new information, and sharing it. She understands what she is taught in class and raises very good questions. She has even been able to correct me, her teacher, on more than one occasion!
She always prepares for class ahead of time, writing the pinyin and words for new characters with the help of a dictionary. Once when I wrote a new character incorrectly, she looked it up in the dictionary and showed me the correct way. I praised her, and she told me shyly that she had looked it up the day before. Her vocabulary is growing rapidly. I am so proud of her!
Our Big Sisters were also required to send us their own quarterly reports. Baimei’s written Chinese was rough, but it was easy for our translators to find the heart of her story:
Dear Uncles and Aunts at Half the Sky,
I have made a lot of progress. I feel that my Chinese and math are much better than before, and I even know some English! I want to tell you that it’s your support that makes me full of self-confidence. I am no longer a girl that fears things. Now my life is going well for me. I love studying, especially English. I only know a little about that, but it is enough to me to fall in love with it. I can have a short conversation with my teacher. I am very happy and grateful for the opportunity you provide for me, and I won’t forget your love.
An American family learned about Baimei and wanted to adopt her. Adoption of an older child was rare in those days, but these people were eager and well prepared to give Baimei a good home. She would have siblings also adopted from China, and a friend from her orphanage lived close by. Baimei was excited. A whole new life! But Little Pretty Chen said she was too old. Never able to turn chameleon with Little Pretty, I stammered in frustration, “But she’s only thirteen! Chinese law allows children to be adopted until fourteen.”
“The papers are wrong,” Little Pretty said decisively. “She is fourteen.”
A few months later, Little Pretty Chen was arrested for embezzling 750,000 yuan (about 90,000 dollars at the time) from foreign adoption donations. She received brief Public Enemy fame in hopes of deterring others who might be considering venturing over to the dark side. She was sentenced to fifteen years in prison; she was in for ten. “Her husband didn’t even divorce her,” ZZ said wistfully. “He must love her very much.”
Baimei lost her chance to have a family, but she kept working. She decided she wanted to become a makeup artist because “beauty makes people happy.” Half the Sky sent her to beauty school, where, in time, she became a cosmetician.
I remember the first time I served the customer I felt very nervous, but now I feel much better. Sisters in the beauty shop told me that I have made great progress, which makes me very happy. But don’t worry, I won’t be conceited on these praises. I will continue working hard and I won’t let you down.
If I ever had my doubts about the futility of trying to reach older, institution-damaged children, our first Big Sister wiped them out. She taught me never to walk away. Not from any child. Since I met Baimei in 2002, Half the Sky has helped more than 6,500 teens attend universities and vocational schools; study languages, computer science, music, art, sports, and dance; and begin to dream. It’s never too late to start . . . and our dreams set us free.
My dream now is to study in Beijing with Mao Geping, China’s famous makeup artist. If I can improve my skills, I will work for the TV crew. Sometimes I feel I am an unfortunate girl, but still, I always have my dreams.
Chapter 9
A Burnt Tongue Becomes Shy of Soup
Summer 2002
Old Yang told us that Guangdong Province was a definite go. So that summer, while our volunteers and trainers established a new Half the Sky center in Shanghai, I made an exploratory trip to Guangdong with a young adoptive mother whose daughter was from Yangdong, a small Guangdong town (population only four hundred thousand!) and one of our now-confirmed orphanage build sites for the fall. Her family had committed to sponsor the new center. We were welcomed with enthusiasm.
Another family had agreed to sponsor a new center in Huazhou, the second Guangdong site. Both of these orphanages had elicited dozens of e-mails from concerned adoptive parents whose children had come to them with an array of typical post-institutionalization problems—emotional distance or shutdown, food hoarding, nightmares, developmental delays, and, as with our Anya, just plain anger.
Eager to launch their own Half the Sky programs, the Huazhou and Yangdong directors attended our training in Shanghai. After three years of trying, we were finally going to Guangdong!
Organizing each build and training is a lot like preparing to shoot a movie. We recruit a crew of volunteers. We order developmental toys and books and supplies from multiple sources. We organize hotels and transportation. We interview and hire local teachers and nannies and mentors and supervisors. We measure and photograph rooms and prebuild bookcases and climbing equipment and puppet theaters and plenty more. Our two-site Guangdong build was scheduled for October 2002. When I arrived back in Beijing in September to make final preparations and sign agreements, everything was lined up and ready to go. Fortunately, Terri had agreed to lead the builds. Things were looking up.
ZZ MET ME at the Beijing airport. Bleary-eyed from what was becoming my regular twelve-hour commute, I was ready for an uneventful evening. That wasn’t to be.
“We must go to the Social Workers Association. They wait for us,” ZZ said. Not good. We made our way to the association offices as fast as Beijing traffic would allow. When we walked into the reception room, the gentlemen of China Social Workers Association were already lined up in the formal configuration. Our only booster at the association, Old Yang, had been demoted to the end of the row. He studied a blank piece of paper with great interest.
President Red Sun Liu motioned us to sit. Even as my tea glass was being filled, Red Sun Liu started in on ZZ. Spittle flew. ZZ calmly wrote until the boss finished his harangue. She looked up at me—her face impassive.
“He says this: ‘When we brought the American mother to Yangdong for the visit, it was not the right way,’” she began.
“In June?”
“In June. ‘The proper procedure is to advise the association, who then advise the ministry, who then issue written documentation for approval.’ But I don’t do it right,” ZZ said. “So he think this is why Guangdong Province now reject Half the Sky to start programs.”
“No programs in Guangdong?”
“Proper procedures have not been followed.”
Not again.
“President Red Sun Liu suggests he may help,” ZZ continued.
“Half the Sky should submit a proposal explaining the goal, the activities, the items to buy, the training needs and salary and other expenses, together with how much Half the Sky will be obligated to pay. He personally brings proposal to Guangdong capital city, Guangzhou, for approval. He suggests the way of cooperation is we wire the money to him, then he wire to the institution, let them do the work.”
ZZ went on, her expression unchanging, her voice lowered only slightly. “I explained the purpose of Half the Sky is not simply to donate money but to share love and training. When I listen to him, it seems that for the volunteers to come in October is difficult, but not impossible. Anyway, there is no point for him to go to Guangzhou. That part is nonsense.”
I stood up.
“Thank you, President Red Sun Liu, for the information and advice. We will certainly think this over carefully and make a decision about this difficult situation as soon as possible.”
We smiled and shook hands all around. I murmured to ZZ, “Tell Old Yang to meet us in the morning. We’re going to Guangzhou.”
That night, while ZZ pleaded with Madame Miao and Old Yang to join us on an emergency trip to Guangzhou, I wrote letters to the highest-ranking officials among our very small arsenal of influential friends, begging for their help. The sponsors’ money was in the bank; the volunteers’ tickets had been bought. We couldn’t lose Guangdong.
Guangzhou, Guangdong Province
By the time ZZ, Madame Miao, Old Yang, and I checked into a hotel in Guangzhou, the letters had been translated and hand-delivered, and phone calls had been made. Over the next twelve hours, we shuttled back and forth between hotel rooms and government offices, pleading with every government official who’d talk with us. ZZ and Madame Miao worked the phones. Old Yang complained about how hard his job was.
“If you would quit reporting in and asking for approval at every step, it wouldn’t be so hard,” Madame Miao said.
“You don’t understand,” he grunted from behind his hand.
“I understand your boss is not helping,” she said.
“If you let him control the funds, he will be responsible if there are any problems like this,” said Old Yang.
Then all three were talking at once, outshouting one another in the Chinese style of friendly debate. Everybody talks; nobody listens. No hard feelings.
Finally Old Yang got back on the phone, muttered into it a bit, then looked up with a shrug.
“Mrs. Wu, the division chief, says that the two sites are not suitable,” he said.
So much for our dear friend “Call me Jane.”
“Tell Jane we would be happy if her boss selected different sites,” I said.
“Her boss is out of the country,” Old Yang said.
“Then who’s making these decisions?!”
“Mrs. Wu says that Guangdong Province isn’t ready.”
“But is it all up to Jane?” I asked.
And the shouting started all over again. Miao chimed in with news about a letter from the Ministry of Civil Affairs (our ministry!) to all institutions forbidding the establishment of any new foreign programs. Then there was something about American spies, but Miao said that none of it applied to Half the Sky anyway because we were already approved partners with the government. ZZ called Jane. Finally, perhaps just to make us go away, Jane said we couldn’t have an answer until after the National Holiday.
That weeklong holiday was two weeks away. Our volunteers were scheduled to fly in just two weeks after that. Unlike yours truly, most Americans don’t blithely hop on airplanes bound for China at a moment’s notice. Plans had been made—and they were set in concrete.
“SO DO THEY love us or hate us, Norman? I’m confused—and it’s not just jet lag,” I said.
In town on one of his monthly adoption trips, Norman invited ZZ and me for yexiao—Guangzhou’s famous midnight breakfast. Breakfast at midnight?—why not? My body clock was permanently out of whack by now anyway.
“The problem has nothing to do with Half the Sky,” he said. “It is quite serious.”
Then he rattled off a whole new story in Chinese. ZZ grunted a few times but didn’t translate. Not fit for foreign consumption, I gathered. I didn’t press until we’d waved goodbye to Norman and our cab door was safely shut.
“So?”
“A short time ago, an American couple received a referral for a baby in the southern area. When the couple traveled to meet their new daughter, they were given a different child.”
“It happens,” I said. “Maybe the first baby didn’t survive?”
“This couple was upset and suspicious. They took their complaint to the U.S. Consulate in Guangzhou. The Consulate start investigation. The Chinese government then also start investigation.”
“So the orphanages are closed for the investigation?”
“For now, the whole province is closed to adoption,” ZZ said.
“And closed to Half the Sky,” I said.
“That is not clear. After the holiday we will know. It may be that we can come to Guangdong but to different part of the province.”
“Ugh. Okay. I’ll have to tell the volunteers. And the sponsors. And the board.”
“In such situation, it is best don’t say too much,” ZZ said.
“But they think they’re coming back to help their own children’s orphanages,” I said.
“It may be, at the time of adoption, that the parents of the first baby came to the orphanage to get her,” ZZ said.
“You mean the birth parents changed their minds?”
“Maybe they never abandon her after all.”
“She was kidnapped?”
“It is not certain. Maybe stolen by family member. Maybe sold to be a wife or servant. And maybe there have been other problems in the area. We cannot know. It is better not to worry the volunteer families.”
I sat silent in a dark cab somewhere in China. Completely lost. What was I doing in this place? This China. Kidnapped. Stolen. Sold. Thrown away. Those little girls . . . their dear faces.
“ZZ? Norman always takes adopting families to the Temple of Six Banyans to have their new daughters blessed. Do you think anybody would be awake there now?”
“No.”
“Can we try?”
“Certainly.”
At the Temple of Six Banyans, we woke the night watchman, a wizened monk with not many teeth. He listened to ZZ, then turned and walked away. ZZ took my arm, and we followed him inside.
We found a small, carved-stone Guanyin in a rear chamber of the temple. I knelt on the cushion before the goddess.
“Hello again,” I whispered. “Okay, now we really do need some help.”
Before I boarded the plane for California, ZZ and I stopped in the jade market. We purchased a little dark-green jade Guanyin. I wore it always after that. One year I returned to the Temple of the Six Banyans and had my little Guanyin blessed by the monks. It was probably overkill, but, as ZZ told me once, “If heaven drops a date, be sure to have your mouth open.”
ONCE HOME, I cautiously informed the board, sponsors, and volunteers that there was a problem in Guangdong Province but that we were still trying. ZZ toiled through the holiday. She brought wine and fruit to the homes of important people. The officials wouldn’t say yes or no. It was all too familiar.
“Is there any other way you can move them, ZZ?” I fretted on the phone, twisting the little Guanyin on my neck.
“We say, ‘Can you help the grass grow by tugging on it?’” ZZ said.
“I don’t get it.”
“You say, ‘Even when you pull him to the well, you can’t make the horse drink the water.’”
By the end of the holiday, there was still no definitive news. I couldn’t keep people in the dark any longer. I first contacted the sponsors and board. Then I wrote to the volunteers and told them that Guangdong was off.
I do understand the importance of this trip to many of you who have children from Yangdong and Huazhou, and I’m so sorry t
o have to make this decision. It may be small comfort, but I have an alternative proposal to make:
Many of us have nonrefundable plane tickets and other paid-for reservations. What if we travel as planned, meet in Guangzhou as planned, and then Half the Sky takes you to work on another new site in another new province? Think of it as a travel adventure! You may not know where you’re going until you’re already there, but I guarantee that you’ll be helping kids who need our programs as much as the kids in Guangdong. . . .
They were crushed. Almost every person on the crew had volunteered for the Guangdong build specifically so that they could visit and help the orphanages that had once housed their daughters. Not everybody was in Big Picture mode. Still, every one of them stood by us, as did one of the two sponsoring families.
The very next day, ZZ called to tell me that we had permission to work in Chenzhou, Hunan Province, a struggling orphanage that we’d visited early in the year. Perched at the juncture of three provinces—Hunan, Jiangxi, and Guangdong—the town of Chenzhou received children left behind by migrant workers on their way to find work in the far south. Somehow, despite the poverty and sorry conditions, the little orphanage community of 135 girl-children (as usual in those days, not a single boy) did have a special sort of charm. I was delighted that Chenzhou would be our fallback, but now we had a new problem. Our policy was to have two years’ worth of funding committed before opening a new center. We never wanted to open a program that we might have to close for lack of funds. And we didn’t have enough to support work at this new, larger center.
I made an emergency plea to our supporters and explained our dilemma. There were children who needed us; we had the opportunity to help, but we couldn’t do it without them. Once again, our Half the Sky family rallied in a big way. They donated more than enough for us to set up shop in Chenzhou.
But now the board of directors was on edge. Terri wrote to our newest member, her friend Evelyn. She confided that, while she’d still lead the build, my fumbling in Guangdong and my public plea for funding for the new site was frustrating and embarrassing. I’d upset our volunteers and the Guangdong sponsors and probably all our supporters. I was endangering everything we’d built. Evelyn accidentally sent her commiserating reply to all fourteen of us on the board. Apart from Dick, who was always ready to rush to my defense, the other members were silent. Maybe they thought Terri was right.