Wish You Happy Forever

by Jenny Bowen

  “You mean we can help with money? We can buy things for the orphanages?”

  Our staff knew the rules. No mission drift.

  “Well . . . ,” I said. “It’s family. They’re in trouble.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Thank you, Jenny.”

  WE MADE IT home and spent the next days working with the ministry to contact every orphanage that might be in distress. The more we called, the less it mattered whether they were Half the Sky sites, or that we didn’t “do” disasters.

  Everybody needed help—mostly water, fuel, food, disposable diapers, warm clothing, and bedding. Prices soared because no goods could be shipped and cold weather had ruined the winter crops. Wherever we could, we wired funds. In a few places where banks were closed due to power failures, we offered to reimburse any orphanage staff who gave cash to help the institutions while goods were still available in local stores.

  “Chenzhou is in terrible trouble,” reported Winnie. “It’s listed as an official disaster area now. Even Premier Wen Jiabao is having trouble to go there. A giant power grid was destroyed by heavy snows, and the whole city has been dark for a week. Trains are not running because there is no power.

  “Now the orphanage has to burn coal, but they are running out of it. Water has also been cut; now they get it from a natural well, which is, thank goodness, not frozen. Everyone including the older children helps to fetch water. All supermarkets and banks are closed. Even when staff has personal money to pay for baby food, diapers, and coal, things are getting hard to find and are very expensive. They have some food but are not sure how long this will last—maybe about five days. The local government is not able to give much support because they are now focused on dealing with transportation and electricity problems.”

  Dear Half the Sky Family,

  Every year at this time we send you a note celebrating and welcoming the Lunar New Year. The Year of the Mouse promises prosperity (we hope!) and good fortune, and in 2008 there should be plenty to celebrate.

  But in these days leading up to the holiday the weather has dealt China a heavy blow. You’ve probably heard about the millions of workers stranded all over the country, struggling to return home to their families for the Spring Festival holiday. But I don’t know if you know how rough these days are for our children in welfare institutions, who, of course, have no families to go home to. Despite power outages and downed phone lines, our Beijing staff has been trying to reach all Half the Sky orphanages by whatever means possible and has talked with almost all.

  Welfare institutions in south and central China are having the hardest time. This part of the country is simply not equipped to deal with extreme cold or heavy snow and ice. The most common critical problems are power outages, lack of safe drinking and cooking water, and lack of fuel, diapers, and public transportation. As conditions worsen, our nannies and teachers are remaining at the institutions day and night. They have given up the idea of going home to their own families for the holidays.

  Gathering these reports together makes me think about how careful we have always been at Half the Sky to maintain our focus on nurture and education programs. Ours is not a medical or relief organization. There are many wonderful groups who do that work.

  But now our family is in trouble. We need to break our own rule. I’m asking for your help.

  I’d sent an urgent plea like this only once before—in 2002, when Guangdong Province turned us away at the last minute and I didn’t know how to pay for moving our build to Chenzhou. Now, all these years later, it was the babies of Chenzhou—babies who hadn’t even been born the last time we asked for help—who needed us the most. Once again, the world became a little smaller. Support rolled in.

  Winnie called me at home that night. “So far, no train, plane, or car can reach Chenzhou. And they are now trying to borrow money from any possible resource to buy food, coal, and diapers. Twenty babies are sick, but the hospital is closed. They ask, can we please help in some way? The highway is closed but there should be other backroads. The Chenzhou director warns it is dangerous.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Dick said. “I’ll go.”

  “Are you sure?” I said, not entirely shocked.

  My husband has a filmmaker’s heart. He’s shot on mountaintops and deserts and in every type of weather. He’s shot underwater and from the open doors of helicopters (once, he later learned, without being tethered to anything). Such danger makes for gorgeous cinema. Guys like him will do anything to get the shot. I tried to explain all this to ZZ. She called Mrs. Gao at the ministry.

  “The call is not very promising,” ZZ said. “Gao called the Hunan Civil Affairs. Provincial director says they know Jenny and Half the Sky and they do appreciate the support for Hunan. They thank you especially for your concern for the children in the disaster. They want Gao to pass this message to you.

  “As for Dick’s kind wish, they also thank him, but due to the difficult situation and road, they cannot let him come. Even Premier Wen Jiabao must use helicopter to a nearby place and then followed by special cars accompanied by armed police to finally enter Chenzhou. No road is open. The Changsha airport is still not fully open, so they don’t think Dick can go any farther even if he arrives in Changsha.”

  “Then we’ll have to come up from the south,” Dick said. “I’ll get there from Guangzhou.”

  “Over the mountains?” I said. “I don’t think I’ll tell ZZ just yet.”

  “GAO CALLED ME just now,” said ZZ the next morning. “Besides the new list of institution needs, she wants you to know that yesterday in Chenzhou, eleven workers died when they tried to repair power supply. She says now all roads are blocked and even they are asked not to go there at this time. Not to use the road in order to keep it safe since it is very slippery and very dangerous for driving. So they cannot help Dick to go there and they hope Dick is not going there at this time. Besides, they definitely do not want foreign friends to go there to protect the safety.”

  “So this is a definite no, ZZ?”

  “Definite no.”

  “Dick is already in Guangzhou,” I said. “He recruited our friend Miranda, a film production coordinator from Shanghai, to travel with him to Chenzhou. They’re renting a truck and they will take it over the mountains tomorrow.”

  ZZ hesitated only for a moment.

  “Okay, tell me how I can help,” she said.

  DICK AND MIRANDA set off from Guangzhou with a driver and a rented Jeep loaded with baby formula, candles, blankets, flashlights, batteries, quilts, and rice (in case the truck they’d arranged to pick up and load farther north couldn’t get through). They stopped first to collect 100,000 yuan wired from Hong Kong at 2:00 A.M. by Mei, our finance director, to Mu, our Guangzhou nanny supervisor. It took three hours at the bank with ZZ on the phone from Beijing and Mei on the phone from Hong Kong to get the cash.

  Miranda sweet-talked her way through police barricades, and in the foothills of snow-covered mountains, they met up with the waiting truck, did a whirlwind sweep of a local supermarket, and more than quadrupled their load of supplies—big boxes of infant formula, giant jugs of water, stacks of diapers, bags of coal, and piles of blankets. Just as they were pulling out of town, Dick spotted a lady selling brightly colored balloons on the street. He bought them all—it was a holiday, after all. When the balloon lady learned they were for orphans, she cut her price in half. And so had the blanket seller and the coal vendor.

  DICK CALLED AS they started what was normally a two-hour drive to Chenzhou. And then he called again, seven hours later.

  “It was all snow and black ice and crashed cars going over the mountain pass. We just now made it to Chenzhou.”

  Normally bustling with neon store lights, packed sidewalks, and chaotic traffic, most Chinese cities seem more alive and energy-filled at night than during the day. Not that night, Dick told me.

  “It’s so dark here,” he said. “And unbelievably cold. A few cars, a few candles flickering in
windows, but mostly just dark. I wonder what it’s like for those babies to be in this kind of darkness. I hope they’re sleeping.”

  When, at last, they pulled through the gates of the orphanage, they were greeted by forty jubilant Half the Sky nannies. Teachers and orphanage staff had taken the older children home with them, but the babies were sleeping inside. Nobody had known how Dick’s rescue convoy could possibly make it, and yet “we knew Half the Sky would find a way,” our nanny supervisor said.

  Dear Half the Sky Family,

  Tonight is Chinese New Year’s Eve. Everyone in China who possibly can has gone home; all shops and offices are closed, no one answers the phone, the whole country is suddenly quiet.

  The weather remains bitter cold but no serious snow is forecast now until the beginning of next week. For families in China, that’s wonderful news, as relatives make their way from house to house with greetings and treats for the New Year.

  I’m happy to tell you that, in Chenzhou, there is now at least a week’s worth of food, two weeks’ worth of coal, blankets, and diapers, and money to buy more. Although it’s expected to take three to six months for the city to fully return to normal, we’re so relieved that the children are safe and, at least for now, out of danger. My husband, Richard, who led the relief effort, wrote this when he got home last night:

  As we make our way home, it’s hard not to think about those little faces in the baby rooms staring up at me from beneath piles of blankets. I’m so happy they’re warm, so happy they’ll eat well, so happy they’ve got such dedicated Half the Sky nannies to attend to their needs. I wish they had parents.

  As the stars of this little drama, they remained blissfully unaware of the countless worldwide threads, the amazing generosity of donors abroad, and their fellow Chinese who all contributed to this effort to make sure they would be okay now, so that someday they could thrive.

  As I arrive home to my daughters and wife, I’m struck by the deeper meaning of this little adventure. I realize how, in my own way, I became infected with the spirit of Chinese New Year. This holiday that puts family first, that says get home at all costs, your family’s waiting. I’m now sure that’s what drove us up that mountain. Even if those little family members in Chenzhou didn’t know they were awaiting our arrival.

  Happy New Year from all of us at Half the Sky!

  In less than a week, we’d publicly and completely broken our own rules. We’d bought generators and coal and blankets and milk powder and even a couple of washing machines. We’d raised over half a million dollars and given financial support to a hundred orphanages. With some trepidation, I wrote to the board, explaining why we may have strayed a bit and apologizing for not asking permission. Every one of them responded by giving us their full support and blessing. They understood. They even sent money! “Half the Sky is all about taking care of family,” one said. If I was drifting from our mission, at least I wasn’t doing it alone.

  I failed to mention to the board that the Chinese government had told us no for the very first time. And that we had disobeyed.

  Harbin, Heilongjiang Province

  Spring 2008

  In China’s far north, up near the Russian border, a tiny baby girl struggled to breathe. Her bony chest heaved with the effort. I could see her heart pounding each time she exhaled. Each breath made a rattling sound. With fingertips I traced her little heart-shaped mouth, her blue lips. She made no effort to suckle. Only the next bit of air mattered.

  She looked exhausted and alone. I feared that if I picked her up, I would kill her.

  “Bad heart,” said the head of the children’s department. “Very complicated. There is nothing we can do.”

  I looked up at the bright walls of the Harbin orphanage, newly built with Blue Sky funding. Soon we would hear Half the Sky volunteers working and laughing down the hall. Harbin would become Half the Sky’s thirty-eighth children’s center and its third Blue Sky Model Center. The children here would begin to thrive. But, even now, with so much to be hopeful about, there was nothing we could do for this baby girl.

  We can’t do it all. We must stay focused on the mission. And yet . . .

  In a country where more than three hundred thousand children were born each year with congenital heart disease, less than a quarter of them had access to medical care.

  “She was surely abandoned by parents who had no other way to help her,” ZZ said.

  I watched that baby fighting for her life, and I began to wonder if, with all the good fortune we had been given, Half the Sky couldn’t do more.

  ZZ’s phone rang. She listened for a very long time.

  “We must return to Beijing,” she said.

  The Ministry of Civil Affairs, Beijing

  The Next Day

  ZZ, my ever-trusty barometer, was silent and expressionless as we were led through the hallways of the Ministry of Civil Affairs.

  “Are you sure they didn’t explain at all?” I asked again.

  She shook her head.

  We were ushered into a small, formal reception room. Red on red. Chairs and small sofas lined the walls. We waited.

  Vice Minister Dou Yupei entered the room with his entourage of about ten or twelve—among them, Mrs. Gan and Mrs. Gao. The vice minister was not a very imposing figure. No taller than I am. A friendly chipmunk face with an extra chin or two. Upon his smallish shoulders rested responsibility for China’s entire child welfare system.

  We sat in the formal configuration. An interpreter sat behind the vice minister. Tea was poured.

  The vice minister began by reciting Half the Sky’s history in China. Reading off a page in front of him, he accurately listed the thirty-seven cities where we now had programs. Then there was a silence.

  “In general, the Ministry of Civil Affairs wishes to commend Half the Sky on its important work for China’s most vulnerable children,” said Vice Minister Dou.

  “We’re honored,” I said, waiting for the other shoe.

  “We understand that your husband, Mr. Richard, undertook a difficult journey to Chenzhou during our Spring Festival storms.”

  Ah.

  “Yes. Well . . . um . . . it wasn’t too bad.”

  “Even Premier Wen Jiabao found it difficult to get to Chenzhou! With a military escort!”

  “Oh . . . yes . . . well . . .”

  “China has many problems,” Vice Minister Dou went on. “We are still developing, and there is much work yet to be done.”

  He smiled.

  “We offer our sincere thanks for your love for the children and our hopes that we can continue our cooperation in the future. We are pleased to tell you that Half the Sky will be the featured story of our Social Welfare magazine next month! Now we shall take a picture for the cover.”

  That’s it?

  Someone appeared with a camera and began snapping. The vice minister smiled steadily for the camera and chattered away. “Usually, we do not expect foreign friends to give so much,” he said. “You are like a Chinese! Of course, we know you have Chinese daughters. We find your story very moving. We also want to congratulate you on your registration.”

  Registration?

  I looked at my pals. Gan, Gao, and ZZ all had giant grins plastered on their faces. They knew!

  Not until the photo session was over did I recover my voice and my good manners.

  “Vice Minister Dou . . . sir. On behalf of the many thousands who support our work, I thank you from my heart. You can count on Half the Sky!”

  The vice minister left with his entourage. Gan escorted us outside. I felt dizzy.

  “We have registration?”

  ZZ swallowed me in a bear hug. “It’s true! We worked so hard!”

  “We’re legal?”

  “The third American NGO to be registered!” shouted Mrs. Gan. “First Bill Gates Foundation. Then Clinton. And then Half the Sky!”

  For the first time, after ten years of operating in the shadows, we could legally open a bank account, legally
hire staff. We were recognized. We existed.

  “I almost shed tears,” said ZZ, laughing and sniffling and wiping behind her glasses.

  “Well,” I said. “Wow! I guess we’re really part of the family now.”

  “That’s right!” ZZ said.

  “Not ‘the other kind’?”

  “You’re zijiren, one of us,” she said.

  And then the true test came.

  Hongbai Town, Sichuan Province

  May 12, 2008

  One thousand miles from Beijing, in the mountains of Sichuan, a kindergarten class in an isolated township was waking from naptime. Sprawled or curled atop green painted desks, cozy under quilts from home, the children were just beginning to stir when the rumbling began.

  Kailu

  Four-year-old Kailu tried to sit up but couldn’t. Everything was shaking, even the ground. The desk toppled, with Kailu clinging to it. She wiggled out from underneath. Everything around her was tumbling and cracking. The air was filled with dust and dirt and falling things. It was hard to see. The world was crashing and breaking and roaring loudly.

  Somehow Kailu could hear Granny Yu, her teacher, cry out, “Children! This way! Run! The walls are falling! This way out!”

  Kailu crawled through the heaving wreckage; wooden beams were starting to fall from the sky. Her hand touched something soft. She saw the face of her friend, Pingping, on the ground. Sleeping. She clutched Pingping’s hand and looked around desperately.

  “Granny Yu! I can’t find my shoe!” Kailu cried, choking on dirt.

  She tried to stand, pulling on Pingping, but now something was pinning her leg. Sudden strong arms grabbed Kailu around the chest, lifted her high, and held her tight. It hurt her tummy.