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Published: June 16th 2009
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Yesterday was a very sad day for me. I had to say goodbye to all my little friends at the orphanage where I've been volunteering. The administration has closed it to volunteers—just as they did when there was SARS and bird flu-- for an undetermined time because of the now-declared swine flu "pandemic" in the world. Although understandable, I can’t help thinking this Chinese institution has closed in on itself, and who knows when it will again be open to "foreigners" like myself?
In a way, I was fortunate because, when I explained that I was leaving China for good in just over two weeks, the woman in charge of volunteers allowed me in yesterday morning to distribute candies and the toys I’d bought for the playroom. I had to wear a face mask and I couldn’t stay long, but at least I got to see the children for one last time. Other volunteers haven’t been so fortunate.
I became deeply attached to those little “sweeties” in the five months I volunteered there, and leaving them is heartbreaking. Putting out their little arms, they would greet me each week and call me "Mama"; and I know how much they
enjoyed being hugged, sung to, played with, and going for walks or rides in the stroller on the grounds of the orphanage. Each little one I got to know has her (or, sometimes, “his”) own little personality. Chinese kids definitely don't all look alike or act the same. They are true individuals and adorable. Had I been able to, I think I might actually have tried to bring one home with me to France.
There are so many unknowns surrounding adoption and orphanages, especially for us “westerners”, here in China. I have so many concerns, but I realize they’ll probably never be answered. The system here seems to be hierarchical, bureaucratic and lacking in transparency. And even though, on the whole, I found the orphanage’s administrative staff and caretakers kind and well-meaning, a little bit more of “play”, interaction, child psychology and flexibility might be called for. There are very set ways of doing things here, and, of course, there are many cultural differences with respect to children and their upbringing.
I wonder what will happen to these children. Why are adoption and fostering so slow? With so many orphans, why don’t the authorities in Beijing process applications
more rapidly? And if these children are not adopted or sent into foster families, will they be spending the rest of their lives in institutions? What are their opportunities for education and training? Will their physical and mental disabilities continue to be treated? Are Chinese families beginning to adopt them more than before, especially now that China’s “new policies on adoptive parents have led to a sharp drop in international adoptions”? (Time magazine, May 25, 2009)
So many questions....Maybe it's better I don't know the answers. It's heartbreaking to think about the futures of many of these children.
Before closing, I’d like to share with you the story of Wei Chun, a darling three-year-old I became very attached to at the orphanage. It’s just one story among millions, but, to me, Wei Chun is a very special little girl.
Wei Chun was abandoned as an infant and, I believe, found by the Shanghai police and brought to the orphanage. She was one of the first children I noticed when I started volunteering in the “Koala Room” on Monday mornings. We couldn’t communicate, but like many of the other children, she overrid the language barrier between us by
pointing and using head and hand gestures to indicate her intentions or desires. She was cheerful and active and always the most helpful child in putting away the toys in the playroom or taking the younger children’s bowls to the kitchen. She definitely struck me as being very intelligent for her age.
One Monday morning I arrived at the Koala Room and discovered that Wei Chun was no longer there. As I didn’t have time that day to find out what had happened, I emailed a friend who volunteered on Wednesday mornings and asked her if she could try to find out if Wei Chun was sick, had been transferred somewhere, adopted, or whatever. I didn’t know Wei Chun’s name at that point, but, fortunately, I’d taken a photo of her several weeks before and was able to forward it on to my friend so that she could show it to the Chinese “caretakers” in the Koala Room
Wednesday night, my friend called me to tell me Wei Chun had “graduated” to the next room, the Snoopy Room, where no western women volunteered, but where the children supposedly had some educational activities for an hour each morning.
The following Monday, after finishing helping out in the Koala Room and on my way out of the orphanage, I stopped off in the Snoopy Room to find Wei Chun and say hello. I think she recognized me, but she seemed completely changed. She was much more subdued and shy. I tried talking to her, but to my surprise, the caretaker pointed to her ears, gesturing that Wen Chun couldn’t hear. Little Wei Chun was hearing and speech impaired, and I hadn’t even noticed it during all those weeks I’d played with her! My heart went out to her. Living in a world of silence, how hard it must have been for her to change rooms and to leave her little friends in the Koala Room!
The following week, at the end of my two-hour stint in the Koala Room, I went back into the Snoopy Room and said hello to Wei Chun; and the week after that, the caretakers allowed me to take her out for a short walk in the hall and on the grounds of the orphanage. That time, when we returned to the building, I took her into the Koala Room, and all her little
friends in that room and the caretakers came over to hug her. It was probably the first time anyone had taken her back to visit since she’d “graduated” to the next room!
Two weeks ago, following my long weekend in Guilin, I didn’t go to the orphanage on Monday, but rather on Tuesday, morning. Another volunteer (a woman from Singapore who’s been volunteering for the past four years) was in that morning, and we were able to chat a bit as we walked outside together with the four or five children under our care. This woman told me about Wei Chun and how much she’d blossomed in the Koala Room. Apparently, during the first two years at the orphanage, she had had a dull, sad look and would pound her head against her crib to get to sleep.
That morning, I went to see the administrator in charge of volunteers and offered to provide financial assistance so that Wei Chun would be able to learn sign language or to read lips. She emailed me several days later, saying that Wei Chun was now “adoptable” and eligible for rehabilitation, which would start this month, and that the government would
be paying for it.
Wei Chun is just one little girl among millions here in China. I hope and I pray that the government keeps its promise. I also hope that Wei Chun is lucky enough to find a home, as I do for all the other little children I was blessed with knowing over the past five and a half months.
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Lana Hamon
non-member comment
Children The Same The World Over
Thank you, Hilary, for sharing your joy -and sadness- of working with the orphans in China during your stay. It is lovely to read your captions of "little friend." As a teacher who works with children, my students, however, on the other end of the spectrum in that they are among the most privileged, I know how delightful it is to connect with children of all ages. Their trust and love are true gifts for those of us who are the "privileged ones" to live among and share with the children of the world. Thank you again, Hilary, for sharing the experience. Lana