The reception we received matched the cold weather. For some strange reason, Hazel’s passport gave the immigration guys lots to talk about. Or maybe it was because they had just a few international flights a day and were bored senseless.
Passport withheld, Hazel was asked her to get her bag. They led us into a windowless room and shut the door. Then they tied Hazel and me with barbed wire and beat us with rubber hoses filled with metal ball bearings. At least that thought flashed through my head. I glanced at Hazel to see if she was scared. Nope. At worst, she looked slightly cheesed off at the thought of having to repack.
5 guards appeared. One was a senior official. He looked capable of beating people with rubber hoses. But today he just stood and watched. 4 young personnel in perfectly-ironed uniforms combed our bags. We were impressed by how courteous they were with our stuff, even having a woman search Hazel’s bag.
Finding nothing suspicious, the guy who summoned us spoke up. Roughly translated by Hazel, he said, “We hope you don’t think badly of this. We were just checking.” Guess that beat saying, “We wanted to impress our boss and you were easy meat” or, “You looked like human organ smugglers”.
We caught up with the group and boarded our bus bound for Hengyang, second-largest city in Hunan. Our 3-hour journey was normal by China standards. It included weaving between slower trucks accompanied by frequent bursts of honking. We made one rest stop. Toilets were clean (as in the stalls had doors and they used urinals instead of piss canals). After that, it was back on the bus for lunch on the go.
Our hotel was in tiny towhship, 15 minutes out of Hengyang’s city centre. Our room was big. Interior design was classy by 80s standards. The carpet was a tad sticky. And we were reminded to throw used toilet paper into the bin, not into the toilet… wokayy! But that said, the rooms were comfortable.
15 minutes later, we were back on the bus and headed towards the orphanage. We drove past drab decrepit buildings and happy locals, out of the town area, through narrow roads and over muddy un-tarred paths.
I arrived at the centre not knowing what to expect. The agenda for Day 1 was a tour. We were split into groups. Karen, who is a fulltime nurse there, was our guide.
From the courtyard area, we could hear excited shouts from a room not far away.
“They’re excited to see you,” Karen said. Our first stop was the block where they housed the “older boys”. One of the boys appointed himself usher, greeting us with great gusto. He said “ellow” to every single person who walked past. Occasionally, he yelled “IMMASOH!!”
With just over 20 people, the room we were in felt crowded. It used to house more than double that number until ICC made some much-needed change. We were surrounded and things are a blur to me now. I remember a guy trying to zip my jacket. I remember hands searching my pockets. Some guy came up and put his arms around me. From the corner of my eye I saw another dude suddenly jump up and down – intentionally stamping his feet so hard when he landed that the floor shuddered.
Suddenly our usher started getting us to sit. He grabbed my arm in an iron grip, all the while beaming, and led me to a bench. I vaguely remember him grabbing Abbie’s arm with the same iron grip and plonking her on the same bench.
He laughed and yelled “IMMASOH!” then started singing “I’ve got peace like a River” in mandarin. That’s when I realized “IMMASOH” was actually “In my soul”. In a society where people like him had little or no hope, this dude has found joy and was praising God in whatever way he knew.
After being with the “older boys”, we visited the other groups: “older girls”, “toddler girls”, "toddler boys” and “babies”. Their stories were heartbreaking. The way they received us was heartwarming.
After dinner was worship and briefing. I was assigned to “toddler boys” along with Kenneth and Derek. We were told that we’d spend the whole day with them. That night, as I lay in bed trying not to let the sporadic honking outside drive me nuts, I thought silently, “What have I gotten myself into?”
No comments:
Post a Comment