Adventureland

(Public worker's tricycle)

What I love so far about this magical mystery tour that I am on is that it hasn’t been sugar coated.  I spent a week sleeping in a dorm with nine women, crashed a night at Juana’s lovely condo in Chongqing, traveled on obscure airlines, navigated a chaotic train station and have now spent my first night in Qianjiang in a, three-star, Chinese business traveler’s hotel.  I say first because I will now be staying one additional night in the city, extending my trip to do something completely unplanned nor anticipated because this is the way this adventure is unfolding for me.

(Kids who found me amusing)

I completely failed to mention (in the last couple of posts) that my hosts were hoping that I could talk to some of the students at the school of tourism about my volunteering experiences in China (and elsewhere). Pauline delivered this request to me and Juana at dinner last night. Juana said that I didn’t have to speak and that I could simply return with her to Chongqing this afternoon, but what was I supposed to say? Thank you for the use of a personal driver and car and two guides? Thank you for generously paying for all my meals and footing my hotel bill, thank you for trying to pay for my train ticket. I’ll be off now buh-bye?  So, yeah, I'm staying the extra day. And, yes, I understand clearly that Juana will not remain with me to translate and that I will spend a day pointing and signing my way through Qianjiang (and surrounding areas) until my back-to-school chat tomorrow.

(Young girls near the orphanage)

One of the goals I set for myself on this mission was to try to remain present. I know this sounds corny, but I really wanted to not be scared to explore, feel and appreciate the people, the places, the culture;  be it a shoe shine, eating tripe or eating with chopsticks for two weeks, I kind of felt like an ambassador for Makena and that it was my duty to take it all in for her with my eyes and my heart wide open and then share it with her later when she starts asking questions.  A souvenir installment in her sense of self and to honor her beginnings.

(Tujia doughnuts)

But first things first, it is 8AM and I am in the extra bonus points-round of this journey. When my friend Cherrie (who lives in Beijing) found out that I would be traveling here, she asked me to meet with a young burn victim, Amanda, to photograph her wounds as a favor to her.  (We have given the girl an English name to protect her identity.) Cherrie has secured surgery for Amanda in Australia next February and the surgeon, who is donating his services, has asked for new photographs. So I am scrambling to get dressed and make the room presentable so that we can do this and then dash out to track down a woman who was purported to be the head of the Foster mothers at Makena's old orphanage and who may know the woman who is seen holding Makena in one of the old photographs I have of her.

Amanda shows up at nine o'clock on the dot. She is fourteen years old, painfully shy and about the size of a ten year-old. She is accompanied by her aunt and two cousins.  Juana puts them at ease and explains my role while I try to figure out how to photograph her facial wounds. Thank god for the Luoyang mission that seasoned me not be scared to look at children with deformities.  I look into Amanda's eyes and do my best to keep the session light and easy as I try to pose her in the available light.

(Typical Qianjiang baby Bjorn basket)

Amanda was four months old when the basket she was cradled in (similar to the one pictured) tipped over and her face came to be pressed against the hot stove. Her grandmother heard her cries and dismissed them, initially. When she finally came upon her (I can only imagine what the baby looked like. ), the grandmother had the presence of mind to poke a reed through Amanda's mouth to create an opening as her face blistered and swelled around it. She spent the next dozen years being fed through an opening in her mouth that was the size of a straw.  Her mom and dad left the village they lived in (from the hills above Qianjiang) and moved to Guangzhou to work in factories and earn enough money to pay for surgery. They worked and saved money for years. They finally had enough money to pay for the operation (two years ago) but it was botched. And although she now has lips and a patchwork of skin grafts, none of the scar tissue inside her mouth and was removed. She can still barely open her mouth or swallow and she still needs dental work. So she can't talk or articulate very well and she continues to be bullied and ridiculed at school. In spite of all this, she is an excellent student. And because she has managed to keep her grades high, she benefits from a scholarship that pays for her high school education. Otherwise she could find herself working menial jobs like my friend the shoe shiner. So, yes, I want to help this girl. She is a survivor and she deserves it and I am raising funds to help her get to Australia for surgery. 

(Amanda)

I take a couple of dozen photographs and thank the Aunt for bringing Amanda and try to say goodbye but she won't leave. The girls take off and the aunt is insisting on taking us to breakfast. It is the least she can do, she says, to thank us for coming all this way to help her niece. Juana is monitoring the time. If we can manage to get breakfast over by 10 AM, this will leave us two hours to hunt down the Foster mother lady and get back to the hotel to meet up with our minders. Hmm... We're off with the aunt, leading us who knows where down side-streets to a little restaurant she knows where we can have a bowl of noodles for breakfast. Yes, my dining experiences are becoming increasingly spectacular. My stomach has been screaming at me since lunch, yesterday, and here I am sitting on a bench slurping (yes, slurping) some beef noodles with a guy next to me smoking like a chimney.  Oh, and yeah, my rock star status has not diminished. People stop in front of the restaurant to stare at me, openly. I wave and slurp.

(Crossing street at my own risk)

Ok, now we are really pressed for time and auntie wants me to get a hair cut. It turns out she owns a small salon a few block away and thinks that I should get my mop cut and colored. I realize that I am sporting a low maintenance style and that it is not blown dry so I try to keep as straight a face as possible and thank her and tell her that I might take this into consideration the next time I travel to the city (gulp) but that I am really pressed for time. We try to leave but she insists that she needs a photograph of us. I whip out my camera to take one but this is not acceptable. Juana is freaking out as we are now seriously late in our quest for Makena info. The next thing I know, I am risking my life (again) crossing the street and being led into a photo studio.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am now in a Sears type photo studio. I swear, I am not making this up and if I were to write this in a script, no one would believe me. In any case, time ticks away like sand through the hour glass as Auntie takes her time selecting backdrops. She settles on a stone arch with peonies in the background.

(Juana, me and Auntie in photo studio)

We pose, we smile, we are given our laminated copy, we hug goodbye with promises of returning and then Juana and I dart off into the street in search of a cab... We have an hour and fifteen minutes to get answers...

Is on the hunt