Knowing Nothing

by Humphrey Wou

We thought that we were doing what we were supposed to do when we visited Cheng’s home. We were there to document history; we were there to tell the world about the suffering of Henan’s AIDS villages. We began snapping pictures of everything we saw. There in the middle of the living room, was a man who was dying of AIDS, shaking violently. His fifteen year old daughter stood by him to hold him down in his chair. Before we could even introduce ourselves, five or six cameras were being flashed at them.

The young girl put her hands out and shouted at us, “No picture.” It wasn’t until I saw the disgust on her face that I realized how inappropriate and insensitive we were. A bunch of complete strangers had invaded her home and taken pictures of her father who was suffering from dementia. Idiots!
 
Shangcai County, Henan, is known to the world for its high number of AIDS cases. So much has been written in the news, films made, and photographs published. Not only is Shangcai famous, the reporters who have written about it have also become celebrities. But only with our short visit to Shangcai one afternoon did I realize that I still knew nothing about this place.

When we arrived at Wenluo village of Shangcai, the first thing we noticed was that there were numerous cones of dirt, each topped with a flat stone, scattered through the fields. They were graves. Our guide Hu Jia kept reminding us that Wenluo is the best of all the AIDS villages in Henan in terms of care and treatment. Because of media exposure, the local officials were pressured to make Wenluo a model village for AIDS care.

We began the day with a visit to Zhou Jinyong, a young girl whose story had appeared in the paper. She was one of the teachers at the Love and Care Preschool, a private school started by two farmers. Zhou’s one parent and four siblings were all afflicted with AIDS, but she remains HIV negative. In the mid nineties when the market for blood was at its peak, she was too young to participate. We took pictures of us posing with Zhou and her grateful mother.

Then we went to another house which was in complete disarray. The owner who has been suffering from dementia was out of the house at the time. We took pictures of the living room, the unused medicine packages on the floor, and the syringes and bottles in boxes. The owner could not sleep inside the house. She slept outside in a dirty sleeping bag with her dog.

We visited an old grandmother who was dying of AIDS. Her wish was to see Vice Premiere Wu Yi one more time. When Wu Yi visited her last December, they sat together and talked. She has only a 13 year old grandson left. Everyone else in her family has died of AIDS. We took pictures of her frail body, lying in bed, and made promises to her that Wu Yi will visit soon, a promise we could never keep.

When we arrived at Cheng’s house, we were shutter-happy. But the defiant teenager stopped us. We stood there, embarrassed, wondering if we should leave. She didn’t pay much attention to us, but kept asking her father if he wanted more water, more soup. The father never spoke. He responded with a gesture and she fed him his liquid of choice.

Cheng is now 15 years old. She stopped going to school when she was 12. Both of her parents are sick and she is needed at home to take care of them. I don’t know why there are not more chairs in her living room. Her father occupied the only chair. She had to stand next to him, to serve him his nourishment.

It seemed to me that she had been standing there for the last three years.

We offered her a bag of candies. She refused. Then we said that it was for her father. She accepted it. We asked her to open the bag and have a piece. She shook her head. Then we told her to give her father a piece. She selected a large piece for her father. She did not take any for herself. She didn’t want our pity.

We stood with them for more than fifteen minutes. No conversation, just stood there. She kept asking and feeding her father more water, more soup. What does she do when she isn’t there feeding her father? She probably hides in the corner of a room, crying.

I know of many education programs to send children from AIDS families to school. But I know nothing about how to help someone like Cheng. She has already been out of school for three years. Even if she could go back to school now, it would be next to impossible for her to catch up.

By the time we left, I couldn’t think of any suitable language with which to bid her farewell. The usual “study hard in school” or “be a good kid and obey your father” or “have fun and take it easy” were awfully inappropriate. We were supposed to bring help to people like Cheng. But even with money, we could not do anything for her. I felt so totally useless.

I finally muttered, “I will come back to see you again.” Her expression changed from being upset and insolent to quiet gratefulness. Her eyes began to well-up. Was she happy to see these strange visitors? Was she afraid of losing her father and her mother? Was she feeling sorry for herself? Was she holding in too much pain for a 15 year-old? Was she resigned to her cruel fate? I knew nothing about why she cried then. I knew nothing about her at all.

“I will visit you again.” I said again and shook her hand. She looked directly at me for the first time. Through blurry vision, we connected. I wanted to tell her that I would like to stay with her, to get to know her a little. Instead, I said goodbye, and turned to leave. She resumed her duty of offering her father more water, more soup.

I was not sad about Cheng’s sick father who sat in the house, wasting away. I was not upset about the corruption of the local leaders who started the blood trade. I was not shocked by the sight of the endless succession of graves in the fields. But I was haunted by one girl’s kindness to her father. I was distressed by the desperation on her face. I was distraught by my inability to do something, anything for her.

During the two hour drive back to the capital city Zhengzhou, my mind would not rest. Most of the passengers in the van were asleep. But a few of us started talking.

The government has announced a new policy of free drugs, free education, and free medical counseling. But from what we learned that day, the needs are greater than the government’s promises. There is a lot of talk about giving help to those who are dying of AIDS. What about the ones who are left behind and scarred for life? There are a number of AIDS orphan projects, but what about the kids like Cheng, who can’t leave her father’s side? Without an elementary education, with no means of survival, what will she become?

But what if?

Cheng can’t go to school. What if we bring school to her? What if we provide a small stipend to hire a tutor to go to her house, three times a week, a couple of hours each time, to teach her to read? What if we hire Zhou Jinyong, the 13 year old preschool teacher we visited? Say we pay her 50 yuan a week, which would be only USD$25 a month, but a great help to her and her mother.

What if we could hire someone to do housework for the woman who sleeps outdoors with her dog? What if we could hire someone to cook for the old grandmother and her grandson? Would this be too difficult to manage?
 
Four weeks later, I received a picture of Cheng and her father by email. We are now one ocean and two countries apart. But I still remember her well, standing by her father’s side, not smiling. Yet because of her strength, her pride and her love for her father, we now begin to know a little more about the AIDS stricken Wenluo, and a little more about how we may be helpful.