Wish You Happy Forever (29 page)

The very tall, craggy-faced army doctor explained. “The water temperature is carefully controlled at twenty to twenty-five degrees centigrade [about seventy-three Fahrenheit]. The infants float for five minutes each day. Then they are given massage for five minutes. These activities stimulate the developing brain.”

The local CCAA official chimed in. “This doctor taught us to look at things in a scientific way. Now we are able to discover misbehavior at an early stage. If we do nothing, the children will become retarded. We should do our best to avoid producing retarded children by getting to them before six months of age. Such scientific early childhood education should be made available to all of our institutionalized children!”

The visiting directors all seemed to agree. There was a buzz in the room. I was having visions of babies drowning and polluted poopy water and electrocution by temperature-control device.

“Early childhood education?” I asked.

“Our research shows that stimulation makes the children more intelligent,” said the army doctor.

“I've always thought that if I wanted to be a billionaire, I'd just set up a quack shop in China,” Dana muttered under his breath.

“Remember the orgone box?” I asked, not quietly enough. I was referring to Wilhelm Reich's 1940 “energy accumulator,” which had mysteriously captivated Western intellectuals but had ultimately sent Reich to prison. The army doctor gave me a look.

I realized too late that he probably understood English. He probably even knew who Wilhelm Reich was.

The Yangtze River

Once we were all on board the ship, the first order of business was a banquet.

“You doubt our Baby Bubbles therapy.”

I turned to the voice behind me in the buffet line and found myself looking at the army doctor's chest. I am not a tall person; we were standing too close. I looked around for ZZ. Although the army doctor was speaking decent English, I needed reinforcements. She was lost in the mob at the shellfish table, elbowing with the best of them.

“No! . . . Well . . . I think it's really interesting and . . . um . . . womblike.” I backed away as much as I could.

“But you think it's laughable. What do
you
suggest we do?”

“Me? Oh, I'm certainly not an expert!”

“No?”

So what was I doing here?

“Well . . . I guess . . . um, I guess I think that the babies would benefit more if the money went into providing more caregivers. I mean, five minutes of water time a day is—well, I'm sure the babies like the floating and especially the five minutes of attention they get from the
ayi
s at massage time. But if they had someone to cuddle and play with them all day instead, they'd get all the stimulation they needed and also might feel loved. Maybe even attached to their caregivers. Babies need that for healthy emotional development.”

“I see,” said the army doctor.

“But I suppose it wouldn't do much for the Baby Bubble business,” I said.

“Do you think that Chinese people care only about getting rich?”

THE SHIP'S MAIN
hall had been turned into a floating conference room. Through green-tinted picture windows, the narrow sculpted peaks along the Yangtze River Three Gorges drifted by in thick mist. . . . Iron Lock Pass, Water-Stealing Hole, Fragrance Stream . . .

Dana—Dr. Johnson—stood before government officials and orphanage directors, all diligently taking notes. He spoke with the calm assurance of an academic, his voice nonthreatening. He showed them slides of children in institutional care, none in China, all failing to thrive. Photos of tiny children who looked three or four but were actually in their teens.

“If a newborn infant enters an institution and stays for longer than six months,” he said, “the risk of significant mental health problems increases. For longer than twelve months, he or she won't experience optimal growth. For longer than eighteen months, language will be affected. And for longer than twenty-four months, that child's cognitive abilities may be permanently compromised and interpersonal relationships will be impaired. Devoid of nurturing care, institutions steal a child's future.”

The note-taking stopped. The room was silent. Dr. Johnson said, “The interventions developed by Half the Sky Foundation in China may provide our best hope.”

My heart thumped. I tried to look like an expert. I secretly kind of hoped the army doctor was paying attention. But then it was over. CCAA Director Lu came to the podium and my mood took a dive. We were back in the world of
mu
of land and other somehow relevant statistics.

Chinese voices droned on. ZZ's quiet voice at my side interpreted anything she thought worthwhile . . .

“Orphans in institutions are vulnerable. They need special attention and care, the love and warmth of a family, and sensitive nurturing to ensure their healthy physical, emotional, and mental development,” ZZ murmured.

Hey!
I snapped alert.
I wrote that!

“ZZ,” I whispered. “Did the CCAA director just say that children need nurturing care? I mean, did he use the word
nurture
?”

“Yes.”

“He's reading my lines, ZZ!” I whispered louder. “The words I say in meetings! Somebody's actually been listening!”

“Somebody important.” She smiled. “You make him sound good.”

Incredible. . . . The head of the CCAA was quoting me. Maybe they really did think I was an expert. So maybe it wasn't completely crazy to think that Half the Sky could change things in a big way.

But how? There were too many children. We would never be big enough to set up programs for them all. They'd have to wait forever.

But if the government got behind us, why couldn't we train others to develop the programs themselves? I'd always imagined that we would give it all to China one day. If we could train the whole country, that day might come sooner than I'd dreamed.

So why not? Why not train the whole country?

Oh, there you go again, Miss Priss,
said the voice of my mother.

Patently inadequate,
sighed the voice of Terri.

I looked around the room at my fellow delegates, some of them nodding off post-banquet.

But if we didn't at least try, who would?

“ZZ,” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“New strategy.”

“Yes?”

“No more one child at a time, or one orphanage at a time,” I whispered. “The kids can't wait forever. We're going to take on China.”

“Understood,” she said.

THE PERKY TOUR
guide spoke into a megaphone inches from my face. “Hello! These boat trackers you see used to be everywhere in the Three Gorges area.”

We were touring Shennong Stream, a must-see on every Yangtze River cruise. All the delegates and their cameras had been transferred by ferry into small peapod-shaped boats manned by picturesque, ethnically clad singing oarsmen. The rocky cliffs on either side of the stream disappeared in clouds.

“In the time when there were no engine-driven ships, the boat trackers had to draw the boat with the tracking rope over their backs. They frequently encountered dangerous shoals and had to fight with winds and waves in the water. Therefore, they were naked. Now they wear clothes because a foreign tourist lady complained.

“Today some people think to attract more tourists, the ecological tourist site must have naked boat trackers again. The head of the tracking team says, ‘As long as tourists need it, and are willing to pay for it, we boat trackers are willing to go naked.' What do you think, travelers?”

Hilarity ensued.

Director Zheng, that sour-faced pocket-protector of a man from Maya's orphanage in Guangzhou, was squished beside ZZ. But wonder of wonders, he was a changed fellow! He actually smiled. He offered us cigarettes and then lit up himself. Then he invited us to come to Guangzhou to set up programs.

“Guangzhou? You're sure?”

“Of course!”

“What about the province? Will Guangdong Province welcome us?” I asked.

“Certainly!”

“What if we want to train the entire province?”

“Yes! Everybody wants Half the Sky programs!” Director Zheng said.

So this was how it happened. Just like Hollywood—it can take a lot of years to become an overnight sensation.

BACK ABOARD THE
ship, all of the delegates signed a pledge that promised:

. . . through our common efforts, to let orphans and handicapped children in social welfare institutions live in a richer and more stimulating environment of love, enjoy a standard of living best suited to their healthy growth, receive inspiring education and have their individuality and potential developed fully so as to prepare the conditions and lay a good foundation for them to return to families and society.

We solemnly take oath and propose to all social welfare institutions and all people with loving hearts: Let us unite, irrespective of regions, states and races, and work hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder to realize our goal with full passions and determination and start a new stage of care for Chinese orphans and handicapped children.

We hereby sign this Joint Proposal for the Healthy Development of Children in Chinese Welfare Institutions.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

WE STOOD ON
the overlook, gazing at the massive Three Gorges Dam project, the river rising slowly beyond. China vs. Mother Nature. Verdict still out.

CCAA Director Lu, who had never before spoken a single word to me, wandered over as if we were old friends. Just one big Hollywood party.

“I loved your talk,” I said.

CCAA Director Lu shrugged modestly, as if nurturing orphans was just a little something he'd dreamed up. I took a deep breath.

“Director Lu, Half the Sky is eager to work with the government to train caregivers in our special approach to child nurture. We want to help you teach the whole country,” I said.

Director Lu lit a cigarette, inhaled slowly, turned his head, and blew smoke at the dam below. I looked out through river mist and cigarette smoke at what would become the largest hydropower project in the world. The sheer audacity of it! Whole cities and towns and villages submerged, more than a million people resettled, wild rivers tamed. Environmental repercussions still unknown. The Chinese were capable of doing whatever they chose.

So why should I imagine that these people needed the help of a foreign do-gooder?

Still . . . he'd used my words.

It seemed forever before the director replied. “We will first do a survey on the status quo,” he said. “Then publish operational guidelines to lay solid foundation for national trainings to follow.”

Not precisely what I had in mind, but it was a start. Maybe.

“I'm delighted,” I said.

“Total cost for the survey is 250,000
yuan
[about 30,000 dollars],” he said.

“Of course, I'll have to ask our board,” I said.

I looked out at China's 35
billion–
dollar baby. And I wondered where we would find 30,000.

“All right, Director Lu,” I said. “We'll be honored to help. Somehow.”

As I left the viewing platform, I passed the army doctor, father of Baby Bubbles. He was mesmerized by the giant dam.

“I
don't
think the Chinese care only about getting rich,” I said to him. “Not at all.”

ON THE WAY
home, I asked ZZ if she thought the CCAA director had said yes. She thought so, probably.

“Maybe that's as close as we'll ever get to hearing yes,” I said. “Anyway, it's yes enough for now.”

So I wrote a new plan. We'd jump on Director Zheng's invitation and open a center in Guangzhou. Then we'd train all of Guangdong Province. And so we would grow, province by province. We'd always try to begin in the capital and make it a training center for the rest. Perfect! I just had to figure out the money thing.

I knew that if we just kept moving forward, kept making miracles, one day the Chinese government would be ready and willing to take on the costs. But we weren't there yet. In truth, we were already struggling to support our twenty-four centers. I didn't think adoptive families could do much more. But how about big business?

By now there were plenty of foreign corporations prospering in China. There hadn't been much interest in helping Half the Sky when we'd tried before. Orphans didn't easily translate into profits. But with the government sort of on our side now, the time was ripe for convincing big business to do its part for China's future consumers.

A month later, just the way I imagined it, a large toy company actually agreed to sponsor our new centers in Guangzhou and Shenzhen!

Shenzhen, Guangdong Province
Spring 2006

Bruce, the toy company's cheery HR man, was on the phone.

“Jenny, can I get your last thoughts on tomorrow?”

And before I could reply, he rattled on, “At oh–nine hundred we will arrive and congregate in the assembly room. I think the Shenzhen director might want to say a three-minute welcome to us. We will have a party of twelve people including Martha, Guy Russo, and his wife. Remember, most critical is lots of photos of Guy and his wife giving gifts—and of course the children's reactions to them. Martha's expectation is that a camera is going off constantly—you gotta love her—and she wants quality close-ups in order to put together a great storyboard for McDonald's. Really pull at the heartstrings. By the way, I got Guy's title wrong—he's bigger than I thought. He's
president
for McDonald's Asia. The next highest in Asia is God.”

Then he hung up. I was ready. This was not my first briefing. Bruce's boss, Martha, was the CEO of the Australian company that manufactured half of the toys at the bottom of McDonald's Happy Meals. They were in fierce competition with the American company that manufactured the other half. Most of the toys were made right there in Guangdong Province. Martha's business was heavily reliant on Happy Meals. She wanted to please McDonald's. I should take lots of photos of the boss and his wife hugging babies. It was a generous sponsorship—I was happy to oblige.