Kiran's Story
The chanting grew louder. I had just survived a three-hour van ride in the rain up through the mountain of Gansu to Zhangjiakou, where I was visiting on a Leaders Today trip to China.
The humid smell of manure forced its way through the broken windows of the rickety, bamboo van and woke those that were sleeping. We looked out in front, and beyond the rain and the other vans ahead of us we could see hundreds of villagers dotting the roadside. But the chanting was not coming from them. “Have we reached it yet?” Sarah asked Erin. “Is this the school?”
Our van seemed taller than the huts from which the villagers were emerging. Beyond this community was an eternity of green mountains. There were no people or animals. The road disappeared a few feet in front of us and, in my daze, I nearly tripped down the stairs when getting out of the van.
My head and my shoulders were instantly hit by the hot rain and I felt the wet, clay earth below suck me in. I looked up and met the eyes of an aged woman. T.J dropped his camera in the mud. This was no place for tourists. I slipped half my body under Luyang’s umbrella but the pathetic, spotted fabric was no match for Zhangjiakou’s rain.
In a pack we moved toward the opening in the brick wall. The pounding of the gu drums and the lull of the dihu string instruments hypnotized me as I walked with the crowds. I felt the faceless chanting pull at my chest. Some of the village adults were leading our group, their faces thrown up toward the rain. Although he didn’t realize it, Garrry’s big feet splashed crusty, brown water at my shins as I walked close behind him.
The hundreds of us walked down the muddy pathway and arrived at a tall rusty gate. I turned to encounter what the gate was protecting and the sight took my breath away.
Youth welcoming us to their Free The Children school in rural China
There stood the school that Free The Children had built, the most beautiful building in the whole village. It was two stories taller than any other house and stood in a glowing, white grandeur against the thick rain. The sun was masked by the warm fog but I felt its presence. Lining a long pathway to the front door of the school were nearly three hundred young children chanting and playing instruments. The children were adorned with bright clothing and some held decorative rings and sticks as they marched to the music. My cheeks ached with the sting of smiling but I could not stop.
Blair took the hands of three of the children and brought them with her down the path. Laura was crowned with a shiny, red ring by one of the boys. A young girl presented a yellow flower to Becca. No one took pictures. I walked slowly and felt the tiny, grubby hand of one of the girls place itself into mine. She looked up with deep, red rosy cheeks and smiled a dazzling smile.
Although the students had prepared a show for us, the teachers didn’t want them to get sick performing in the rain. Instead, we spent that day teaching English inside the classrooms, where the students’ bubbly chatter enchanted me.
Days like this were common throughout the trip, and my smile quickly became a permanent feature on my face.
Another night, the sound of nearly seven hundred singing farmers and their children enveloped me as I moved through the dancing circles in Taoshui, another village in the rural Gansu Province of China.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night and my Free The Children group and I were leading the children of the local school around a huge fire dancing and singing. We had been teaching English and sports all day in their strict environment, and tonight, we hoped to engage them by dancing, singing and holding hands as a community.
At this point, however, I was exhausted and after the first hour I began to roam through the group like a ghost. As I was walking, I felt a tiny, grubby hand place itself in mine and hold on tight. I looked down to see the radiant face of one of the beautiful girls I had been teaching earlier in the day. She pulled me to the first ring dancing around the fire and I felt instantly rejuvenated as she passed her spirited nature on to me.
This child’s act pumped into me a sense of community that was so reflective of the Chinese culture’s stress on strong family relationships and close friendships. Although this seemed like such a simple act, her desire to include me in the festivities was so powerful and in my opinion, so mature for such a young girl.
I was overwhelmed.
It was a moment I held on to for the rest of the trip, and one that I will always remember now that I’m back home in the United States.
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