Adopting internationally has changed me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. When we first decided to adopt from China, I had a very limited understanding of how everything would work and how I would be affected. Understandably, I suppose, I thought only about the child we would be adopting and how blessed our family would be with her presence. What I didn’t think about is how China would get under my skin and become a part of my life in so many ways. During the wait, I began to educate myself about China’s history and government, in particular, and started to dapple with learning Mandarin. Over time, I came to know much more about China’s politics, culture, government and history than the average Joe probably does, but the more I learned, the more I realized I hardly knew anything.

When we finally traveled, the loose, abstract ideas I’d had about China began to take shape into something more tangible and hopefully more accurate. We landed in Guangzhou and had a three-hour layover before our flight to Beijing, and those three hours of people-watching were quite enlightening. I remember the pointy-toed, high-heeled boots and shoes that many women wore, the tiny cell phone necklaces (like nothing I’d ever seen before), and the insane number of cigarette smokers. I quickly realized the Guangzhou was a modern, bustling city with all the amenities I was used to. And if Guangzhou was modern, Beijing was downright progressive. I thought I had China all figured out.

Then we went to the small-ish (by China’s standards, anyway) town of Fengcheng, in Jiangxi, and I saw a different China. It was certainly bustling and noisy, but lacked the “western” flavor found in the other two cities. There was no KFC, no McDonald’s, no English signage, no trendy clothing stores, and my husband and I were thronged by mobs of people everywhere we went. We stood out like sore thumbs.

Later, we went to a village outside of Fengcheng. Our facilitator theorized that our daughter may have been born into a village such as this. The people lived in simple four-room cement homes. They had no glass in the window openings and had a single light bulb hanging in the middle of the main room. There were two sleeping rooms, a sitting room, and a “kitchen” – a kitchen with no running water, a fire pit for an oven, and a small table for a counter. There was no refrigerator or pantry, just a small freestanding cupboard. Our facilitator offered some money to the woman who was kind enough to open her home to us, and I felt creepy and ashamed for paying an entrance fee to gawk at her family and home like she was some exotic animal in a zoo. Outside, pigs, chickens and ducks ran around freely, clothing and food alike dried (or froze, more accurately) on lines, and an awful stench filled the air. Stinky mud was everywhere. People gathered eggs, and it appeared that some small crops grew nearby in the warmer months. A couple of stray dogs wandered around, looking for food. The scene was, well, dismal.

Still later, we visited our daughter’s orphanage. Although she had spent her days in a foster home, we wanted to see the orphanage to which she’d been brought in her first hours of life. It was rundown, dreary, and completely devoid of toys, books or other diversions for the children. There was no heat, and it was probably 25 degrees. Tiny babies were bathed in small basins right out in the open, while some slept in half-barrel “cradles,” and others fought against the layers of clothing to move their walkers from place to place. Chipped tile floors and peeling paint were the only decorations, and I couldn’t tell whether the building was 100 years old or 20, but just poorly maintained. I still don’t know. The place was cold, damp, and depressing, and oodles of babies called this home. Even though the nannies were lively and kind and seemingly loving and compassionate, and even though we were treated with great respect, I felt sick at the thought that this scene constituted the whole of life for these little babies. They had nothing.

So when I went home with my new baby to my large, warm, comfortable house – a house with running water (all of it drinking water, no less – even in the toilets), appliances, furniture, TVs, DVD players, toys, clothes, kitchen full of food, bedrooms for everyone, fancy-schmancy décor and huge yard, I found myself feeling like a big jerk. How could I have all this when so many people in the country of my daughter’s birth have so very little? I was so troubled by the inequity of it all, but felt helpless to do anything.

Eventually, I began to realize that while I couldn’t help an entire nation of people, I could focus my energy on the children who were still in the orphanage. I organized a donation drive in conjunction with the creation of an orphanage scrapbook, and it was a big success. Families who’d completed their adoptions submitted scrapbook pages, which I assembled into a large book for the orphanage, and each family made a monetary donation. We used this money to create a fund at Altrusa, specifically for the needs of the orphanage. I also helped organize groups of traveling parents who were willing to band together and buy needed materials for the orphanage. Through this cooperative effort, toys, clothes, air conditioners, washers and dryers were purchased. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and I felt much better about doing a little than doing nothing!

Here’s your chance to do a little something. :) Below are my favorite organizations that work for the benefit of children in Chinese orphanages. Pick one, will ya? Future posts will deal with other charitable opportunities, so pace yourselves, OK?

Altrusa/Amity sponsors a variety of charitable projects in Chinese orphanages.
Half-the-Sky provides nurture and education programs to children, as well as teacher/nanny training.
Love Without Boundaries provides medical care and surgeries to Chinese orphans.

Further Reading:

China Adoption Blog
China Adoption