Wish You Happy Forever by Jenny Bowen

Author:Jenny Bowen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Jingli

Ba Jingli, female, was born on January 3, 1996; found at the gate of Baling City Social Welfare Institution on May 3, 1996, with a bottle, two suits of clothing, and a bag of diapers. She had a round face and black hair, with misshapen lower limbs. She was reported to Baling City Security Bureau on that day. The police couldn’t find her parents and relatives, so placed her in Baling City Institution. We hope she can conquer the serious illness and have a peaceful, happy, and lucky life.

I first saw Jingli in the fall of 2002 when I visited her orphanage as a prospective program site. I always tried to scout potential sites well in advance of selection—in part to assess the need, but equally, to scope out the director and staff. It hadn’t taken long to learn that the success of our programs would depend on those people.

Based on the obvious criteria, Baling was not a place I would have chosen. The Baling orphanage director reminded me of the worst kind of Hollywood agent, right down to the black shirts, quirky bright neckties, and slicked-back hair. But it wasn’t the garb—Director “Slick” stood too close and was a butt-grabber, and he charged adoptive parents five hundred dollars for a homemade DVD about his orphanage. And maybe it was just me, but I had a hunch the man was a baby-broker.

I’d seen the signs before. Row after row of beautiful, healthy baby girls, all less than a year old—perfect for adoption. No older kids. No special needs. He walked me through the baby rooms as if they were auto showrooms. Only after he’d hurried off to take a call from the mayor (making sure we knew who was calling), and left us with a young office administrator, did we find the rest of the Baling story.

“Nihao,” I said to the office administrator. “What’s your name?”

“Luo.”

“ZZ, please ask Ms. Luo where the older children are. There must be some. Explain that Half the Sky would like to build a beautiful preschool here in Baling for the older children. But we must meet them first.”

I’m sure that ZZ put it better, for Ms. Luo made a phone call and motioned for us to follow her to the yard behind the children’s building.

It was a low, small concrete building. Out front, in the pounded dirt courtyard, a couple of women were providing rehabilitation massage for two small boys with cerebral palsy. The women seemed to be expecting us and beamed happily as we watched them set upon their tasks with vigor, bending and stretching spastic little limbs.

I edged toward the worn wooden doorway. Miss Luo tried to stop me. Too late. I was inside.

The only light came from one small window. The walls were dank and dirty. The air musty. The little children were lined up against the wall on small chairs or benches. There were maybe twenty of them, from about four to ten years old. All had special needs. They weren’t tied.

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