A couple of weeks in Xi'an

During that first week of summer, the heat seemed unbearable. The kind that sinks beneath the trees and rises from the pavements, from which there is no escape under a perpetually cloudy sky. At work we were set to cleaning a large rug. The orphanage centre didn't have a hoover, so we were scooping dust with a dustpan and brush. Of all the cleaning jobs I had to do, that was probably the worse (and that includes Chinese toilets). As I stopped to give my aching arms a rest, my heart sinking because I realised I was only halfway through, I noticed one of my co-volunteers had disappeared. I was lucky enough to work with two people, a mother and a daughter. I asked was told that there was a commotion downstairs: one of the special needs kids was being sent home. You have to understand that the people I worked with were good people, they were giving and cared for every disabled child there. However, the children who still had families were required to pay a small monthly contribution.
The child in question was one we'd nicknamed 'Little Fatty', his plump face giggled when we swung him around, and he'd often slip his hand into yours as you climbed a flight of stairs. He had been in this care centre for over a year.
His parents were no longer able to pay the school fee. The father had little income and even less training or education, and his mother was blind. Their son was crying and refusing to leave the Special Needs Centre.
I worked with a wonderful woman who exemplified all the kindness and spirit the Chinese are so often capable of, and went down to see if she could help. She ended up paying for the little boy to stay another month, and paid for medical examinations which would ultimately grant him help from the government. To top it all off, she bought enough chicken for the whole orphanage, and we had it with rice and vegetables that very lunchtime.
I was fortunate enough to witness other scenes disproving all our theories on humanity's ultimate selfishness and greed, but this was the first and of which I keep a fond memory.
The orphanage cut up a watermelon that afternoon, which we ate whilst caring for the kids, who gleefully let the juice dribble down their chins.