Chenzhou Story - continued
The 4-Star Hotel
About half way up the mountain we had reserved what was said to be the last available hotel room in Chenzhou....the "Grand Suite" on the executive floor of the town's 4 star hotel. Apparently the first thing families with the option did when power and water were cut off was move their families into the town's hotels, especially the few with emergency generators.
Little surprise our suite was available...they were asking 2100 RMB per night, lights guaranteed, water intermittent, no heat. One bed, a crew of 4. Can we get "roll away beds?" No, they are all being used by other guests. How about extra blankets? Sorry, you need to bring your own from home. Right. Book us for two nights, we'll sort out the sleeping later.
Lobby partially lit, doorman in cute doorman outfit opens the door and we trudge into the empty lobby carrying 4 blankets we kept for ourselves from the dozens Birgitta bought in Guangzhou....when was that anyway?... a week ago? 
We leave the bitter cold of outside, and are immediately struck by the even colder interior. Imagine that house in Dr. Zhivago, but without all the icicles. Miranda's breath steams, trying one last time to get the price down. I insist she blatantly play the "orphan card." No go. The assistant manager in hooded parka feels our pain, feels the kids' pain, but can't help on either score. "The computer sets the room price, it's out of my hands."
As we ascend in the elevator I reflect on how our only deal on this entire trip so far that didn't offer to help the kids was a computer programmed in some distant place not to recognize the difference between businessmen on expense accounts and motley groups like ours with different motives. Take the human element out of such matters and compassion disappears as well.
I'm still mulling that as our frigid executive suite is turned in a few short minutes into a refugee's crash pad. Miranda gets the box springs in the master, I elect the privacy of couch cushions on the floor, letting the two drivers snuggle together on the mattress by the (sadly) empty minibar. We spread out the kids' blankets and all burrow in. The drivers want to smoke and watch a kung fu movie on tv. I insist in sign language (stern look, finger swept in a violent cutting motion across my throat) on lights and cigarettes out. I win without a protest.
Feb 6, Day 3
Up at 6:30....the first dawn light over the horizon. No need to dress, we (barely) slept fully clothed.
New Year’s Eve in Chenzhou
On our way out the door, we meet Director Shi, who stops by to explain he's got to rush off to the diesel station on the outskirts of town to try to get fuel for the new generator the government delivered to him last night. That's such great news, they may actually soon have their own power! Can we help? No, the lines are 3 hours long and only he stands a chance, ‘cause he's meant to hook up with a town official to cut him to the head of the line. Does he have a container for the fuel? No. We offer the two soda bottles that got us through last night's radiator fiasco, he declines, confident he'll work something out.
He leaves us with Zhou Dan, and we head for the orphanage. As soon as we arrive, Shi calls wondering if we can come help him transport the fuel. We get the address, program the GPS and our driver starts out the gate when the call comes through not to bother to come, something's gone wrong.....there'll be no diesel today.
While I never did find out what happened, it's now clear that this town, already barely operational, is in the process of shutting down absolutely completely. Even here the New Year show will go on. The few stores we'd hoped to find open are closing up earlier than their anticipated noon closings. It's New Year's Eve and everyone, after two weeks of discomfort and a nerve-wracking crisis just can't wait. By mid-morning the town is shuttered tight.
The Babies & Their HTS Nannies
By now, the older children who reside at Chenzhou SWI had all gone home with caregivers and SWI staff for the holiday. Only the babies remain. I join Zhou Dan and HTS’ Nanny Supervisor as they check on how all the babies made it though another freezing night. Like the rest of the town, the baby rooms are quiet and still.
For reasons I'm not sure of, Chenzhou has always had a large population of babies and few older children, so Half the Sky's program here is very Baby Sister intensive. We have 30 nannies caring for about 150 babies. Even though the place is shabby and worn (in anticipation of a move into a new building in late spring) usually these halls are brightly lit and 
filled with curious infants and toddlers and groups of nannies playing and interacting with their charges on brightly colored mats, babies sleeping or goofing off at odd angles in rows of cribs. Today the halls are silent and dark except for the dim window light. It's strange and unfamiliar, but there's no feeling that anything is wrong.
We enter the first room, with about 10 cribs and my first reaction is, "Where are the kids?" It's very soon clear they are either sleeping or quietly waiting out the situation under the stacks of blankets piled a half-foot high in each crib. A caretaker hovers around the room, making sure that each baby's face remains uncovered, occasionally feeling each forehead and tucking down covers under chins. Most of the kids also have padding around the tops of their heads....so that the only bare skin exposed to the cold is a few square inches of face...minimally the eyes, the nose, the mouth. 
All the babies are either asleep or resting peacefully. None are fighting the claustrophobia I'm sure I would feel.
I put my hand under one of the blankets to wiggle a baby's toes and am struck by the warmth. Not only is the body heat of two babies totally insulated under the covering, but each crib has a long rubber hot water bottle sending up warmth from under the babies' feet. We get a few smiles, but mostly it's looks of patient detachment. No doubt in their short lives they have no idea what any of this means......a month ago they were free to wiggle and squirm and move about freely. 
Now they lay deep inside protective cocoons, toasty warm with a cold chill on their faces. How could one ever know, but they appear to understand that their role in this process is to stay still and not fight their covering.
A few babies smile, a few are afraid of me, a few grasp my finger playfully, remaining otherwise perfectly still. With insulated baby jumpsuits, Zhou Dan explains, they'd be able to give each child an occasional vacation from her cocoon...to stretch, roll around, play with their HTS nannies. 
But until they get those clothes, the babies need to stay in their warm cribs. The babies are occasionally moved around and rolled side to side by the caretakers and their diapers are checked, and that routine has so far kept any of the babies from getting any kind of bedsores and the like.
The crib rooms are actually colder than the playrooms, each of which has a stainless steel coal stove in its center. Pressed coal bricks and charcoal are banked a few times a day. Inside each, a small pile of barbeque-like coals glows a dim red. The heat these units put out is very subtle but effective. The stoves themselves are not hot, only warm, to the touch...and the fumes are vented from each room by long steel pipes.
Zhou Dan explains that they don't use these stoves in the crib rooms, ‘cause even though there is no smell, not 100% of the fumes are always carried outside by the piping system. The cribbed babies without snow suits that fit spend 24/7 in their cribs, so it's much safer and a wise precaution not to attempt heating the air. Because only the older babies with snowsuits spend time in the playrooms, and only an hour or so a day, the slight stove smell is not harmful, in fact, I couldn't smell a thing, but don't doubt Zhou Dan's nose for these things is way more sensitive than mine.
It's amazing the difference these little stoves make...they aren't even hot to the touch, but the chill is totally gone from the room. 
Even though the playrooms aren't exactly warm, they're quite comfortable enough for the babies who have "snow suits." Three or 4 of the playrooms had groups of a few "Santa-suited" babies playing with Half the Sky nannies on floor mats. 
While spartan and minimal, the combination of coal stoves and the snow suits seems to work out. The babies are happy and well.
Shi returns and tells us he’s now confident that before their current stock of provisions runs out, they'll be able to stay ahead of the curve shopping locally. Stores should start re-opening at the end of the weekend. They have a reliable source of coal, price uncertain, but delivery not in doubt. 
They've been told there will be baby formula and other essentials to be had when the city comes back to life. A local farmer just dropped off a load of cabbages, so they've even now got some veggies to spice up their rice, and a few relief agencies have promised to bring in more supplies within the next week. He's got an assurance from his “Army buddy” that he'll have his generator diesel "within days." For the first time since this "hundred year storm" dumped on Chenzhou, Director Shi says he feels he can relax. And I believe him, he hasn't lit a cigarette in ten minutes.
We review the worst case. What if the stores don't open? What if they don't have what the babies need? What if the coming storm is worse than expected and something more unforeseen goes wrong (though none of us can imagine what that might be)? 
I explain to Mr. Shi that Guy Russo, the husband of Deanne Bevan, Half the Sky's Development Director, has been standing by, ready to lead a second convoy, that Birgitta and her team are standing by in Guangzhou to provision Guy's group, that we even have our own "Army buddy" who promises us chains that he guarantees will get us over the mountain. Shi relaxes some more. We explain that as soon as the banks reopen with power, Half the Sky will be able to wire disaster relief funds to Chenzhou, just like it's been doing with many other (less hard hit) institutions all week. Shi relaxes more, lights up and, for the first time since last night, seems to enjoy it.
Family First
So it's decided. Our group is going to try to beat the storm and get below the snow line this afternoon. Miranda and driver Deng do their best to hide their elation, and 
I'm suddenly overtaken myself with an intense desire not to be the only person in China with a family who doesn't make it home for the holiday... a holiday that, before this trip, frankly never meant much to me. I don't think I'll ever feel that way again.
It's now about 1:30 and hotel check out time was 12:00. We head back to quickly gather our things from our Executive Suite and check out. An argument ensues....the hotel clerk says that we've missed check out time and will be gouged another 2100 RMB for tonight whether we stay or not. I restrain Miranda just a she's about to lunge across the counter, asking for the Manager from the night before. The rattled clerk disappears in a door. Just as our Jeep's loaded, the Manager bursts out the door with a big grin and tells me he was able to erase the charge because "the computer didn't know what time it is!" He's so happy he could help. The only black mark on this whole trip is just erased, just like that.
We say our goodbyes, and hit the now-quiet highway back to Guangzhou. On the way I do my best to keep those babies out of my mind so I can write my recollections of this trip, which Jenny wants me to do so we can share this experience with the thousands of people from all over the world have been avidly following the babies in China's Welfare Institutions since this weather started. But it's hard not to think about those faces staring up at me from beneath those piles of blankets. I'm so happy they're warm, so happy they'll eat well, so happy they've got such dedicated HTS nannies to attend to their needs. I wish they had parents.
But I can't shake the gnawing feeling that, as the stars of this little drama, they remained blissfully unaware of the countless worldwide threads, the amazing generosity of donors abroad and their fellow Chinese who all contributed to this effort to make sure they would be OK now, so that someday they could thrive.
Half the Sky's organizational culture has always stressed that, even though we care for children without families, at heart ours is an organization wholly about family. We're all about embracing that irony and widening the definition of family....beyond bloodlines, beyond nationalities. It's all about creating bonds of family where they once didn't exist.
Basically, our last few days have been dominated by the logistics of soldiering a truck full of goods over an icy mountain. But as I arrive home to my daughters and wife I'm struck by the deeper meaning of this little adventure. Hidden from me till now, I realize how, in my own way, I became infected with the spirit of Chinese New Year. This holiday that puts family first, that says get home at all costs, your family's waiting....I'm now sure that's what drove us up that mountain (even if those little family members didn't know they were awaiting our arrival).
I've just arrived back in Hong Kong and, wish I knew how to say thanks to every person who contributed to this project, from donors around the world to the balloon lady on the street in Shaoguan. I feel honored to be part of the very special world-wide family that includes all those warm babies in Chenzhou.
Happy New Year!
Richard Bowen