Updates on Earthquake News

Posted on May 27, 2008 by connieinasia

 

             “How’s Little Flower?” my neighbors asked upon our return today from the vet’s.

            “Getting better!” I said cheerfully.  “The vet said maybe one or two more days of treatment.”

            The news today for my little dog was positive, but the reports from our earthquake zones not quite so uplifting. 

            Sunday’s strong aftershock caused great strain on already damaged dams and newly formed swelling lakes (created by landslides) which threaten to break.  The army hiked miles into the mountain areas to dynamite and relieve the possible flooding situation but were only hampered by more rain that came last night.  80,000 are being evacuated today with hope that all can be out of dangerous areas by midnight tonight.  It’s a mind-boggling figure, to move so many.  Packing up their tents, their few things left, their bedding . . . . And move to where?

            I received a phone call today from Amity Foundation’s Liu Ruhong, who is the director of the education division, concerning some updates about next year’s Amity teachers as well as the current  relief efforts.  Last Saturday, Amity staff escorted a number of psychologists from Nanjing University to tend to the emotional needs of the survivors.  When I asked Liu Ruhong how they were doing, she gave me an update.

            “Oh, so terrible!” she said.  “You know, they bring their own tent to stay in but because of the heavy rains, the ground is so wet.  Water everywhere. Luckily, one of the relief teams gave them an inflatable tent floor to keep them off the muddy ground but all one night, they couldn’t sleep.”

            Liu Ruhong mentioned that the need for tents is still quite serious.  There are some remote villages with survivors who only had received food supplies but nothing else.  They have no decent shelters.  Everything was already destroyed by the quake and there is nothing to make tents out of but what they can salvage from the debris. 
            These kind of people Amity relief teams are scurrying to reach.  It is a daunting task, especially as Amity’s disaster relief division has only a handful of people, as do most of the divisions in Amity. The Amity Foundation is a small organization with very big outreach programs.  The staff workload is tremendous yet they have a commitment to helping others in their country and thus they struggle onward with fortitude and strength.

            Those of you trying to log onto the website may find that you are not even able to get on.  This is due to the astronomical amount of emails and hits their site has received since this started.

              Liu Ruhong told me that today, she was finally able to reply to 35 emails but there were many more backed up (some for days) which she has not yet been able to access.  Overseas’ sending agencies are contacting her, wanting to know how they can help and what the current situation is.  Although Liu Ruhong’s division is the education division, many overseas’ organizations are in contact directly with her because they have foreign teachers in the Amity program.  Her excellent English skills of course allow her to better answer their questions.  So now her job has doubled.  Not only is she overseeing all the educational programs of Amity (overseas’ projects and domestic ones as well), but  she is now the person to contact for the outside agencies to better understand the earthquake situation.   

            In the city, I find that, while the tents are noticeably disappearing, there are still people who are living outside.  Sunday’s strong quake and another today (5.7) may very well see people continuing their camping living style for quite some time.   Even in my apartment complex, the tents remain.   Our little public park next to my compound is also still crowded with shelters, mostly kept by those who live in the apartment highrise next to us.  Those residents are still fearful to return home.

            My taxi driver today provided even more information about the wariness people feel.  When I commented on how heavy the traffic was, he contradicted me. 

            “Not so much now,” he said.  “After the earthquake, many people with cars left the city.  They aren’t coming back for 2 or 3 months.”

            Outside, going on 8 p.m., the air is heavy, thick and sticky.  Storm clouds have sifted in throughout the day and are now gathered above our heads.  They seem to be laughing at us, teasing us to guess their intentions to either move on or let loose with a torrent. 
            My grandma always fondly called rain, “God’s water.”  But with so much riding on more rain coming, with disastrous consequences if downpours occur, I wonder if the Sichuanese, or any of us here, for that matter, would be so pleased to agree with her.

 

            From Chengdu,  wishing you all a “Ping An” (Peace)

 

 REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

             

           

 

 

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Dr. Q’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital

Posted on May 26, 2008 by connieinasia
 
 

           Early Saturday morning, as I swiftly walked through the open doors of Chengdu’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital,  I felt a wave of relief.  Little Flower, my Chihuahua-mix pooch, had been sick all night.  But now, soon to be under the protective care of Dr. Qiu (or Dr. Q) and his staff, I knew she would receive the best of care.

            In my previous entry, I explained that Little Flower was diagnosed with the parvo virus.  With this diagnosis of a very serious illness, Dr. Q had her immediately tied to a table, an IV pouring medication and fluids through her little body, while I stood nearby.  

            Unlike American veterinarian clinics, owners are often present next to their pets as they receive their treatment.  This kind of clinic care is nothing new in China.  In fact, Chinese animal hospitals follow much the same protocol as human hospitals here.              

            In China,  relatives or friends are responsible for the daily care of their sick loved ones.  Such care includes washing clothes and bedding, supplying sleeping wear, bringing food, helping the person to the bathroom or emptying bedpans, summoning the nurse if necessary, and around-the-clock comforting of the patient.  Many bring cots to sleep next to the sick, camp out on the floor or spend overnights in uncomfortable wooden chairs.  They knit.  They read.  They sleep.  There are very few, if any, TVs in the average Chinese hospital.  People entertain themselves.

            In China, hospitals are very busy places.  People are crammed into large rooms, with both patients and care-giving relatives alike, not to mention exhausted nurses and doctors who bustle about, diligently attending to hundreds in a single day.

            This is one reason why the earthquake has been so draining on all medical personnel in Sichuan hospitals.  The buildings were already crowded with patients before the disaster.  The earthquake only added hundreds of thousands more, and some of them have no relatives to look after their daily needs. According to the news, 300,000 were sent by ambulance caravans to provinces all over the country due to the overload.

            In Dr. Q’s animal hospital, as in any human hospital, we sit with our animals.  We bring them water or food if needed.  We provide their bedding and diapers, placed under them for urinating as they can’t move.  We pet and comfort them in this strange place.  Dr. Q and his staff, meanwhile, are free to attend to all their medical needs.  

            Last Saturday morning, in the large room next to Little Flower’s, the TV was showing full on-the-scene coverage of Sichuan’s earthquake.  Dr. Q’s staff assistants, 5 young women with one being noticeably pregnant, were glued to the T.V., as so many of us are these days.  This early in the morning, only four canine patients and one feline were receiving meds on their separate IV tables.  The ladies had time to spare in between checking their assigned animals, thus the relaxed atmosphere.

            Dr. Q, meanwhile, was waiting for more owners with their animals to arrive.  He sat at his computer in his office and searched the Net for medical supplies.

             Four years ago, he would never have had such a lull in his day.  His animal hospital would have been filled with 20 or more sick pets, along with their owners, and kept the staff running from early morning to late at night.  But that was when  breeding small dogs became a lucrative business.  Several years ago, many people, on a whim, decided this was a good money-maker as they watched a sudden jump in people’s desire to own certain dogs.  The problem was many of these so-called breeders were not at all aware of good breeding practices, pet care or proper health precautions.  Puppies and dogs with parvo, distemper, hepatitis, and nasty skin diseases came and went, with the death rate quite high.   The animals were just too sick to be saved, no matter how hard Dr. Q and his people tried.

              Now, however, the Chinese public are on to other popular items besides dogs so his clinic remains somewhat quiet, at least for the winter months when diseases are not so easily spread.

            Dr. Q’s background as a vet is quite unusual.  After graduating from Sichuan Agricultural University’s School of Veterinary Medicine, he began a long career at the famous Wolong Panda Research Center.  From 1983-1993, he and his colleagues perfected methods of breeding pandas in captivity.  Dr. Q was instrumental in this venture due to his time in Britain in 1984.  He and another colleague studied the UK’s success in raising pandas in captivity, controlling diseases, and the reproductive habits of the animals.  In 1987, their research and top veterinarian skills paid off.  The first panda in captivity was born, named “Blue Sky” (Lan Tian) by Britain’s King Phillip.

            1993-1999 sent Dr. Q to the Chengdu Wildlife Rescue Center, where he traveled with pandas on their visits to Canadian and American zoos.  He also was honored enough to escort the panda Tian-Tian (Sky) to Britain as a gift to the London Zoo since their previous panda had died.

            He said that life among the pandas was new and different, with many opportunities to talk to well-learned DVMs who were the tops in their fields.  But working in a government job had its drawbacks.  The pay was low and the hours extremely long.  When Dr. Q’s father became bedridden, nursing care and specialized medical care was required yet his salary at that time was not enough to cover the costs.     Thus, in 1999, Dr. Q left his career with the pandas behind him and moved into private practice.  His care of small animals not only proved to be a good move for him financially but also for those of us needing our animals cared for by a qualified healthcare expert in the pet world.

             In China, it is very hard to find a truly experienced, qualified vet.  This is due to the lax rules and regulations the government has on animal hospitals.  After 4 years of study at a veterinarian school of medicine, almost anyone can easily apply and get a license good for 5 years.  There is no prolonged internship requirement so a majority of these graduates have only book training and little else.  Their treatments are sometimes uncalled for, their hospitals unsanitary, and the animals being cared for often die due to infections or improper diagnosis.   There are thousands of such vets setting up shop throughout all of  China.  In Chengdu alone, they pop up seemingly overnight.  These one-or-two room clinics  promise proper care for your pet, but a visit sometimes proves otherwise.  Taking your sick pet to an animal clinic in China is tricky and unless you truly know the background and quality of the care to be given to your dog or cat, watch out.

            However, Dr. Q did tell me that things will be changing.  After years of  concerned DVMs pushing the government for stricter guidelines, it looks like next year will see things looking up for those of us with sick animals.  Veterinarian school graduates will now be required to have a 3-4 year internship before a private license will even be considered.  Licenses can only be renewed after a yearly exam which will test past and current knowledge of animal medicine and treatment.  Animal clinics will be required to have an adequate amount of space and rooms with a fixed number of both lay and learned veterinarian assistants along with at least one senior vet.  These drastic measures are a great relief for those true professionals in Dr. Q’s field. 

            Currently, Dr. Q’s animal clinic is not only the largest and best-equipped in the city, it might very well be the best in Southwestern China.  Dr. Q has a number of cubicles for quarantining animals, treatment centers, and overnight stays if necessary, although these are not usual practices in China.  (Owners take their animals home every evening after their IV meds are done for the day.)  His clinic likewise includes a full lab, operating room,  his own private office, waiting room and a small shop of animal supplies. On staff,  Dr. Q has 8 assistants, two other qualified veterinarians  and one intern.  There is a loft upstairs where one assistant and one vet sleep when on duty at night for emergency purposes or to care for animals staying overnight.  And Dr. Q’s relative, his wife’s Uncle Wang, is the 24-hour custodian who also doubles as the staff’s cook.  A kitchen allows him to stir-fry meals for everyone’s lunch and dinner.   Since hours at the clinic are long (7 days a week, 8:30 a.m. to 7 p.m. or longer), Dr. Q feels it necessary to provide his people with home-cooked meals rather than order greasy take-out.   

            As Little Flower completes her 3rd day of IVs at Dr. Q’s hospital, we are all pleased that she is coming along well.  In another 2 or 3 days, she should be back to her happy self.  A week later, despite her vaccination allergies, she will have her boosters and our walks around the Sichuan campus can once again resume.   

            I’ll have Dr. Q and his diligent staff to thank for that.

 

From Chengdu, I wish you all  “Ping An!”  (Peace)

           

           

REMINDER FOR AID IN TO EARTHQUAKE AREAS TO BUY TENTS, VACCINES AND OTHER SUPPLIES 

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

             

Posted in Chengdu Life: Pets in China | Leave a comment

Another Scare on a Worship of Prayer Sunday

Posted on May 25, 2008 by connieinasia

 

            Sunday late afternoon was bringing our city of tents to a close.  The city government sent police to chase public park campers away.  The Sichuan University campus was being vacated of everyone sleeping outdoors.   Many fearful residents voluntarily moved themselves indoors.

            And then. . .  another strong quake hit, sending residents flying down my building’s stairwell and out into the compound. 

            Just a few hours ago, I returned from a long day out.  I had dropped off the dog at the vet’s around 8:30 a.m.   I quickly taxied over for the Chengdu Protestant Church Sunday prayer service for those in the earthquake.  After that, it was a direct hike to the swimming pool complex for an hour of exercise.  A few hours later, I joined NPR’s senior producer, Art Silverman, at The Bookworm coffee shop for a friendly chat.  (He is currently on vacation after finishing his stint of  the Chengdu Diary NPR series here in the city).  We had a pleasant walk back to his hotel before parting.  Then I cruised the pet and fish market where small shops along the roadside sold everything imaginable for your animal.   Finally, I called it quits and taxied back to my apartment.

            As I sat typing emails around 4:25 p.m., I could feel the tremor coming.  It was a miniscule ripple undulating beneath me as I sat on the couch, and lasted for about 7 seconds.  I was thinking, "Here it comes!"  before a rumble sent the ceiling lights swaying.  Although this tremor lasted for only about 5 seconds, it was enough to send those inside once again racing into the compound area.  

             Will the city be back on full alert?  Will residents once again feel uneasy and fearful?

             Television stations now  have running texts below screen that report of a 6.4 quake (or 5.8 by the US Geological Service) having hit our area at 4:27 p.m. Such constant  updates have not been unusual for the past 2 weeks.  On the 24-hour earthquake channel, tremors have been carefully counted and then shown across the screen:  “7,420  tremors, 25 tremors 4.0 – 5.0, 12 tremors 5.0 – 6.0,  4 tremors 6.0 – 7.0”

            With so much worry and paranoia in Chengdu, I wonder now how many will return this evening to their outdoor habitats, or are people finally coming to accept that tremors are not necessarily a reason to panic?

            Tonight will tell.

            But my greatest concern at present is for our earthquake survivors to the north.   Over 300 were injured by this last current tremor with one death. Unsteady buildings still standing collapsed.  Debris shifted. Fear of further dam damage was reported and landslides a strong possibility with the threat of rain this evening.  Then we have the survivors.  After trying to put their lives back together, a 5.8 tremor is just another reminder of that day 2 weeks ago.   When the ground quakes beneath their feet, I’m sure the terror returns.

 

           Today was the Christian community’s prayer services to remember those in the earthquake.  Both the Chengdu Catholic Church and the Chengdu Protestant Church chose today for their Worship of Prayer, in remembrance of those in the May 13th earthquake.  This was a very fitting way for us as Christians to remember those in need and those who have died. 

           At the city Protestant church I attend, Saturday provided 3 prayer services for 50-minutes each, and today was increased to four.  Today,  8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and 2 p.m. times were posted outside the church, with me attending the 9:30 worship.

           Usually, the large church sanctuary is packed with worshipers.  Those coming in a bit late are forced into the crowded balcony.  But with so many prayer hours, there were still a few seats in the pews available, even for me who arrived a bit after service had started.  It was a wise decision to hold so many gatherings because the balcony is now off-limits, most likely due to the tremors we’ve been having.

           Our prayer worship today was just that:  prayer.  There was no choir. There was no piano accompaniment. There was no long-winded sermon.  We read from Psalms 46 and 91.  We sang only one hymn, "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms."  We recited the Lord’s Prayer.  And we prayed silently.  This was the shortest service I’ve ever attended in China, since usually 1 1/2 to 2 hours is the norm, but it was the most meaningful for me as a Christian in this country.  To be surrounded by my Chinese brothers and sisters in Christ, with our prayers lifted upward as one, was a very emotional and spiritual experience. 

           At 10:20, we left the sanctuary to find a crowd outside the gate area of the church waiting to come in.   A special offering box for earthquake relief was placed at one entrance and the usual church offering box at the other.  I watched as many coming and going placed their money into the collection for earthquake aid.  There were many 100 yuan bills ($14.00) being slipped into the slot, a very generous amount for those who have so little money themselves to give.

          As I walked down the church sidestreet, I couldn’t help but hum our selected hymn and think how appropriate a choice it had been.  Not somber, but uplifting, full of the Lord’s love and support, a reminder that the compassionate arms of God are there for all of us.

             

                     What have I to dread, what have I to fear,

                     Leaning on the everlasting arms;
                     I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
                     Leaning on the everlasting arms.

 

               From Chengdu, on this Sunday of Prayer, I wish you all ,  "Ping An" (Peace!)

 

 

 

Reminder for those wishing to help:

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

           

 

           

           

             

           

           

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A Sick Dog, A Sleepless Night

Posted on May 24, 2008 by connieinasia
        
          Last night was supposed to have me in bed by 11 p.m. and a great sleep-in in the morning.  Instead, it was an anxious, restless wait for morning to come.  The reason?

          Xiao Hua (Little Flower) was sick. 

         She hid in her carrier, her little body shivering due to a fever, and refused to come out.  Laying on her side, her eyes pathetically gazing at me, she quietly endured her illness.   Not even a piece of her favorite hard candy would entice her to eat.

            For me, it seemed an endless night until the morning arrived, when Dr. Qiu’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital opened across town.  Dr. Qiu (chew), or Dr. Q as I sometimes call him, has been taking care of Little Flower for 6 years.  He  treated her for a serious case of puppy influenza (caught from the pet shop I saved her from), gave her her first vaccinations, spayed her and helped to diagnose her immune system disorder, for which she takes prednisone when it flares up every so often. 

            One of the greatest problems with Little Flower has been vaccinations.  After her immune system disorder, her body has little tolerance for vaccinations.  They can send her on intravenous drips for several days to get her temperature down, then a month or two of medications, before she’ll return to normal.  All vaccinations, even the rabies vaccine which is not a living vaccine, has had similar effects on her.  So after her 3rd vaccination set was given, to which she had a strong reaction, we decided to forgo vaccinations for awhile but check every year to make sure she had the anti-bodies she needed to fight off disease.

            For 2 years, her anti-bodies were strong enough, but this year, I was remiss in having her checked sooner.

            Sure enough, that proved to be my downfall because after testing this morning, Little Flower was diagnosed with canine parvovirus.  While this can be fatal, in LF’s case, I had been quick enough to get her to the vet’s.  She will now be on intravenous drips for 5-7 days, 6 hours a day, along with several other dogs who also suffer from the same illness.  The next few days are crucial in determining how well she will recover, so keep visiting my site for daily updates.

             LF will be dropped off for treatment before my classes in the morning, around 8:00 a.m., and be picked up in the late afternoon, around 5 p.m.  The virus is highly contagious to unprotected dogs so I will carefully monitor her when she goes outside.  No more romping with her male playmates for awhile, not that she wants to as she feels so bad.  

            A visit to the vet’s is always an experience in China because it’s so very different from that in the States.  Please watch this space for tomorrow’s full report of “A Visit to Dr. Q’s Clinic”, along with pictures and a special interview with Dr. Q himself. 

            Thank you for checking in and thinking of us! 

 

            Until tomorrow, "Ping An!"  (Peace)

Posted in Chengdu Life: Pets in China | Leave a comment

Chengdu Residents, Go Home!

Posted on May 23, 2008 by connieinasia
 
 

           Thursday morning  brings China’s earthquake virtually out of the international news.                                                                    

           In the States, Sen. Kennedy’s  illness claims headlines.  Internationl reports now turn to poor Myanmar, whose massive relief aid waits entry into a country with a military government very hesitant to allow it in.  And in China, the 3rd day of mourning over, the hardest struck areas are beginning to pull themselves together with hopes of a new future.                                                                                                                               

          In Chengdu, more schools  resumed their courses today.  Kids were out playing with their usual carefree abandon after being cooped up in classrooms all day.  Recreational facilities (such as my swimming pool complex, city amusement parks, exercise gyms, and sports’ centers)  once again opened their doors to the public.                                                                                                                  

          I assumed that city residents would be moving back indoors but it seems the earthquake has sunk in deeper than I could ever have imagined.  Camping communities are not shrinking by much, if at all.  Only 1 tent has disappeared in my compound.  The rest of our outdoor set-up still remains, the owners’ bedding carefully folded in preparation for another sleep under the stars.                                                                                                   

         This same thing can be said for the small parks that line Chengdu’s river canals.                                                                                                       

         On my return from the pool by taxi, I passed hundreds of outdoor shelters squeezed and crammed together along these canal front parks.  Residents sat on stools or chairs in front of their quickly erected homes.  Some sipped tea. Some knitted sweaters.  Some read newspapers.  Children who had returned from school were doing their homework on tables placed outside. They worked quickly. With another overnight sleep-out, darkness would soon be upon them and there would be little light to do their lessons.                                                                

        One does wonder just when people will pack up and go home.                                                     

        As my taxi  today drove  by these thousands of tents and their relaxed, seemingly happy occupants, I felt my anger rise.                                    

       “Too many tents and people living outside,” I vented to the driver.  “It’s safe!  No more earthquake.  No more big aftershocks.  Go home!  

      “Jiu-shi! (Yes!)”, my driver piped up, voicing his total agreement in Sichuan dialect.                                                                                             

       He added that  all was well here. He was living inside his apartment.  No problems at all.  But others, he explained, were still afraid.  The earthquake was a very bad happening.                                                                                                                        

        “They should go home, send their tents to the survivors,” I muttered. “Those people have lost everything.  They have no clothes.  They have no things.  They have no homes.”                                                                                                                                             

       “Jiu-shi!” my eager listener whole-heartedly concurred.                                                             

       Encouraged by his support, I continued my rant. I suggested the government make them all go home. If they don’t go home, the police will give them a fine.  The 1st day’s fine is 10 yuan ($1.40).  The 2nd day’s fine is another 10 yuan.  The 3rd day’s fine is still yet another 10 yuan.                                        

        My driver admired my innovative idea.                                                                           

       “If they must pay money,” he said, “they will all go home very quickly.”                      

       “And the money and tents we send to the survivors!” I grandly proclaimed as the driver pulled up to my destination.         

        His reply?                                                                                                                             

       “Jiu-shi!”

        Well, at least that’s one Chengdu resident I’ve won over.  Only 10 million more to go.

 

            From Chengdu, once again wishing you all a “Ping An!” Peace

 

Reminder for Those Wanting To Help

 

United Methodists:  UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake


Others:  The Amity Foundation   www.amityfoundation.org

 

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

Note To United Methodist Communities

Posted on May 22, 2008 by connieinasia
 

 

            Although this website is openly read by anyone, I will just send a private note to those of you who are of the United Methodist Church, with which I am affiliated.

            Now that things have calmed down, the money is trickling in instead of pouring in. I feel it’s a good time to raise that aid help with a reminder to those of you who are a part of the United Methodist Church community.

            We have a great way to give for many disaster-struck areas both domestic and international, the current earthquake relief in China being one of them.  This is UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief), which in China goes through The Amity Foundation as our long-time friend and Global Ministries partner.  Giving to UMCOR, via your church or Annual Conference, will give you credit for support.

            Here’s your number.  Let’s see what ya’ all can do!

 

UMCOR Advance #982450,

International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

            As always, “Ping An!” (Peace)

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

Tents desperately needed, but will Chengdu residents give?

Posted on May 21, 2008 by connieinasia

 

             Chengdu residents today were quite pleased with themselves.  A pouring, all-night rain  showed their tent purchases, no matter how outrageous the price, proved to be money well-spent. Those who created their own makeshift wonders, stockpiled with comforts of home and roofed off from the elements with thick plastic sheets, likewise felt satisfied with their efforts.   Cozily sleeping  away from their apartments, Chengdu residents, in their undamaged city, had a good night’s sleep last night. 

            The same can’t be said for the 5 million homeless north of us.   

            Tini Tran, of the Associated press, reported that 280,000 more tents were being shipped to the disaster areas, another 700,000 ordered but 3 million stilled needed.  With the rain coming down in Sichuan last night, I doubt very much the earthquake survivors, huddled in their flimsy shelters, had much sleep at all.  

            Our second day of mourning yesterday was to blanket the city with concern and loving support of our earthquake-hit Sichuanese  brothers and sisters.  Instead, it turned residents inward.   The panic of strong aftershocks left everyone forgetting about those up-province and concentrating more on themselves.  My apartment compound’s outdoor community doubled.  The number of open-sky squatters at Sichuan University exploded.  Grocery stores, family-run snack shops and outdoor equipment businesses quickly emptied their shelves.

            Despite seismologists’ public  news conferences yesterday assuring us that tremors most likely would not cause great harm to the city,  it was too late.  Panic prevailed. The damage was done.

           Today’s final day of national mourning finds Chengdu with cool temperatures, overcast skies and a sizable feeling of relief.  In my apartment complex, late morning still had my neighbors sleeping soundly upon their bedding.  Most are now in their apartments, going about their daily chores.  Shoppers  leisurely cruise the streets, but the tent communities remain.  No one seems willing to call it quits quite yet.

            Originally, city schools were to resume classes  two days ago and continue for the entire week.  But after Monday’s late-night panic, that has changed.   No classes for some schools for at least another day, including those at Sichuan University.

            Today, while taking the dog for a  stroll through  the campus, I noticed some normality had returned.  The frantic business of yesterday was gone.  Students walked slowly along the sidewalks. Many sat inside their tents playing cards, chatting or sleeping.  Damp bedding was being aired out on bushes.  In the woodsy sitting areas, several were deeply engrossed in their studies. A few of the departmental buildings were open, allowing the teachers to finally get some work done.  And on the basketball courts, the college sports’ crowd was once again enjoying shooting hoops or playing badminton. 

            My walk led me eventually to the stadium, which I had not seen since Monday afternoon.  Hundreds of more tents filled the lawns and the sports field.   Dozens of cars lined the curbsides.  Two trucks heaped high with trash drove by.

            “Did you sleep outside?” I asked a middle-aged couple I saw standing beside their car.

            They pointed to a makeshift shelter.

            “Are you afraid now?” was my next question to which the woman laughed and shook her head.

            “When are you going home?”

            She was uncertain but predicted very soon, perhaps  this evening.

            Little Flower and I worked our way through several camping communities.  Every so often, I would stop to ask students passing by or people in their tents if they were afraid, if they were staying put, and when they were returning to dorms or homes.  Everyone I talked to felt upbeat that all was well in Chengdu and there was little danger in sleeping indoors. 

            “We’ll go back tonight, or maybe tomorrow,” was the answer I received from most.

            Yet others were hesitant, saying to wait another two or three days would be best.

            My greatest question comes to the tents. With the tremor panic relatively at an end, what will these Chinese urban folk, who would never in their lifetimes have considered buying a tent, much less one for such a ludicrous amount of money, do with their now unneeded item?  Will they be donating to the earthquake survivors, in so great a need after losing all they have? 

            On the Sichuan University campus, responses were not very encouraging.

            “No,” those I asked replied, rather shocked that I asked. “We’ll use ourselves.”

            But my neighbors, the family of three who had purchased their tent the other day for $50, had a different answer.

            “Of course!” the wife answered emphatically. “When we live in our home, we will send our tent to the survivors.  We ought to do this.”

            I just hope that others will be as generous and giving.

 

Wanting to help with tent purchases (and other supplies)?  Send money using PayPal, or other means, through this Chinese NGO, The Amity Foundation.  ALL your dollars go directly to supplies, not office or staff costs. 

 

http://www.amityfoundation.org   

 

 (Click on the English version, then under Earthquake Relief Update, click on “EARTHQUAKE APPEAL: donate here”)

           

           

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“How Much Was Your Tent?”

Posted on May 20, 2008 by connieinasia

 

            Upon emerging from my apartment at 11:30 a.m. today,  I found that my neighbors had been quite productive that morning despite little sleep due to our midnight scare.   Elaborate makeshift dwellings had suddenly appeared.  Chairs, tables, sofas, mattresses, folding beds and cushions had been moved under huge tarps tied to trees.  Instead of bed comforters, which some had laid on the ground  last night, there were now sturdy nylon tents to take their places. 

             In less than 10 hours, we had gone from 10 portable camping shelters of all kinds to 17 store-bought tents and numerous makeshift tarp homes.

            I passed one couple and their daughter who live in the building next to mine.  They were putting together a small, brand new tent on the spot I had inhabited just a short time before.       

            “How much did you pay?” I asked them in Chinese. 

            “350 yuan ($50).”

            With their answer, I got to wondering:  Just how much are people paying for tents these days?

             

            Since the dog was in need of a walk, I decided the two of us would head over to Sichuan University where I’d  find out.  I had a feeling that if tents were popping up in my yard, imagine what the campus would look like.

            Sure enough, as soon as Little Flower and I walked through the West Gate entrance, it was apparent  I’d have a lot of possible respondents for my survey.  A camping community of about 700 spread before me and many were in tents.

            There are two areas at the West Gate which have become the favorites for gatherers.  One is a long, wide strip of lawn between the main campus road and a science building.  Another is a small compound, an open field just to the left of that. 

             I proposed to approach people in both areas and say in Chinese:   “Excuse me.  I want to ask you how much was your tent?”

            My first survey participants were taken from three single domed nylon tents.  The  university students who sat inside scowled when telling me the price they had paid.

            800 yuan ($114.25) each, just purchased that morning.

            Considering their tents looked of cheap quality and were much smaller than my neighbor’s, who had paid 350 for theirs, I’d say they had a reason to scowl. 

            I approached one van that pulled up with a larger tent variety with folded aluminum support poles. It was very similar to one in my complex that’s been there for the entire week. 

            When I asked the cost, the driver growled.

             “Too much,” he said.

            “How much?” I pressed.

             “1,800 yuan ($257).”

            That same tent in my compound was 1,200 yuan ($171), but bought last week.

            For an hour, the dog and I made our way through the growing number of campers, some arriving in their cars while others walked. I found everyone I talked to very willing to tell me the amount they had paid.  Some even volunteered the prices of their friends or family members who had likewise purchased tents.

            Just out of curiosity,  I took a rough count of the many store-bought varieties I saw.  I calculated 35 on the lawn area and 87 in the open compound, all sandwiched between their poorer makeshift neighbors.  Although I didn’t talk to everyone, merely those who caught my eye, I felt I was getting somewhat informed about the situation.  

             At first, I thought the size of the tent and the number of special features determined the price.  But as I toured about, I found that larger family or backpacking tents for 2 to 4 people sometimes went for 400 – 600 yuan ($57 – $86) while the same or smaller tents went for 500 – 1,000 yuan ($71 – $143).  Why was that?

            I finally came to the conclusion that, at present in Chengdu, there are two kinds of tents:  BC (Before the Chaos) and AC (After the Chaos).  Tent sellers today made a killing, with customers paying any price given, while tent sellers yesterday had to be more cautious of their mark-ups. 

            The only anomaly concerned my neighbors, who had purchased theirs today for a very reasonable $50.

            Upon my return home, I tracked down the husband.

            “Your tent was a great price,” I commented.  “Why so cheap?”

            My neighbor smiled mischievously.

            Leaning in, he whispered, “I know the shop owner’s brother.”

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A Midnight Madness; A Morning Lull

Posted on May 20, 2008 by connieinasia

 

            Despite bringing along important documents and overnight necessities, my midnight camping “trip,” along with the rest of Chengdu, didn’t last long.  I called it quits at 3 a.m.  

            All would have been quite comfortable outside had it not been for a couple of annoying factors, Little Flower being one of them.  Our complex had quieted down to silence by 1:30 a.m., with everyone exhausted after their panic run. Finally, a relieving peace had drifted down upon us.  But Little Flower had refused to stay put in her carrier.  While I snuggled under my comforter ready for sleep, the dog waited anxiously on the walkway leading to my apartment.          

            It was obvious this outdoor business was not at all to her liking because my longed-for rest was interrupted with pathetic whimpers, followed by an insistent “yip!” or two. 

            I’d have almost slept through that except for the cell phone that went off next to me.  The woman answering stumbled upward from her portable cot and sleepily sifted through her belongings  to find it.   The constant ringing sent several sleepers muttering but it was her answering that was the most irritating.  As many in China do when talking on cell phones, her call became a shout to be heard by the person on the other end. 

            “I’m outside!” she snapped testily after spending about ten seconds with a back-and-forth ping-pong match of “Wei?  Wei? (Hello?  Hello?)”.

             Obviously, someone’s battery was low. 

            Then she went on about the rush outside, what was it like on the receiver’s end, if family members were O.K., and a string of other loudly proclaimed comments I couldn’t understand due to her thick Sichuan accent. 

            To make matters worse, she didn’t seem ready to stop anytime soon.

            And the strong lamplight that shone down  was yet another element that had me moving back indoors.  Due to my slow response in packing up belongings and getting out the door, all the darkest, best spots had been taken.  I was left with the undesirable place below the compound’s lighting system.

            While my move to the couch (nearest the door) didn’t prove to be the best  night’s rest, it was a lot better than putting up with the outside.  Plus the dog was happy, along with the kitten, so we as a  family were somewhat satisfied.   

            5 a.m., I heard Jalin and her parents coming home from their night out at the overrun Sichuan University campus.  6 a.m. had several apartment residents who live above me (the young crowd in their 20s)  trapsing tiredly upstairs.  By 6:30, more were stirring in our complex.  They heading back to their homes to make breakfast and get ready for work.   People seemed satisfied that, at least for now, the earthquake was not  an imminent threat.

            The news continues to caution that there could be a hit during our daytime hours. Thus from time to time this morning, families in my compound are returning to their bedding locations outside.   They will be doing so for the rest of the day, just in case.  Our 10 tent dwellers are a bit more at home and more able to stay put.  After almost a week of camping out, they have quite a stash of home items surrounding them.  

           The same  probably goes for those  in the small public park next to me.  When I last toured that area on Friday night, there were a few spaces available for squatters.  I’m guessing, however, after last night’s surge, those spaces are long since gone, especially as the apartment building a block away is  40-stories high.

            Going on 10:30 a.m. here, I’m assuming that schools in the city and all classes on our campus have been canceled, although I might be mistaken.  Yet if  I’m wrong, I don’t think there’ll be a problem.

             This is definitely one day  I doubt any of us will be  chastised for playing hookie.

 

            Until next time, “Ping An!”  Peace to all

   

             

 

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The Midnight Panic

Posted on May 20, 2008 by connieinasia

           

             I think I can say, with relative accuracy, that the city of Chengdu, at least in my area, anyway, is officially in panic mode.  I must admit, however, that the growing crowd here in the open courtyards of my apartment complex is angelic compared to that on the city avenue that hugs us.  I have just strayed down our alleyway to emerge onto the wide, 4-laned Ke Hua Bei Lu where cars pack the streets leading into and out of the city. 

            The West Gate of Sichuan University is a madhouse of activity.  Security guards refuse to allow certain cars to enter onto the grounds.  They stand in front of vehicles with the drivers edging their cars forward, threatening to run them over and shouting angrily out of open windows to let them through.  One car blocked the entrance entirely, the owner demanding she be let in.  More cars backed up behind her, some now driving on the sidewalk for several blocks, in order to sneak around the growing traffic blocking the entrance.

            Motorcycles, scooters, and motorized bicycles squeeze along the curbside or take to the sidewalks.  They are loaded down with bedding, pillows, and bags of snacks.  Some turn into Sichuan University while others continue onward.

            Dog owners are pulling their animals along with a leash in one hand and a cellphone pressed to their ear in another.  People are still moving doggedly onward through the streets and alleyways.  They stop to shift their overnight supplies from one arm to the other before making it across the street to the open-air lawns of the university.  Others are finding their places along a less chaotic route, such as the small public park along the backstreets of my apartment complex.  

            Then there are the jovial observers on the sidewalk, who have set themselves up in clusters of cushioned whicker chairs pulled from a nearby tea house. They lounge comfortably across the street from the university gate and watch the waves of people coming and going.

            To stay nearer my apartment, and the facilities, I have chosen to join my neighbors here in my apartment courtyard.  The hazy moon is a good omen in some sense.  It promises a clear night with no rain.

            I have found a comfortable grassy spot, spread out my comforter, placed my belongings beside me and settled the animals around their carriers.  Little Ghost is quite content to sit on my lap as I type outside on my computer but Little Flower is upset that I am not at home.  She stands in the middle of the walkway, under the apartment lamp lights, and waits for me to head toward the apartment, unlock the door and let her in.

            On any other night, I’d be happy to do so but on this one . . . .  Sorry, Little Flower. Public pressure has won over this American. This time around, it’s under the night sky for all of us.

            Now a quick return to send this off and then it’s bed for me!

            Until the next entry, Good-night!       

 

 

 

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