theKwek has sent us yet another letter - this time under our doorstep... However, the topic has changed from Music to Travels. Here, he tells of an extraordinary Christmas visit a long long time ago, in a southern province of China...
“No man is an island, entire of itself; each is a piece of the continent, a part of the Main.” These famous words of poet John Donne rightly proclaim that each individual is a member of a greater group with shared interests, and ultimately a fragment of the massive continent of humanity. However, no matter how miniscule we are, every one of use can also make a big difference to his life, his community and all mankind.
For millennia, many individuals have stepped out with courage, innovation and faith to make great changes that have altered the course of history. Be they for selfish or selfless reasons, all have enabled humanity to scale greater heights. Yet, there is another type of difference that can be made, not by valor but by a spirit of compassion and a lasting human touch.
One chilly Christmas morning, we stood at the base of one of the thousands of hills that stretch across China’s southwest province of Yunnan, drained after a three-hour car ride from capital Kunming. Part of an expedition of a team of Singaporean medical students led by missionary doctor Dr. Tan Lai Yong, we were told that upon this hill was one of many “leprosy villages” to which the government sent leprosy patients to quarantine them from the general populace. Our mission here today was to put aside the stigma surrounding this group, who had braved the disease yet still bore terrible scars of its power, and bring a portion of our fortunate lives into theirs.
After trekking through a cluster of huts at the base of the hill, we made our way up the steep path towards the summit. The Chinese have a saying – “To see farther, one must conquer the next level of the pagoda” – meaning that one must push himself onwards to reach a new level of learning. Indeed, as we scaled the hill, we saw many more poignant reflections of the lives of the leprosy patients we were about to visit. Barren fields that yielded nothing from the rocky mountainside, simple tombstones marking lost members of the tiny colony, tools broken in frustration of lack of wholesome bodies to use them properly. Moving on, there were a few more subtle signs of civilization. A duck shepherded her young across our path like her stricken owners would never be able to do with their children; and a lone, skinny cow lowed softly over the sparsely vegetated hillside, as hungry as its masters in the village.
Before long, we arrived at the village. A rough wooden wall surrounded it, and a deep ditch overgrown with weeds encircled this like a moat. Yet, the double-doors were wide open, over which was a crude hand-painted sign with the name of the village in Chinese. We stepped over the threshold of the gate, all with our right feet as was the local custom, and entered wonderingly. The inhabitants were a stark contrast to the bubbly group of students that had come to visit them. Sitting listlessly in the doorways to their dim and dilapidated wooden homes, some stared at us suspiciously, some beamed toothless greetings, and some merely turned in our directions, blinking sightless eyes. It was only now that we saw the wreckage that leprosy had inflicted. Due to the loss of nerves, causing an inability to feel physical pain, many of them repeatedly injured themselves in the same places. Besides, many were elderly patients, and this meant that their chronic wounds had not time nor resources to heal. We saw disabilities of every kind – from amputated limbs to crumpled faces, from holes in their hands where sharp tools had taken their toll to fingers curled permanently into a fist.
Yet, these did nothing to hinder one of the villagers, a frail man in his seventies, from hobbling into his hut to retrieve a bag of sweets for us. Accepting these gratefully after the exhausting climb, we also stepped out of our wonder and began our duties. Mom led a group of female students in preparing a simple meal of dumplings, a team of boys unpacked the gift hampers packed for the patients and began distributing them home by home, and Dad, with Dr. Tan, led a last group of senior students in caring for the wounds of the villagers. After this, we found three long benches and arranged them in a triangle around the wispy campfire used to prepare the dumplings, and seated each patient around the fire with one of us on each side. Forming an impromptu choir led by Dr. Tan himself, we tuned our vocal chords to the refrains of familiar Christmas carols. Holding song sheets, we pointed out the words one by one to them, and they, receptive and open, pitched their voices to ours.
Wrapped snugly in their new winter jackets, flanked by vivacious youth who brought back fond memories of active years, savoring delicious dumplings that defeated the Christmas cold, singing melodious chorales which injected joy into the frost winter, the boundaries of age, nationality, health and money were melted and discarded. Smiles crinkled around the corners of parched, thin lips, happy tears flowed from eyes dried and hardened by age, and weak frames swayed subconsciously to the rhythm of songs, spreading “peace on earth and goodwill towards man”.
That very instant, looking at the blissful laughter of these elderly patients who could enjoy contented relief of the soul where physical relief was impossible, we felt from the bottom of hearts that yes, we had made a definite and positive difference in the to these unfortunate village folk whom we had just come to known. Though incomparable to any five-star gourmet Christmas dinner or exquisitely packaged Christmas present, that simple handshake, delicious meal and caring touch of a physician’s care given in pure sincerity had indelibly changed their lives and left an eternal mark where others had forgotten.
Streams of pure joy burst onto our faces, flowering into radiant smiles that mirrored theirs.
