You only have to look into his eyes to see that he bears a burden too heavy to be described with words. Simple kindnesses bring tears to his eyes, even in his smiles his pain seeps through.
Uncle Chong's son is on death row. He got there because he was caught with more than a certain weight of illegal drugs as he was crossing our borders, and that, under the law of this land comes with a mandatory death penalty. The reasons are not important, your ignorance does not save you, being deceived into doing it is not considered, who's masterminding the whole syndicate is not important. Only the fact that at that point in time you had illegal substances on you. The only way a man can walk away with his life, is if the president would grant pardon. And that, has never happened in the whole of our history.
I don't know what the arguments are for the mandatory death penalty. But I do know the man whose son is on death row. I have spoken to him, seen his tears, felt his love for his son and sensed his desperation.
Every Monday morning at about 5am, Uncle Chong would faithfully ride his scooter or take a bus into Singapore to visit his son in prison. After his visit, he might stop by the lawyers' office to give the lawyer a sack of sweet potatoes from his farm and see if there's any news about the case then head home. (M. Ravi, uncle Chong son's lawyer with a bleeding heart, has taken this case on as with many other cases he's taken on to help those who can't speak for themselves. Ravi fights to change the laws that systematically dis-empower the poor and lowest in society.) In JB Malaysia where he lives, Uncle Chong works hard at several jobs so that he can pay for any fees that might be incurred at the lawyers. In the mornings he would sell food at a stall, in the afternoon, he tends a plot of land that his friend has loaned him to plant crops to sell - this of course is back breaking work, in between he is an estate agent and takes potential occupiers to view rooms and stalls. As and when there are makeshift markets, he would rent a stall space to sell toys and various knick-knacks. He rents out most of the rooms in his home and keeps just a small room for himself so that he has a place to lay his head.
Even with all he bears on his shoulders, the few times I've met and spoken to him, he's kind and generous. When we visited his farm in Malaysia, he insists on buying us lunch at a restaurant, though lunch for him often means a slice of bread or two. Gives us sacks of rambutans, sweet potatoes, guavas, durians... whichever was in season at that time. I will now always associate sweet potatoes with the desperate struggle of a man.
I won't paint him out to be a saint, his wife and daughters have left him, his son is in prison caught for something he wasn't supposed to do. I can't imagine what transpired in these lives, in this family. Nobody chooses, even if they picked a path, to be in such situations. A punishment as permanent as death should not be used as a blanket rule without considering all factors or considering ways for recourse.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Wang Qi Lin's family
A team of three of us made our annual trip to China, Shandong and Henan in April this year. It was a good time of seeing familiar faces and catching up with old friends. Some of them have settled and coped relatively well with life after their injuries, having managed to find suitable jobs and even start businesses of their own while others still struggle to find their feet or are still waiting for resolution of their cases in Singapore. But of all the updates of the people we have managed to gather, one in particular griped my heart.
Wang Qi Lin, was injured on the job, found out that he had throat cancer, battled it, got better but finally succumbed to it in December 2012. Jeffrey (my colleague who visited Qi Lin last year right before he passed on) still keeps close contact with the family, so this trip we decided to visit his wife and children to see how they are getting along.
The journey from the city to their home was about 45 minutes long, as we arrived at the dirt road junction that led to her home, Mrs. Wang was already there and greeted us cheerfully. We trooped into her home and settled onto the couch and little wooden stools. She offered us water. Their home seemed emptier somehow… compared to my memory of it just a year ago.
In the simple exchange of pleasantries and asking how the children were, we were able to clearly see that the family was barely managing to make ends meet. Three out of the five children were working in the same shoe factory in He Bei, the youngest of which is only thirteen. Mdm. Wang herself was doing various odd jobs like making goods deliveries and weaving wicker chairs while taking care of the remaining two school-going children, 14 and 7 years.
Though none of us said anything while Mdm. Wang was talking, I believe all our hearts sank when we heard about how even the thirteen year-old had to quit school and go off to work. As we spoke to her and mentioned the importance of education for the children, her tears started to flow. She told us she knew its importance but she simply did not have a choice. Most of their savings were spent on Qi Lin’s chemotherapy and medical fees. She could not work full time as the youngest was still too young to be left alone. Even as she related the situation, I could feel the desperation she must have felt.
After making some calculations, we figured that if we could get the eldest child a job in Singapore, the salary that she would get will be equivalent to the combined amount of money the three children are currently getting. As we offered a possible solution, discussed the logistics of getting a job overseas, we could see Mdm. Wang slowly lighting up, becoming a little more hopeful. The road ahead for the Wang family seems long and arduous. I hope our little efforts will somehow help ease the family’s burden.
Wang Qi Lin, was injured on the job, found out that he had throat cancer, battled it, got better but finally succumbed to it in December 2012. Jeffrey (my colleague who visited Qi Lin last year right before he passed on) still keeps close contact with the family, so this trip we decided to visit his wife and children to see how they are getting along.
The journey from the city to their home was about 45 minutes long, as we arrived at the dirt road junction that led to her home, Mrs. Wang was already there and greeted us cheerfully. We trooped into her home and settled onto the couch and little wooden stools. She offered us water. Their home seemed emptier somehow… compared to my memory of it just a year ago.
In the simple exchange of pleasantries and asking how the children were, we were able to clearly see that the family was barely managing to make ends meet. Three out of the five children were working in the same shoe factory in He Bei, the youngest of which is only thirteen. Mdm. Wang herself was doing various odd jobs like making goods deliveries and weaving wicker chairs while taking care of the remaining two school-going children, 14 and 7 years.
Though none of us said anything while Mdm. Wang was talking, I believe all our hearts sank when we heard about how even the thirteen year-old had to quit school and go off to work. As we spoke to her and mentioned the importance of education for the children, her tears started to flow. She told us she knew its importance but she simply did not have a choice. Most of their savings were spent on Qi Lin’s chemotherapy and medical fees. She could not work full time as the youngest was still too young to be left alone. Even as she related the situation, I could feel the desperation she must have felt.
After making some calculations, we figured that if we could get the eldest child a job in Singapore, the salary that she would get will be equivalent to the combined amount of money the three children are currently getting. As we offered a possible solution, discussed the logistics of getting a job overseas, we could see Mdm. Wang slowly lighting up, becoming a little more hopeful. The road ahead for the Wang family seems long and arduous. I hope our little efforts will somehow help ease the family’s burden.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Qiu Zhi's story II
Qiu Zhi (Shandong province, China) went back to China on 7th May 2012 with a heavy heart as he went home empty handed. His claim for compensation from the accident unresolved, debts unpaid. Just a day after Qiu Zhi left for home, a team of us from HealthServe also flew to China (Henan and Anhui provinces) to visit the brothers who have gone home and families of those who have not. Qiu Zhi decided to join us in Anhui as his way of extending hospitality and even invited us to his parents’ home there. I particularly looked forward to visiting Qiu Zhi’s family as he had by then, become a good friend.
After a 30-minute bumpy van ride from the city and a short stroll down a narrow dirt path, we arrived at four squat concrete huts with grass roofs sitting in a semicircle. Even as we’re walking towards the huts, a cheerful voice called out, “Ah! Qiu Zhi’s come back!” It was Qiu Zhi’s mom. She is a feisty old lady – though stooped over with a bent back, she hobbled around quickly with the aid of her walking stick, two dogs loyally following her everywhere she went.
His parents lived in the middle hut, his uncle’s on the left and the other two by some other relatives whose relations I failed to catch. The small hut was divided into two rooms, the kitchen/living/bed room and a store/dining room, it was very cluttered with things that have all passed their prime. It brought to mind what Qiu Zhi said when he told us his story – that he grew up in an impoverished little home. Even in such a setting the warmth and affection in the family is evident. “Qiu Zhi has grown taller!” mom interjects at one point as she beams with apparent pride to us.
When we asked about their lives and how they were coping, whether the house was too cold in winter. They assured us that they plant enough food to survive and the house, though it didn’t look like much, had good insulation. During summer it was cool and in winter it was warm enough. It seemed to me that though they had every reason to grumble, they were not inclined to and they portrayed a sense of contentment that is seldom heard of in ‘wealthy’ Singapore.
Once I asked Qiu Zhi what his plans were now that he’s back home (in the light of the situation he is in), he simply shrugged and said he had no idea. It worried me a little to hear it and wondered how he could be so calm, but after meeting his family and catching a glimpse of how he was brought up. I could perhaps begin to understand. It brought to mind a phrase I recently heard quoted in a movie, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.”
After a 30-minute bumpy van ride from the city and a short stroll down a narrow dirt path, we arrived at four squat concrete huts with grass roofs sitting in a semicircle. Even as we’re walking towards the huts, a cheerful voice called out, “Ah! Qiu Zhi’s come back!” It was Qiu Zhi’s mom. She is a feisty old lady – though stooped over with a bent back, she hobbled around quickly with the aid of her walking stick, two dogs loyally following her everywhere she went.
His parents lived in the middle hut, his uncle’s on the left and the other two by some other relatives whose relations I failed to catch. The small hut was divided into two rooms, the kitchen/living/bed room and a store/dining room, it was very cluttered with things that have all passed their prime. It brought to mind what Qiu Zhi said when he told us his story – that he grew up in an impoverished little home. Even in such a setting the warmth and affection in the family is evident. “Qiu Zhi has grown taller!” mom interjects at one point as she beams with apparent pride to us.
When we asked about their lives and how they were coping, whether the house was too cold in winter. They assured us that they plant enough food to survive and the house, though it didn’t look like much, had good insulation. During summer it was cool and in winter it was warm enough. It seemed to me that though they had every reason to grumble, they were not inclined to and they portrayed a sense of contentment that is seldom heard of in ‘wealthy’ Singapore.
Once I asked Qiu Zhi what his plans were now that he’s back home (in the light of the situation he is in), he simply shrugged and said he had no idea. It worried me a little to hear it and wondered how he could be so calm, but after meeting his family and catching a glimpse of how he was brought up. I could perhaps begin to understand. It brought to mind a phrase I recently heard quoted in a movie, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.”
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Op-Ed Contributor: Slumdog Tourism By KENNEDY ODEDE
Crystallizes my recent thoughts about short-term missions.
Read article.
Read article.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Maya Angelou
Just came across an interview Oprah did with this amazing lady and this thing she said struck a chord with me:
Oprah: I'm sure that throughout your life, some have said of you, "Who does she think she is?" How do you respond?
Maya: Among other things, "I'm a child of God." That's amazing. And "I'm not only a child of God, but God loves me."
Oprah: The wonder of that.
Maya: It still knocks my socks off!
Oprah: Doesn't knowing that give you freedom?
Maya: Freedom and discipline. Freedom and responsibility. Freedom and a path. Freedom and a row to hoe (means: tough task to carry out). Freedom to do something, not freedom to be idle. And the hardest part for me is to realize that while God loves me, and I am a child of God, I have to see the bigot and the brute and the rapist, and whether he or she knows it or not, I have to know that that person is a child of God. That is part of the responsibility—and it's hard.
Whole interview here.
------------------------------
We've just finished with a bulk of busy-ness in HealthServe, an outing with the KT dormitory residents and the Health Carnival with MWC. I felt they both were relatively successful and for that I'm thankful. Thankful for the people who've let us run events for them, allowed us to catch a glimpse of their lives. I'll update with write-ups others have done soon :p Heh.
Oprah: I'm sure that throughout your life, some have said of you, "Who does she think she is?" How do you respond?
Maya: Among other things, "I'm a child of God." That's amazing. And "I'm not only a child of God, but God loves me."
Oprah: The wonder of that.
Maya: It still knocks my socks off!
Oprah: Doesn't knowing that give you freedom?
Maya: Freedom and discipline. Freedom and responsibility. Freedom and a path. Freedom and a row to hoe (means: tough task to carry out). Freedom to do something, not freedom to be idle. And the hardest part for me is to realize that while God loves me, and I am a child of God, I have to see the bigot and the brute and the rapist, and whether he or she knows it or not, I have to know that that person is a child of God. That is part of the responsibility—and it's hard.
Whole interview here.
------------------------------
We've just finished with a bulk of busy-ness in HealthServe, an outing with the KT dormitory residents and the Health Carnival with MWC. I felt they both were relatively successful and for that I'm thankful. Thankful for the people who've let us run events for them, allowed us to catch a glimpse of their lives. I'll update with write-ups others have done soon :p Heh.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I recently had a conversation with someone
It began with a simple question,
“How many siblings do you have?”
“10”, she answered.
“Wow, so many?”
“Oh, but same father, same mother only 3.”
“I see.”
I didn’t press the issue and moved on a different line of questions. I couldn’t help but wonder about the life of someone who’s been through the things she’s been through. In that brief half hour I heard a story that seemed too bad to be true, a dramatic clichéd portrayal of someone who has it bad in life. But it is/was somebody’s life, not a bad movie script and apparently it’s not as uncommon as I previously thought. How does life get so bad? Why is it so difficult for some and so easy for others?
“It must have been difficult for you.”
“Yes, very.”
--------------------
Does your heart break too?
“How many siblings do you have?”
“10”, she answered.
“Wow, so many?”
“Oh, but same father, same mother only 3.”
“I see.”
I didn’t press the issue and moved on a different line of questions. I couldn’t help but wonder about the life of someone who’s been through the things she’s been through. In that brief half hour I heard a story that seemed too bad to be true, a dramatic clichéd portrayal of someone who has it bad in life. But it is/was somebody’s life, not a bad movie script and apparently it’s not as uncommon as I previously thought. How does life get so bad? Why is it so difficult for some and so easy for others?
“It must have been difficult for you.”
“Yes, very.”
--------------------
Does your heart break too?
