the Saga of returning (iii)

The way I wrote the earlier parts of this "Saga" puts me at the risk of sounding patronising. I probably whined like a misfit or a delicate well-to-do city girl who had it tough. But that is not the point. The point is that, despite how much I had read about and sympathised with the poor people, the experience of being among them, sharing their experience and witnessing their way of life came as a shock.

A few months back or maybe a year ago, I saw a documentary on SBS about a day in a migrant worker's life. This was about a mid aged peasant from western China making a meagre living as a delivery man for a courier company. He lived in a windowless basement room in Beijing, just big enough to hold a double bed, an adjacent wardrobe and an electric cooker at the end of the bed. He kept it immaculately clean. He also owned a rusty push bike, being the tour of his trade. He would mount a huge box on his back seat and pedal through the streets of Beijing.

Back here in Sydney, people are used to whinging about poor hospital service, terrible city rail..."Worse than the third-world blah blah". These people have no idea what a third world is. So didn't I.

There's an invisible side of China that has been buried under the communist propaganda of equality and the working-class rule. When I stepped into a smoke filled room that was accessible through a shopfront at the railway square, I saw rows upon rows of bunk bed in the thick dark blue mist of a windowless room. On each of the bed, a fatigued migrant worker in transit cocooned by a heavy cotton quilt, fast asleep. The room reeked of cheap cigarettes, foods, and a mixed odour of unwashed hairs and fabric. It was quiet and only occasionally someone coughed. Otherwise, all I could hear was the breath of hundreds of people asleep and a faint tuneful snooze from the far corner.

20Yuan would buy you 8 hours of sleep here. When I enquired the price, the "inn"-keeper shot me a critical look. Obviously, she thought that I did not belong there.
I walked out and strolled along the shops. There was a Internet cafe with a dozen PCs that came with overused and greasy keyboards. I noticed that it was not full so maybe it was a little on the luxurious side when one had to choose between sleep and entertainment for 20 yuan.

I was tired and my feet numb from standing for too long. The waiting rooms were only open for those whose train was departing in 30 minutes. I had no choice but wandering around like a lost soul on this wintry day.

I decided to move close to the gate where I was going to get my ticket. With a bit of luck and money, I might find a decent place to rest. It turned out that there was a properly manned hostel right outside the gate. Lots of people crowded outside it, but few went in. I excused myself through the crowd and turned into the hostel, feeling the weary eyes on me. It was still morning. I paid 40 Yuan at the concierge for 6 hours, which should cover me till the departure.

A bulky guy led me upstairs. It was an eerie place to be. Inside the building, two rows of identical rooms skirted a long and dimly lit corridor, for some rooms the doors cracked and windows broken. Strangely, most of them were empty till I walked along a tall ceiling-ed theatre room where a dense forest of bunk beds spread across the floor like an army base or a classic dormitory in a southern factory. Most of the beds were occupied. So this was the more affordable option.

We climbed the drab cement stairs which had handrails with scaled paints and a rusty, unreliable look. The man led me into a room, not more than 7 square meters big and filled with six single beds all with white linen. It strike me that this building could have been a deserted hospital. "There," the man pointed at a bed expressionlessly and left.

I sat on the bed with my back against the bedroll, alone for the first time this morning. I thought of taking out my laptop and writing something and then thought how odd it would look in the present environment. I did not know if I was going to have a room mate. If so, what kind of room mate would I have? A wife of a migrant worker? A female migrant worker? My mind wandered off like crazy. Now I was among them. Maybe, I shouldn't wear what i was wearing. Maybe I shouldn't have a laptop on me. It would make me a target. A target of what? I knew my stereotype was talking and I was assuming rootless assumptions.

A mother and a daughter came in. The same man led them to their bed and left. They smiled at me, a kind unsophisticated smile. They wore old fashioned but clean and tidy clothes and carried a modest travel bag. I smiled back. Not a word spoken. The mother made the bed and let the daughter get in first. Then she crawled in herself. I broke the silence. "There are plenty of empty beds around here. Why don't you take an empty one."

"They don't allow it. We only paid for one bed. " The mother spoke with a western accent.
"I think it's ok. You can move when someone else shows up. It doesn't look like that they are going have a lot of guests anyway." I said.

"hmm,right." the mother went to sit on another bed. A few minutes later, the man showed up miraculously - I had not even heard a footstep. He shouted to the woman "Get off that bed, you lousy woman!" and was about to thunder in. The woman quickly stood up and moved to her daughter's bedside. I was dumbfound.

"Isn't the man terrible?!" I said only when the man was safely away.
The woman was peaceful about the treatment. She said it was his job.

I felt sorry for her. My inability to do anything for them made staying with them in one room uncomfortable. I tried to find something to say. "Where are you from?" "What are you doing here?" "How long are you going to be here for?"

It turned out that the mother and daughter came from Xinjiang, the westernmost province in China and were on the way to the daughter's university. The daughter smiled shyly while listening to us. They were going to be here till tomorrow and change a train for another city. I forgot the name of their destination. It was immaterial anyway. They were content that the daughter was going to the uni and that they actually had a bed to sleep over the night.

I put off my guard and by now I was dying to go to the toilet. The woman told me that if I walked along the corridor and turn left and turn right, there was a toilet. And she said that she could watch my luggage if I wanted to go. I hesitated. I had some valuables in the luggage.

I looked at them. They looked friendly and honest. It's just going to be a few minutes. I thought to myself. They are not less trustworthy because they are poor, right? I could trust them for a few minutes, couldn't I? I persuaded myself. And of course, nothing had happened when i came back. The mother and daughter chatted softly and soon the daughter was asleep.

The mother sat at the edge of the bed. I said to her that she could come and sit on with me as I was only sitting on my bed.

"It's fine this way." she said, gently. "I'll sleep when she wakes up. We can take turns. You should rest too since you are on a train tonight." I didn't tell them that I was going to get a berth.

The room was cold and empty. The woman just sat there silently, not attempting again to lie down on one of those unused beds. I thought it was poignant that it had to be like this, and that I was just one cold and pretentious observer who did nothing to help.

I sat there and was lost in thoughts, lots and lots of useless, empty thoughts. My phone finally rang and I got a berth to Guangzhou tonight at twice the ticket price.

I was not very happy.