In 2004, I went to the village in northern China where my maternal grandmother grew up. She left China and her extended family in 1949 when she fled to Taiwan with my grandfather and my one year old mother. She never went back to China. She passed away in 2006.
When my then-fiance started teaching English in China, it gave me the excuse and opportunity to visit my ancestral homeland for the first time. And since the city where she worked was just an hour away from my grandmother’s home village, I decided to visit it.
The village is called Wu. That’s my grandmother’s maiden name and the surname of most of the people who live there. I estimate the population is probably less than a thousand. It is next to Shijiazhuang, one of those cities you have never heard of, but has a population of 10 million. In fact, a couple of nuclear reactors that power the big city are situated right next to Wu village.
Because my grandmother’s family owned land, they were not treated well when the Communists took over. The family continued to grow millet, a grain, but the fruits of their labor went to The People. My grandmother told me very little about her childhood, other than that her father raised her, she had a younger sister whom she disliked, and a boy cousin who was like her little brother. She was a tomboy and liked to climb trees, which partially explains why her feet were not completely bound. The man in the photo above shows where her father was buried.
Unlike the glitz and glamor of Beijing or Shanghai, Wu village is very backwater. There was no indoor plumbing. Hot water was out of the question. My extended family knew that I was used to Western conveniences, so they would take me to a cousin’s home for showers. He had a solar powered water heater, which provided not-very-hot water for about two minutes tops. I took a picture of a typical kitchen because it was so foreign, not realizing that I was embarrassing the host. The truck in the photo below is carrying kernel-less corn cobs. Residents burn them for fuel.
Despite the lack of modern conveniences, the village was incredible. Everyone was so nice and got along with each other.
The family was led by my grandmother’s cousin’s son, who was in his 50s. Despite being on crutches from a childhood bout of polio, he became the town physician. His practice was in his home and he examined patients while he chain smoked. It was quite a sight. And to celebrate my arrival, he single-handedly cooked an elaborate meal for me.
Because my parents divorced when I was young, the only real family I had known for the first 30 years of my life consisted of my mother and grandmother. It was strange to see so many other relatives, and many looked like my grandmother!
This is my grandmother’s boy cousin. He is a sweet old man.
This is my grandmother’s younger sister. She looks like a smaller version of my grandmother. I never figured out the reason for the rift.
On the day of my departure, the extended family took me out to a banquet. The meal was supposedly prepared by Mao’s personal chef. They were even able to commandeer a local government official’s car, a black Volkswagen Santana 2000, to transport me like a VIP. During the meal, I stepped out with one of my cousins. I told him that I really appreciated all of the hospitality and I offered him some money to defray the cost of the banquet. He refused. He then told me with a beaming smile– “Tell your grandmother that we are happy, healthy, and we have everything that we need.”
My grandmother’s boy cousin took me to the train station to see me off. As the train left, he ran after me on the train platform, waving and smiling, just like in the movies. A lady sitting next to me asked out loud– “Who is that little old man?” I replied– “Family.”
This experience was even more incredible for me because everyone knew that my mother was adopted. I was not related by blood to anyone at Wu village.
Images source: Maxichamp
