At Shanghai’s QiDi Migrant School, a former migrant student grew up to build a school for migrant children because he understood that education is the only way out of poverty in China.

 

Missing the kids I taught at the QiDi Migrant School in #Shanghai. #volunteerabroad #China #Travel

A photo posted by Monica Wong (@_monicawong) on

Once a week for five months, ten of us, were herded into a dark van with tinted windows and ragged carpets. We contorted ourselves into the most uncomfortable positions and driven to the outskirts of Shanghai. The driver dropped us off on the side of a dusty highway and like clockwork, someone was waiting to take us through the dark alley.

We passed by a middle-aged couple whose brown leather skin was the result of years of toiling in the sun. They baked bread on the side of the highway – salty ones and unsalted ones. Behind them was a dirt road carved between two dug out vegetables fields, which were being tended to by residents in straw hats and hunched backs. This is what poverty in China looks like.

We passed by tattered wood houses battered by the heavy rain and the harsh sun. The women chatted on small wooden stools and gawked as we passed by. Some were sorting crops, while others were nursing. They looked tired and lifeless. Dirty toddlers with cracked red cheeks laughed innocently around them, as if they harbored all their mother’s life and energy. The men were no were to be found. Poverty in China, and all around the world, usually creates fragmented families.

We entered a white two-story building. The children present looked eager, curious and afraid – all at the same time. I was assigned a room on the ground floor. It was a tiny room big enough to fit only 15 students but overcrowded with 50. My hands were tugged along the way as I squeezed to the front of the room. I introduced myself:

“小朋友,你好。我是黄老师。你的英语老师。”

(How are you kids? My name is Miss Wong. I’m your English teacher.)

“黄老师好!”

(Good morning Miss Wong!)

They shouted in unison.

This was the QiDi Migrant School. These were migrant children. Their families live like nomads, moving from place to place in search of work. Men leave before the sun rises and return long after the sunsets. The children here know nothing of consistency. The people they know and the friends they make come and go. It’s as fleeting as their education, but their desire to learn is stronger than all the children I’ve ever taught back home.

These migrant children were not only hungry for food. They were hungry to learn. They shouted answers with bright eyes and they fought to come to the board. For them, enough was never enough. They always wanted more. At the end of each class they tugged at my hands and asked,

“黄老师,你会回来吗?”(Miss Wong, will you be back?)

I always said yes and they would gleam with joy, but I knew that the more I said yes, the closer I was to saying no. Eventually I had to leave. Just like everyone else in their lives.

Migrant families who live in poverty know that education is the key to economic mobility. Unfortunately, their children’s education are hindered when kids are pulled from school to harvest the land and scrounge for scrap metal. My students don’t know it but what they taught me was much more valuable than the English I taught them. Kids in the States say, “I hate school. School sucks. It’s boring.” While they get driven, there’s a world full of children willing to walk barefoot for miles just to attend school.

Volunteering abroad was the most rewarding experience during my time studying abroad at Fudan University. The dedicated principal of QiDi Migrant School built the school with his meager savings. He provided door-to-door service from Fudan’s Foreign Dormitory to the dilapidated school building in the outskirts of Shanghai. As a former migrant student who saw that education was his way out of a migrant lifestyle, he built the school at QiDi for the children, and for the future, of the migrant community. He’s proof that education is the way out of poverty.

Monica reflects on her travels by sharing her thoughts on A Cup of Moca. She writes about her journey as she experiences the destination to encourage others to marinate in the moment instead of just checking things off a bucket list.