http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-caves1aug01.storyYang is the only teacher in this remote corner of southern China. His
students live high up in a huge limestone
cave, an almost prehistoric
habitat without electricity, running water or any other amenity that
would identify it as
a home for residents of the 21st century.
He is their only bridge to the modern world.
"We don't have a tradition
for education here. So many villages in this
area have no school at all," said Yang, who treks up and down craggy
peaks
and through muddy fields for an hour and a half to reach his
students. "If I give up, it will be the end of this school."
It's
a heavy burden for a 38-year-old whose own education peaked at
middle school. His sense of mission highlights the monumental
task his
country faces in educating the most populous nation on Earth.
"China's education system is a giant
pyramid. At the top is a few highly
educated people, and at the bottom is a huge base of 1.3 billion who are
barely
educated at all," said Zhong Dajun, who runs a private research
center in Beijing. "The difference between ignorance and
knowledge is
the difference between poverty and wealth."
The spectacular limestone peaks and lush green forests
surrounding the
cave where the children and their families live look deceptively
inviting. But life here is so poor
and underdeveloped, it's no wonder
that every other teacher quit. Yang, however, still makes the arduous
hike from his
home several mountains away, every day weather permits.
He's been doing it for almost 15 years.
"When he arrived,
there were five teachers. Now he's the only one left,"
said Wang Qixiang, 17, a former student of Yang's.
The
70-odd cave dwellers call their home Zhongdong, or middle cave. It's
the largest of the three natural caverns in the area
and the only one
hospitable to long-term residence because it goes deep into the
mountainside, a kind of underground
stadium.
Cave dwelling used to be popular in this area of Guizhou. Various
poverty-alleviation programs have
succeeded in relocating some
residents, but others have refused to leave, usually because they worry
about making ends
meet outside.
Those who remain eke out a living by hawking their precious few
chickens, pigs and cows to markets
far below the mountains. Those too
old or frail to raise livestock subsist on corn, the only crop that
grows in this
hilly terrain.
The 20 families who live in Zhongdong belong to the ethnic Miao
minority. They speak their own tongue
and don't understand Mandarin, the
national dialect.
Some adults, especially the women, have never ventured beyond
the cave.
There's no television, newspaper or mail carrier to deliver information
from the outside world. Not even the
ubiquitous cell phone now
connecting almost every corner of China works deep within these ancient
hills.
The
only modern appliance seen here is a battery-operated red plastic
alarm clock. Twice a day, its owner lets it chirp on
and on, for as long
as 45 minutes. Its mandate is not so much to tell time, but to
entertain, like music from a Stone
Age radio.
"She likes the sound," said Wang Hongguang, 54, gesturing to his wife as
she sat on the doorstep of their
home cradling their infant
granddaughter.
The dozen children growing up here have never tasted ice cream or owned
a
toy. They can't communicate with strangers who don't speak their
dialect, so they express their affection through song.
The
national anthem is the only one in Mandarin they know well. Ask them
any question, and they'll sing it in response: "Arise
the people who
don't want to be slaves. Let's forge our flesh and blood into a new
great wall."
The children
sport one set of dirty clothes season after season. Some
don't own shoes. Hunger is constant. Breakfast, lunch and dinner
are
often rolled into one bowl of cornmeal with salt. Even the cats in the
cave scurry around starving. They've run
out of mice to catch, and
there's little leftover food to throw at them.
In this desolate environment, school is
the ultimate luxury.
In the 1980s, the government built a one-room brick house inside the
cave to spare the youngest
children the long trek to the nearest school
outside the cavern. Those who make it through the first two grades can
move
on to boarding school below the mountains, if their parents can
afford it or if they get financial help from the government.
Last
semester, local officials built a slightly bigger school below the
cave entrance, giving the children access to natural
lighting and two
classrooms.
But many parents still can't afford the dollar a semester it takes to
enroll their
kids. The average income for cave dwellers is $60 a year.
"The country has a nine-year compulsory education system,
but no one can
force the children here to go to school," teacher Yang said. "A lot of
girls want to go, but their parents
say no. The lucky ones finish first
grade. The adults think it's a waste of money."
The new school has 43 students
and two grades--first and second. The
children's ages range from 6 to 14. There are 15 girls in the
first-grade class
and only two in the second grade.
Yang teaches the two classes simultaneously. The first-graders repeat
after him,
reciting the story of a country bumpkin going to the big
city. As they carry on, Yang hops over to the other room, telling
second-graders
to flip to the chapter in their threadbare textbook on
how to weigh an elephant.
Yang performs the same juggling
act as he teaches math, art, music and
physical education. To outsiders, his efforts seem haphazard. To these
deprived
youngsters, they are life-changing exercises.
"I teach them basic things like marching together, turning right,
turning
left," Yang said. "Without these simple steps, they will never
be able to adjust to life in a real school."
After
making less than $13 a month for 15 years, Yang finally got a
raise last year that boosted his state-paid salary to $75
a month. That
makes him the richest man in the area and the subject of great envy.
Still, most parents are grateful
for his presence.
"He's teaching here because nobody else wants to," said Wang Fengguo,
40, whose daughter went
to the cave school. "Every semester a new
teacher comes and goes. This place is too remote. They can't get used to
it."
Yang
grew up in the Zhongdong area. His family also lived in the cave
for a time. The children have become part of his life.
He knows all
their stories.
There's the 9-year-old boy whose mother was recently kidnapped and sold
as a bride
in another part of China. The 14-year-old first-grader whose
father died and whose mother doesn't want her in school. The
7-year-old
girl who doesn't like to talk; her mother, who is deaf and mute, went
job hunting with her husband in the
city and they never returned.
They are some of the lucky ones. After the new school was built, Yang
took on students
from nearby villages. They must walk two hours of
mountain path each way to get here. Lunch for them is a cold potato,
if
anything at all.
"These children have no idea what the outside world is like," Yang said.
"I wish I could
teach classes in my house. That way they could watch TV
and see that not everyone in the world lives like primitives."
Instead,
he pays some of the children's tuition out of his own salary.
"I tell their parents if they can learn to read and write
they can find
a job away from the cave and make more money," Yang said.
Yang's parents were illiterates who grew
up in the cave. He was the
first son of eight siblings, and his family was too poor to send him to
school. When he was
10, he sneaked out to gather medicinal herbs in the
hills and sold them for the 6 cents it took to enroll in school.
He
became the most educated person in his village. His father was his
first pupil.
"He didn't know how to keep track
of our corn harvest," Yang said. "I
taught him how to read numbers and count to 10,000."
When the cave needed teachers,
Yang earned the highest score on the
qualifying test and got a job. His dedication earned him a spot in the
Chinese
Communist Party, a great source of pride for this farmer's son.
But that has not made his frustrations go away. Official
corruption
keeps most financial aid from reaching the children. Poor oversight
allowed shabby construction of the new
schoolhouse. It leaks water and
is in danger of collapsing.
Going back to the cave is hardly an option. The school
inside is too
small, and some residents have a habit of chopping up its desks and
chairs to burn as firewood.
But
the learning continues, as long as there is one teacher standing.
"I'm never leaving," Yang said. "This is my hometown.
These children
need an education. I have to persist no matter what."
The only modern appliance is a battery-operated
red plastic alarm clock.
Twice a day, its owner lets it chirp on and on, for as long as 45
minutes--like music from
a Stone Age radio.
