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How a family coped with a break from the past
By Tan Weiyun |
July 13, 2013, Saturday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
ONE of millions forced from their homes by the Three Gorges Dam, a Songjiang farmer tells Tan Weiyun how his family survived wrenching relocation and built a better future.
Lang Yongzhen, his wife and two sons were among the 1.2 million Chinese who lost homes and towns to make way for the Three Gorges dam, the world's largest hydroelectric project.
The family, forced from their farm in Chongqing in southwestern China nine years ago, has made a new life on the rural fringe of Songjiang District.
The ruddy-faced farmer, his wife Zhang Xiaoqiong and sons were relocated to Shanghai with only 30,000 yuan (US$4,887) in their pockets and deep anxieties about their future. They settled in Linjian Village on a quarter-hectare farm given to them by the government as compensation, along with Shanghai permanent residency permits.
"Who wants to leave their hometown and part with their relatives?" Lang, 46, said, as he took a drag on a Double Happiness cigarette in the dining room of the family's two-story farmhouse. "Frankly speaking, I was reluctant to go. But we knew it was the contribution we had to make to the project and to the country."
Nine years on, Lang has increased the size of his farm to 5.5 hectares, where he grows rice and proudly calls himself "Shanghainese."
"Well, it's still a bit of an embarrassment for me to speak the local dialect," his wife Zhang admitted. "But I can almost understand it now."
New Shanghainese
Language was only one of the barriers facing the family when it first arrived. The culture and food of Shanghai were different from those in southwestern China. It was tough to fit into a new environment, especially in a small close-knit community.
Lang recalled the day he took his medical insurance card and went to see a doctor in the local community hospital. He was refused treatment, he said, because the attending nurse thought no one with a Sichuan accent could hold a valid local card.
"I didn't blame them," Lang said, with a come-what-may attitude honed from hardship. "After all, we were newcomers. But now I am accustomed to the life here, and we have made a lot of local friends. There's only one thing missing. We don't have enough red chilies here."
Lang's two-story house in remote but picturesque Linjian Village features a large vegetable garden in front. The family has plenty of chilies planted there, along with tomatoes, eggplant, beans, asparagus, squash, lettuce, garlic and other vegetables. The orchard alongside produces persimmon, pears, Chinese dates, apples, oranges and nectarines.
Gracious hosts
Out back are poultry yards. The family feeds itself. On the open ground between garden and house, hot red chilies and bunches of garlic are drying in the sun. Sichuan people love spicy food.
A winding narrow path, paved with straw being sun-dried, leads to a large field, where Lang and fellow villagers grow rice.
Lang and his wife are outgoing, gracious hosts. With pride, they show a Shanghai Daily reporter through their house. Like most farmhouses in China, it is spartan, with minimal, older furniture and agricultural tools neatly arranged in one corner.
The second-floor bedroom of their oldest son, who married earlier this year, is the only room that has undergone any redecorating. Its walls are painted pink, and there's a new bed and TV set inside.
"Things are getting better today," Lang said of his life.
In 2008, the village was one of the first in China to initiate a family farm project aimed at keeping villagers on the land.
The local government collected scattered, small farmlands from farmers who had quit the land in favor of higher-paying factory jobs. The land was aggregated into farms that were sustainable in size and then rented them out to those who wanted to farm. The rent money was paid as subsidies for farmers who forfeited their properties.
When Lang and Zhang scraped 100,000 yuan together and rented more land, they found their farming skills needed upgrading to cope with a larger property.
"We did plant rice in our hometown, but they were all small paddy fields," Lang said. "Here, on much larger farmland, we had to learn to use machines. It's been a huge challenge for us."
His neighbor, a local farmer named Lao Yao, lent a helping hand. The old man shared a tractor and reaping machine with Lang. He offered to teach the newcomer how to use machinery, forecast weather and master new techniques of rice growing.
With his help, Lang not only made progress in farming but also integrated deeper into the larger circle of local villagers. In the busy season, they worked together on the land. In the slack season, they gathered to enjoy green tea and exchange gossip.
In order to improve yields, the local agricultural station held lectures for farmers every month. The teacher, realizing that Lang was having trouble keeping up in the Songjiang dialect, put in extra hours to explain techniques to him in Mandarin.
Today, Lang is a dab hand at rice growing. His farm's yield has reached 675 kilograms per mu, or 667 square meters, and the family's annual income has risen to 80,000 yuan.
"I have worked on construction sites and in factories before," Lang said, "but being a farmer gives me the strongest sense of security."
His 23-year-old elder son has just received his tractor certificate.
"Yes, he's going to help me," Lang said with a big smile. "We are preparing for future expansion."
Lang Yongzhen, his wife and two sons were among the 1.2 million Chinese who lost homes and towns to make way for the Three Gorges dam, the world's largest hydroelectric project.
The family, forced from their farm in Chongqing in southwestern China nine years ago, has made a new life on the rural fringe of Songjiang District.
The ruddy-faced farmer, his wife Zhang Xiaoqiong and sons were relocated to Shanghai with only 30,000 yuan (US$4,887) in their pockets and deep anxieties about their future. They settled in Linjian Village on a quarter-hectare farm given to them by the government as compensation, along with Shanghai permanent residency permits.
"Who wants to leave their hometown and part with their relatives?" Lang, 46, said, as he took a drag on a Double Happiness cigarette in the dining room of the family's two-story farmhouse. "Frankly speaking, I was reluctant to go. But we knew it was the contribution we had to make to the project and to the country."
Nine years on, Lang has increased the size of his farm to 5.5 hectares, where he grows rice and proudly calls himself "Shanghainese."
"Well, it's still a bit of an embarrassment for me to speak the local dialect," his wife Zhang admitted. "But I can almost understand it now."
New Shanghainese
Language was only one of the barriers facing the family when it first arrived. The culture and food of Shanghai were different from those in southwestern China. It was tough to fit into a new environment, especially in a small close-knit community.
Lang recalled the day he took his medical insurance card and went to see a doctor in the local community hospital. He was refused treatment, he said, because the attending nurse thought no one with a Sichuan accent could hold a valid local card.
"I didn't blame them," Lang said, with a come-what-may attitude honed from hardship. "After all, we were newcomers. But now I am accustomed to the life here, and we have made a lot of local friends. There's only one thing missing. We don't have enough red chilies here."
Lang's two-story house in remote but picturesque Linjian Village features a large vegetable garden in front. The family has plenty of chilies planted there, along with tomatoes, eggplant, beans, asparagus, squash, lettuce, garlic and other vegetables. The orchard alongside produces persimmon, pears, Chinese dates, apples, oranges and nectarines.
Gracious hosts
Out back are poultry yards. The family feeds itself. On the open ground between garden and house, hot red chilies and bunches of garlic are drying in the sun. Sichuan people love spicy food.
A winding narrow path, paved with straw being sun-dried, leads to a large field, where Lang and fellow villagers grow rice.
Lang and his wife are outgoing, gracious hosts. With pride, they show a Shanghai Daily reporter through their house. Like most farmhouses in China, it is spartan, with minimal, older furniture and agricultural tools neatly arranged in one corner.
The second-floor bedroom of their oldest son, who married earlier this year, is the only room that has undergone any redecorating. Its walls are painted pink, and there's a new bed and TV set inside.
"Things are getting better today," Lang said of his life.
In 2008, the village was one of the first in China to initiate a family farm project aimed at keeping villagers on the land.
The local government collected scattered, small farmlands from farmers who had quit the land in favor of higher-paying factory jobs. The land was aggregated into farms that were sustainable in size and then rented them out to those who wanted to farm. The rent money was paid as subsidies for farmers who forfeited their properties.
When Lang and Zhang scraped 100,000 yuan together and rented more land, they found their farming skills needed upgrading to cope with a larger property.
"We did plant rice in our hometown, but they were all small paddy fields," Lang said. "Here, on much larger farmland, we had to learn to use machines. It's been a huge challenge for us."
His neighbor, a local farmer named Lao Yao, lent a helping hand. The old man shared a tractor and reaping machine with Lang. He offered to teach the newcomer how to use machinery, forecast weather and master new techniques of rice growing.
With his help, Lang not only made progress in farming but also integrated deeper into the larger circle of local villagers. In the busy season, they worked together on the land. In the slack season, they gathered to enjoy green tea and exchange gossip.
In order to improve yields, the local agricultural station held lectures for farmers every month. The teacher, realizing that Lang was having trouble keeping up in the Songjiang dialect, put in extra hours to explain techniques to him in Mandarin.
Today, Lang is a dab hand at rice growing. His farm's yield has reached 675 kilograms per mu, or 667 square meters, and the family's annual income has risen to 80,000 yuan.
"I have worked on construction sites and in factories before," Lang said, "but being a farmer gives me the strongest sense of security."
His 23-year-old elder son has just received his tractor certificate.
"Yes, he's going to help me," Lang said with a big smile. "We are preparing for future expansion."
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