Chapter 17
Chapter 17
The first time I met Ji Cheng was at a refugee camp in Goma.
At the time, the situation in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo was chaotic.
Militants were attacking villages for various reasons, ranging from the seizure of mineral resources to ethnic conflicts.
Hundreds of thousands of people were forced to flee their homes and seek refuge in major cities.
When I arrived at the refugee camp, several doctors were treating a young girl.
A small stone had become lodged in her ear during an explosion.
The little girl struggled constantly, making the doctors afraid to try and remove it.
Then, someone shouted, “Ji!”
An Asian man walked over.
After checking the situation, he actually pulled several playing cards from his white coat and began performing magic tricks on the spot.
The little girl was captivated.
The doctor beside him immediately seized the opportunity.
As the stone landed in the metal tray with a clatter, the cards in the man’s hand vanished.
In their place was an African violet.
The little girl’s eyes went wide.
She began tugging at his sleeves, but ultimately found nothing.
Delighted, she clapped her hands and tugged at her parents’ clothes, shouting with joy.
The man handed the flower to the girl and saw the adults, who were profusely thanking him, out of the medical tent.
I raised my camera and captured this peculiar scene.
The sound of the shutter made him turn his head.
He looked a bit surprised to see me.
“Asian faces are rare around here,” he asked in French. “Where are you from?”
“China,” I replied.
His face lit up with surprise, and he switched back to Mandarin.
He told me his name was Ji Cheng, and he was a member of Doctors Without Borders currently stationed in Goma.
Thinking back to the scene just now, I asked, “Where did you find the flower?”
After all, flowers weren’t exactly a common sight in a refugee camp.
He looked a little smug.
“I’ve grown quite a few. Do you want to see?”
I followed him to his quarters.
I discovered that he had created a small garden using salvaged foam boxes, plastic bottles, and broken roof tiles.
There were the African violets I had just seen, as well as Agapanthus, tropical orchids, Congo azaleas…
I was puzzled.
“Why would you grow these?”
He propped his legs up on the table, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Because flowers make people happy!”
I just felt bewildered.
He laughed.
“I know what you’re thinking. You think food, drinking water, and medicine are more urgent for them, and that flowers are just impractical vanities, right?”
I nodded.
He said, “In this place, everything is forcing people to forget beauty. But happiness allows people to remember that they are still alive, and that there is still something worth looking forward to.
“Where there is expectation, there is hope.”
The corners of his mouth curled up as he winked at me.
“So, flowers are important too.”
A string in the depths of my heart was lightly plucked.
I looked at this overly optimistic, passionate, yet casual and unrestrained man.
For a moment, I found myself unable to look away.