Observing the Giant Where Its Heart Beat: Part III
From China’s Coal Mine Capital with Love
By Amelia Hapsari

A slice of golden sun with slippery edge hung on the mourning evening sky. Smoking chimneys from different sizes and dusty rooftops shared their fate in Datong, the coal mine capital of China. Beijing often looked like a miserable girl who just got dumped by its passionate summer love, but Datong looked like a virgin whose love never arrived. She was grey, pale, and rusty. Spider webs nestled around her devastated soul.

Maybe it was the curse of coal, for those who search for it. Datong was a coal mining city, the black gold that has dragged millions of people to its dark and dangerous mines. Located in the valley of the mountainous region of Shanxi, one of the poorer regions of China, donkeys entered Datong pulling a cart full of coal from nearby mines. Coal was still the household and industrial source of energy, creating a thick blanket of polluted air.

Despite the lack of luminous cash and lights, Datong was the closest train stop to two notable tourist attractions; Yingang Shiku and the Hengshan Hanging Monastery. Yingang Shiku is a series of 20 caves carved with 51,000 Buddhist images. The first carving project took place over 1500 ago, during the Wei dynasty. The Emperor contracted 40,000 sculptors to implement this massive project as an apology for his earlier persecution of Buddhist followers. However, the earliest work of arts in the grottoes has faded through time. What remained was the still astonishing sculptures of Buddha in all sizes from the Qing Dynasty, less than 100 years ago.

A two-hour drive from Datong would bring the visitors to Hengshan Hanging Monastery. The monastery was built in a steep cliff of Hengshan Mountain. The wooden monastery showed the mastery of architectural skills of ancient China.

Like many tourists, I came to Datong for the two sites. I didn’t know that the tourist route could be explored in one day, so I already bought a train ticket for the next morning.

At first, I felt entrapped…alone in this depressing city, but I would not give up on seeing more. So I took a stroll around Datong.

When the day cooled off in the evening, Datong’s aura changed. The summer evening brought almost everyone to the street. People took the advantage of the cool evening breeze rather than staying at home with their air conditioning system. Well, not many people could afford air conditioning, so staying outside was the best alternative to staying in a tiny, damp and hot houses in narrow alleyways.

Any imaginable activities were conducted on the street. An 8-year-old girl sat on a tiny stool on the pedestrian walkway. Her mother sat on a higher stool, brushing her shiny black hair. Her mother whispered to her, “When I was young, my mom always told me, as a woman, we have to be loyal and resolute. Even in the hardship, we have to persevere…” The little girl listened with full attention, as her mother carefully braided her hair.

A father just finished the installment payment of the motorcycle. He pushed his motorcycle by hand into a shady neighborhood with barefooted children running around. “Daddy is home!” shouted his little boy with joy.

The street was filthy with urine smell, plastic rubbish, and watermelon seeds. The watermelon seller was on the other side of the street, creating a pond of watermelon in the middle of the pedestrian walkway. His 10-year-old son was playing among the sea of watermelon. People came by and bought watermelon. Each watermelon costs less than 5 yuan, or 0,75 cents US$. They opened a little folded table just outside their home and cut the watermelon there. Their family, and sometimes neighbors, joined them to squat or to sit on little stools. They were gnawing at the watermelon together. No fork needed. Just come by and squeeze in. No need to clean up afterward.

A daughter-in-law was walking hand in hand with her aging mother-in-law. The old lady wore striped, loose pants and flowery loose cotton top. Her daughter-in-law just bought her a new pair of black cotton shoes. “When I was small, I always escaped from my maid, who tried to bind my feet. Fortunately, the nationalist movement came soon before they managed to bind my feet,” she said. Her daughter-in-law smiled to her and continued to hold her hand.

Some men played Chinese chess in the street. Their shirts half pulled up, to let the breeze coming to their belly. They held a bowl of dou xiu mian, Shanxi’s special noodle. Dust flowing and dancing, but they did not stop enjoying the game. Three generations of men and women burped and spitted on the street, laughing and shouting at the hardship of life with the company of good food and friends.

Before I left Datong, I visited a coal mining village with houses made from dirt. An old couple invited me into their house. The old man had five kids who had grown up, and the old woman had three. They shared a simple courtyard home. She grew pumpkins in the yard. They did not know me, but they were kind enough to offer me a drink and a peach. It was the best peach in my life.

Maybe this was how Chinese people have endured oppressive ruling dynasties, revolutionary movements, communism and now the global market economy…by being together…by sharing…and by enjoying any piece of happiness humankind can invent on earth. And maybe this is the only way to find meaning in China.