This is my grandson, Lele. My wife and I are raising him because his parents are in the city trying to make money for a better life. It has been about six months since Lele has seen his parents. They are not able to travel home often. Working in the city is difficult, but there are few jobs in our village. I have lived my whole life in this village. I am a farmer. I thought my son would be a farmer, but machines are taking over farming.
Getting old has been hard. I don’t have any family left. I lost my farm a few years back. I am too old to get a job, so I collect plastics for recycling. I am able to make a little money, but life is hard. I don’t have any money for medicines or to see doctors. I don’t go to the mosque because I am poor and homeless. Sometimes they will give me some money out of charity. Helping the poor is considered a good work in Islam.
I can feel the stares. I can hear their voices. They do not like that I am here. Many do not like that I am Hui. It is evident in the way that they have asked us to remove Arabic writing from our store fronts and how they have made us redesign our places of worship so that they look less Arabic. People who were once dear to me are also beginning to look at me differently.
I am a young Hui girl attending a university in the south of China. There are not many Muslims where I am studying. It is hard for me to find places to eat that are Halal. Honestly, at this stage in my life, I am questioning the beliefs I have grown up with. I know all about Islam, but it seems to me that it is just a bunch of rules to follow.
I live in America. My husband works for a US company. I have been in the States for almost 2 years now, but I haven’t made many friends. It is harder than I thought it would be. My husband and I go to the mosque often. We are the only ones from China who attend our mosque.
