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CHAPTER 5
ARRIVAL IN HONG KONG!

The landing at Kai Tak airport proved to be a challenging start to my pilgrimage. Rumour had it that pilots were not allowed to land there until they had had at least nine years' flying experience, so tricky was the manoeuvre. Most of the buildings on Hong Kong Island are towering office and hotel blocks and the aircraft had to be navigated between these, wing tips almost touching the buildings, as it came in to land, suddenly dropping to ground level at the last moment. At one point, I thought that we were about to land on the sea but then a runway, extending out to sea beyond the land mass on reclaimed land, suddenly came into view and the plane finally grounded safely. It was amazing looking out of the window to see runway lights in a line along a quayside; we were so close to the water, it was almost as if you could stretch out an arm to touch it. I drew in my breath with an amazed anticipation. The journey had begun!

Like most airports, Kai Tak had a buzz and excitement about it: people of all nationalities milling about, laden with baggage bearing labels from some far-flung, exotic places. There were children running, parents looking tired but resilient, others looking anxious, as they hunted in pockets and handbags for tickets, passports, landing passes and other documents which seemed so important to the self-important officials waiting imperiously at the barriers. I could also see dazzling shops, bedecked with eye-catching luxury goods which, though duty free, were exorbitantly priced. Nearby, the inevitable foreign exchange counters. Overhead hung the departure and arrival sign-boards, listing flights to and from exotic and romantic places. All around were the bodies of sleeping passengers, surrounded by travel-worn bags, waiting for their next connection. Touts hovered, waiting to swoop like vultures on the unwary passenger, to offer to carry bags for a fortune, or to find a taxi. The whole airport culture, which I was to experience several more times before my pilgrimage was over.

Thus I arrived in Hong Kong, three years before the change-over to Chinese rule, with my travelling partner, Wai-Lan Liu, tired after a 17-hour journey from Manchester Airport, but expectantly apprehensive about what awaited us during the next two weeks. We had come to meet with Jackie Pullinger-To and to see something of the work of St. Stephen's Society in Hong Kong, my first port-of-call at the beginning of a long journey.

As the automatic doors of the cool, air-conditioned airport lounge opened before us, we stepped straight into an oven - the temperature difference outside was so great. In front of me stretched a sea of Chinese faces, each straining to catch a glimpse, or attract the attention of, an expected new arrival. Everyone in the crowd was looking for a friend or relative; some were waving excitedly and others were holding up placards with Chinese writing on them. In my jet-lagged state, it seemed almost like a dream.

Suddenly, as we stood searching the waiting crowds anxiously, I heard a delighted cry beside me, as Wai-Lan caught sight of some of her relatives who had come there to meet her. She rushed towards them, hugging each one, delighted to renew acquaintance after some years of separation. I was introduced and we talked for a bit before they showed us where to queue for a taxi. During that short time, they had arranged to meet her again, after she had first made contact with St. Stephen's Society.

It had been quite late on in my preparations for the trip when I had asked Wai-Lan if she would like to accompany me for the Hong Kong part of the pilgrimage. She and her husband, Kin, were ex-missionaries who had served in Nepal and who had now settled in Birmingham, whilst their two children went through school. They worshipped at the same inner city church as me and I knew them quite well. Wai-Lan had been sharing with me something of her life history, one morning after service and I was surprised to find that she had grown up in Kowloon's Walled City. She knew Jackie Pullinger-To very well and was in regular correspondence with her. It would appear that, as a young 10-year-old girl, Wai-Lan had acted as a guide to Jackie, taking her by the hand as she showed her how to find her way through the narrow streets and alleyways. It was through Jackie that Wai-Lan had learnt English and had come to give her heart to Jesus. All of this story I was to piece together later, whilst Wai-Lan and I were together in Hong Kong but, when I had been at prayer after that morning service in Birmingham, I felt that the Lord was wanting me to invite Wai-Lan to come to Hong Kong with me. Needless to say, she had jumped at the chance of re-visiting her birthplace and Kin had generously offered to stay at home with the children. Wai-Lan had said that she wanted to do the same as me whilst in Hong Kong - to meet with Jackie Pullinger-To and to see something of the work of the organisation she had formed there, St. Stephen's Society. Jackie Pullinger's story is told in the book, "Chasing the Dragon", Hodder & Stoughton (1980), which describes how, as a young woman in England, she had felt the call to be a missionary. Her applications to several missionary societies were turned down but the call was so strong that she could not ignore it. Eventually, she had set off on a ship, with the purpose of travelling until she arrived at a place where she felt the Lord wanted her to work. This turned out to be Hong Kong and, in particular, the Walled City of Kowloon. Here, she developed work amongst young people and became concerned about teenagers and other young people, who were at risk of coming under the influence of gangs and other criminals, who were active in the Walled City. She started a youth club and remedial classes for those who wanted to study, as well as summer camps and Christian fellowship meetings. Through these contacts, there was an increasing contact with the poor and outcasts of society. Jackie and her friends began to take some of these into their homes and this continued and grew, as a ministry amongst the homeless and people with other problems.

Almost by chance, Jackie had discovered that, when one young man gave his heart to Jesus, he received the anointing of the Holy Spirit and this immediately freed him from his addiction to heroin. And so a work among drug addicts began, which has grown into an extensive network of rehabilitative support, under the auspices of St. Stephen's Society, which had been founded in 1981. It was this work that Wai Lan and I had come to see.

St. Stephen's Society at the time of our visit, was based at a camp which had once been used by the authorities as temporary housing for homeless people - Hank Fook Camp - and it was here that we stayed during our visit. I had written to Jackie before my visit and had been sent leaflets about St. Stephen's Society and Hang Fook. A Christian Fellowship had started at Hang Fook Camp, initially as a Bible study group for men coming off drugs, as Jackie had found that they did not fit into existing churches. A new Fellowship had then emerged around them and it was not unusual now for over 300 people to worship at the camp on a Sunday. The services held there were bilingual and were attended by a mixture of people, some from comfortable homes and others with no home, some well educated and others who could not read or write. The Hang Fook Fellowship had a five point mission statement (Table 2) and, when I had first read it, I knew more than anything else that I had to include a lengthy visit to them as part of my pilgrimage. I found it exciting to find others with a similar commitment to the poor as well as a belief in the power of the Holy Spirit. In the UK, it was quite rare to find this combination in a church or a Christian organisation. We had charismatic movements, we had people who worked for the poor, we had evangelists but we rarely found all these together in one agency. Most charismatic fellowships, who believed in the power of the Holy Spirit and exercised the gifts of the Holy Spirit, seemed to have little interest in the poor; at the other extreme, many Christian groups who served the poor, seemed to be very lukewarm in their acceptance that God was still at work today, in similar ways to how he was at work in Biblical times, to heal the sick, to deliver demons and to empower his people, through the power of his Holy Spirit.

I was very excited to see these beliefs combined in the mission statement of St. Stephen's Society, for I knew that they belong together. It seemed to me that the established church in the UK had lost its way, becoming tied down to ritualistic worship, committee structures and networks, which gave no time to be out in the world where Jesus is not known. It was very easy in the UK to convince oneself that one was being a good Christian, just by going to meetings and gatherings, which had been exclusively arranged for Christians; these could easily fill all of ones time up, leaving no time to minister to the poor or to share the good news of Jesus to those who had not heard about him.

So here we were, arriving in the heat of a Hong Kong evening! From the airport, Wai-Lan and I found our way by taxi to Hang Fook Camp, in Cheung Sha Wan district of Kowloon, even though the taxi driver had no knowledge of where it was. He dumped us off with all our baggage in a lonely, dark street which, fortunately was only just up the road from the camp. I was grateful that Wai-Lan spoke Cantonese and I later found that it was a tremendous advantage having her with me, for she helped me to establish friendships with several of the brothers who lived at the camp but who spoke no English. Their lives had been turned around by the ministry of St. Stephen's Society and, without being able to speak to them, my visit could almost have been meaningless.

The camp contained a collection of long huts, divided into small rooms. The accommodation was basic, to say the least, but I was to share one of these small rooms with Wai-Lan for the next 17 days. It was about eight foot square and contained two bunks, one above another, a cupboard, some hangers for our clothes and two chairs. We were soon to learn that we also had to share it with dozens of mosquitoes and the occasional mouse, spider or lizard. Others at the camp were in even more cramped conditions. There was a toilet and shower block and a dining area, where we shared meals with the other residents; this area, which had a roof but no sides, also doubled as a worship area on Sundays. Meals were similar to those eaten by a poor Chinese family and usually began with noodles for breakfast.

The main residents at Hang Fook Camp were the fifty or so male ex-heroin addicts, who were in the second stage of their rehabilitation and who were affectionately known as "the brothers". Few of them spoke any English but this did not stop them from attempting to communicate with the several Western visitors who were also staying at the camp. Some of these had come as volunteers to help with the work of St. Stephen's Society and others, like me, had come to study the work and to help in what way they could whilst there.

Some of the volunteers had come for several years and these were also staying at other locations, for the homeless, and at the "first stage" houses, where the addicts first came off drugs and went into withdrawal. We were to meet quite a few of these volunteers whilst we were there, from New Zealand, Australia, the UK, Canada, Germany and the USA. Most were very young - 18 or so - but others were of a similar age to me. All had heard of the work and wanted to be involved in it.

It was clear to me right from the beginning that there was no place for passengers, or sightseers, in the camp; everybody who came was expected to participate in the work from the moment they arrived, jet lag or no. There were all kinds of jobs that needed to be done - cleaning the toilets, putting down rat poison, helping with the huge administrative load of the society, as well as all the mail that came every day from all over the world, going out with food for the homeless and other more spiritual tasks, such as praying for the work and getting directly involved in the laying on of hands and prayer for the many destitute people that they met in the course of their work.

On my first night in Hong Kong, I drifted off to sleep quickly, as I was tired from the long journey from Manchester. So too did Wai-Lan, on the bunk above me. It is just as well that we did for there was work facing us the very next morning.

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