The Diary of Ma Yan by Ma Yan

proud of him, and my tears flow in homage to his bravery.
    Friday, December 1
    This afternoon after school it was very cold. My brother and I got our bags and went to the market. When we arrived, there were no tractors going to our village. We looked around a little longer, and I finally spied one. We got up into the trailer at the back. I thought to myself that it was easy enough getting in, but it would be harder getting out, because we would have to pay.
    My parents didn’t come to town today. Neither my brother nor I have any money. That’s why it’ll be difficult.
    I’ve barely finished thinking this, when Mother approaches without our knowing. She murmurs, “You’re dying of cold, aren’t you?”
    I turn around and see her. I’m thrilled. As soon as Mother gets on, the tractor takes off.
    On the road the wind is very strong. My cheeks are bright red. Mother puts her hands on them. Right away, I feel warmer.
    Mother is being so attentive. When I think of my exam results, I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.
    Saturday, December 2
    At dusk, when the fast is over, we’re all watching a cartoon on the television: Sun Child . I go out to see what Mother is up to. I pull back the curtain on the door and see that she’s making little potato dumplings for our dinner. I return to watch more of the cartoon with my brothers.
    A little while later I want to go and help Mother. But she’s already finished preparing the vegetables and rolls. There’s only the rice left to cook.
    â€œCan I help, Mother?” I ask.
    â€œIt’s not worth it. Better go and do your homework.”
    I go back to do some writing.
    While I write, I think. What a lot of trouble our parents go to for us. And couldn’t we go to just a little trouble for them? So that they can have happy times in which they’ll be the ones looked after by others.

RELIGIOUS PRACTICES
    Ma Yan lives in a region of China defined by the Islamic faith of the Hui people, distant descendants of the Arab or Persian merchants and diplomats who came to China from the seventh century on. Today the Hui are similar to the ethnic majority of Chinese, the Han, with whom they share a language. Only their religious practice and certain of its outward signs, like the wearing of distinctive white head coverings, distinguish them from the majority of Chinese.
    The village of Zhangjiashu is 100 percent Hui. There the imam, the local Islamic religious leader, is certainly one of the figures of authority, along with the traditional representatives of the government.
    Although many of Ma Yan’s schoolmates are also Hui Muslims, she is one of the few who observe the fast for the Muslim holiday of Ramadan. Ma Yan’s family, while not particularly religious, respects tradition. Her mother wears the white head scarf of the Huis, as do almost all the women of the village. She also forbids her daughter to wear skirts or to show her bare arms.
    At their house, there are no religious symbols—no pictures of Mecca, no holy verses from the Koran on the walls—which is the practice in more pious households. Fasting for Ramadan and respecting the other holidays associated with it are the only suggestions of religious observance in Ma Yan’s journal.

    Ma Yan’s classmates jog past the Yuwang mosque, the local Muslim house of worship.
    Sunday, December 3
    This afternoon I washed my hair and got ready to go. Mother asked us to stay till the end of the afternoon. At the big mosque in Liwazi, more than a mile away, and in the little one, just behind us, prayers are going on to mark the end of the fast. If we wait, we can get something to eat before heading off.
    We stay and sit on the bed. Suddenly I hear someone calling me. It’s Ma Shiping, who’s asking whether we’re ready to go. I suggest she come in and wait with us, so that we can eat.
    Mother has our cases ready, and after having served out the