Photo Essay: A Sanctuary for Two Generations

The House of Hope, located in Guizhou province—one of China’s poorest regions—buzzes with the sounds of children playing and interacting in a largely unsupervised, chaotic environment that is by design. Founded by Luo Ying, the center serves as a home for the “left-behind children,” whose parents are migrant laborers, as well as a sanctuary for women fleeing difficult circumstances. With pigs on the premises and children given farm chores as either play or discipline, the House of Hope creates a unique, free-range environment for its young inhabitants [para. 1][para. 2][para. 3].

For about 3,000 yuan (approximately $421) per semester, more than 130 children at the center receive room, board, and assistance with their homework. The rented three-story facility includes classrooms, dormitories, playgrounds, and a small farm. A small staff, composed of four caregivers and a cook, manages daily operations and assists both children and newly arriving parents [para. 4][para. 5][para. 6].

Many mothers who bring their children to the House of Hope are young women with histories of troubled marriages. As explained by staff member Shen Qianqian, mothers often negotiate for their children’s admission after divorce—seeking a place where they receive regular meals, nurturing, and companionship from peers [para. 7].

The center is not just for children: it is also a refuge for women escaping hardship. Luo Ying herself has endured many of the challenges faced by the mothers she helps. Having entered the workforce after middle school, Luo married young and had a daughter at 18. In 2008, after wrestling with the dilemma that confronts many rural women—whether to leave a child behind in pursuit of work—she defied convention to launch the House of Hope. After her own marriage collapsed, Luo survived by working in a factory in Guangdong, saving enough to formally divorce and return to Guizhou to lead the center full time [para. 8][para. 9][para. 10][para. 11].

The women who seek sanctuary at the House of Hope include individuals like Lixue, who fled an exhausting and fearful marriage and now serves as a caregiver at the center. Others, such as Liu Weidan, must leave their children behind because of health or personal challenges. The emotional cost of separation is stark; some children struggle with trauma, and mothers resort to disguises during brief visits to minimize distress [para. 12][para. 13][para. 14][para. 15].

The House of Hope’s reputation has spread via social media, drawing families from seven provinces, often escaping poverty, abuse, or the imprisonment of a spouse. Financial sustainability remains a struggle: only about 80% of parents pay on time, and some vanish, leaving debts behind. Luo helps cover shortfalls by livestreaming sales of local products, earning roughly 10,000 yuan per month to keep the operation afloat [para. 16][para. 17].

The children’s emotional needs are considerable. Many seek constant physical affection, and some display signs of trauma. Luo and her staff strive to provide stability and maintain positive connections to the children’s parents, even when the parents are absent or can no longer pay. Luo tells the children that their parents work hard for their future and encourages the older girls to seek independence and healthy relationships in adulthood [para. 18][para. 19][para. 20][para. 21][para. 22].

Ultimately, the House of Hope stands as a fragile but vital ecosystem where children and mothers, both shaped by hardship, find support and fleeting comfort, unified by Luo’s resilient spirit and steadfast refusal to surrender to fate [para. 23][para. 24][para. 25][para. 26].