Ham-fisted handouts

A CONCRETE track meanders past nurseries of pine saplings and sheep grazing on stubble, petering out at Dayinghan, the poorest, most remote village in the stony hills of central Shanxi, a northern province. Some of the villagers live in caves. A few chickens and ducks scratch for food amid the rocks. Zhang Erping’s family is one of about 100 that remain, half the number of ten years ago. He and his wife eat meat a couple of times a month; they buy it at Gujiao, the nearest town, but even the 1.4 yuan (20 cents) bus fare is usually too much for the household to afford.

Mr Zhang used to drive there in a dilapidated three-wheel truck, hauling surplus crops to market. But the city government bans such vehicles for safety reasons, so he has two years’ worth of potatoes and beans rotting away, unsellable. When he reaches 60 he will get a state pension of 1,200 yuan ($190) a year, but that is two years away and, anyway, is barely half the official poverty line. The city has promised him 350 yuan to heat his two-room home, and half-price medicines. But when his grandson fell ill recently, he had to borrow 1,000 yuan to pay the bills. Two massive debts are scrawled in pencil on a calendar hanging on the wall: 2,500 yuan and 6,400 yuan. “We’ve always been poor in this village,” he says.