March 5, 2007

Hue – Da Nang – Hoi An, Vietnam

Nothing immerses you in another culture like a stroll through the local market. In Vietnam, refrigeration is scarce, so most families shop daily for fresh vegetables and meat. The experience is a feast for the senses. Aromatic spices waft up and tickle your nose. Other aromas are best not described here. Need some dragon fruit? Cow intestines? Tamarind? A rainbow palette is represented in unusual veggies and fruits I could spend a week trying to identify. It’s fun to lose yourself in this crowded, restless, humid, vivid mélange of humanity. My purchases include some ground chili flakes and some frosted glass dinglebobs. The saleswoman promises they bring good luck, dangling from something like a rear-view window. Bargaining is part of the fun since there’s no such thing as a fixed price in Vietnam.

On the bridge crossing the Perfume River, we see an old woman soliciting “donations” with her conical hat. She is too dignified to be called a beggar. Son Michael, who has time for everyone, learns she is 71 and losing her memory. Son explains the Vietnamese culture respects it elderly, and he feels assured she will receive good care in her final years.

Mid-day, we are cruising in a minivan toward our next destination—the city of Hoi An. The 3-hour serpentine drive south grinds upward through the Hai Van Pass. We make a quick stop in Da Nang in a district famous for its marble shops. Giant lions, Buddhas, fountains, and other statuary are carved out of the local stone. Son Michael, Kathy, and Larry know some shop owners from previous trips through here and stop to say hello. It is decided three of the young women will join us tomorrow when we Americans visit a local school.

It is nearly dark as we arrive in Hoi An. This is one of the most highly anticipated parts of the trip for me. When my husband and I were here in Vietnam back in 2001 we fell in love with this town…and a little family that lives here. We became acquainted with a beautiful and sweet young street peddler named Loan who had a 2-year-old daughter. When we asked if she and her husband were going to send her to school, Loan explained the costs were way out of reach. Uniforms and other supplies can total $60 a year, she sadly explained. When we said we would like to cover those costs for her daughter, Loan burst into tears. The trick, we soon learned, was how to get the money safely into her hands. Cash is stolen from the mail, and since Loan can neither read nor write, we could not open a bank account for her. Through various twists and turns, we made email contact with a teacher in Hoi An named Dung. He kindly agreed to be the conduit for the tuition. So tonight, I am seeing Loan, her husband Anh, and daughter Tam for the first time since we met nearly 6 years ago. I would also meet Dung for the first time, since we had only been connected to him through email. When I see Loan in the distance outside our hotel, it’s dark, but she spots me immediately. I worried a bit that she and Tam might feel shy and awkward, but they both race full speed toward me and I toward them, embracing in laughter, hugs and tears.

What a moment. Everyone is hugging and kissing and trying to communicate—and watching it all is teacher Dung. He is smiling broadly. What a pleasure to finally meet this wonderful man! We celebrate our reunion with Son Michael, Larry and Kathy at a restaurant in town where Tam draws some lovely pictures. She tells me art is her favorite subject. Loan, who speaks little English, tries several times to explain how she feels. She says she is very grateful and always thinks of us. Later, Loan, Tam and I walk hand in hand as our little group explores the narrow streets of Hoi An. Brightly colored cloth lanterns compete this night with a glowing moon, peeking through the clouds. A cool breeze rises up, lights shimmer on the river and a piano plays in the distance. Loan speaks very little English but tries several times to express how she feels. She is grateful, she explains, and although many years have passed, always thinks of us.

I share this personal story not for self-serving reasons, but to encourage anyone who reads this to stay open to possibilities that allow us to help others. I promise the biggest beneficiary will be you. That’s exactly how Son Michael Pham feels about the work he’s doing through “Kids Without Borders.” He remains open to seeing needs and then tackles them fearlessly. Are you ready to sponsor a child in Vietnam? KWB can get you started. It’s so easy. It costs nothing to check out the Web site kidswithnoborders.org.

Back in Hoi An, inevitably, the time arrives to go our separate ways. We hug, and hug again, then wave and call goodbye until my little family disappears into the darkness. How many years will elapse before we meet again? All I know is the memories from this magical night will certainly be enough to sustain me.