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In Ho Chi Minh City, I went to the War Remnants Museum, which was first called the “The House for Displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet Government [of South Vietnam],” then later known as the “Museum of American War Crimes,” then as the “War Crimes Museum,” and finally in 1993, what it is now. It was really moving to see the Aggression War Crimes, Vietnam Post-War Recovery, and other exhibits and understand why, what we in America call “the Vietnam War,” the Vietnamese call it “the American War” (even on the texts in the exhibit, the words “Vietnam War” had quotation marks around it). There were armored fighting vehicles, planes, rifles, tiger cages where prisoners were abused and tortured, and graphic photographs covering the effects of Agent Orange, other chemical defoliant sprays, and napalm and phosphorous bombs.

I especially took my time in the exhibit with Agent Orange stories and photos by Philip Jones Griffiths. I can’t believe many of my friends do not know a thing about this war or have even heard of Agent Orange. Agent Orange is the herbicide/defoliant that contained an extremely toxic dioxin compound that caused many Vietnamese and some Cambodians to have birth defects, deformities, and stillborns. Agent Orange still affects Vietnamese people today with mental disabilities, extra digits, birth defects, deformities, and stillborns. Travelers will notice beggars with shortened or missing limbs near the major sites of the city.

I remember doing reports and exhibits for History Day on the Vietnam War and remember this one photo of a man being shot in the head by a soldier during the Tet Offensive. In Griffiths’ book on display in the Agent Orange exhibit room, there was that photo but with the murdered man’s widow holding the newspaper article with tears in her eyes.

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In the Requiem exhibit, a collection of photos by the photographers who died in Vietnam and Indochina, photos consisted of the terrible and violent times, the casualties, both civilian and military, and of the faces of the men and women who were there, including the photographers. Many people may not think of the dangers and risks photographers put theirselves in to document history for us.

“These photographers have given us something special, a remarkable record of that distant war, many of their photos taken when few people cared about what was happening there. They have given us images that have had the power to endure long after the war was over. Now that the war is past, consigned to the normal negligence accorded to history in America, those images remain powerful, a critical part of what constitutes modern memory. We are grateful to those who took the photos, now as then, forever in their debt.”
–Excerpt from the introduction to the book Requiem by David Halberstam, 1996

I wish I had photos to show you from their work. In walking through the exhibit, I just kept thinking that I was glad my mother didn’t have to see any of this. She is a direct product of the war—she was born in Ho Chi Minh City, placed in an orphanage, adopted by an American soldier, and brought to America when she was three years old. She says she has no desire to visit her home country, which I don’t blame her. Although she would have the opportunity to learn about her heritage, I think it would be painful for her since she has no connection to her biological parent who probably passed during the war. She is a happy Vietnamese-American woman with a Southern accent due to being raised by the Caucasian country folk who adopted her, along with a hand in cooking great Vietnamese dishes she learned from my father and her Vietnamese friends.

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It’s interesting how I am much closer to my second cousins (my great uncle’s children and their children, who are in my generation) who live in the states and all of my first cousins and their parents (my aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers of my father) stayed in Vietnam. My father and one of his brothers were the only siblings who came to America. I believe they were part of the boat people who came after the war.

At the end of the war my grandmother committed suicide by drowning herself. She was only 48. They say it was because she was depressed about not being wealthy anymore—it was all taken away at the war’s end. I learned that my family here is very money-oriented. They all live on the same street but only the Luus home is three stories high. My oldest uncle even openly complained and asked why I had to come to the “big house” first. He should know it’s because I have no idea how to get in touch with closer relatives except through the Luus who have made it possible by letting everyone know I am here. They were my main connection especially since no one else besides Kieu knows English. I am pretty sure Loan is who connected Shauna with the Luus. And overall, Mr. Luu is such a sweet and genuine man through and through despite how wealthy he may be. He’s really funny too and likes to make jokes. And his eyes are blue!

Besides that rude remark made by my oldest uncle, he was rather humorous when I first met him; I had just come back from the fish market so I was sure I was smelly and he let me know. His name is Saon and he is 62 years old. Through him I learned that my grandfather’s name is Leo; he passed away five years ago at the age of 81. He and my grandmother had five boys and two girls, in that order, and my father is the fifth of the seven kids. He gave me their names and invited me over to his house to meet his family. His wife has a big smile and one of their daughters live with them who has her own daughter who is 17 years old. They showed and described to me all the photos on the walls.

They also showed me photo albums, some which included photos of my father during the times when he came back to Vietnam and had that girlfriend. My dad looked liked a punk (really; he had a pony tail and was wearing a black T-shirt with some graphics on it) and his girlfriend was lovely, though not as lovely as my mom.

Maybe one day he’ll be a better man. He’s actually a pretty good looking guy and has the potential to do whatever he wants. But what is he doing? Before I left America I had a conversation with Rob O’Connor and Dr. Vernon who have both visited Vietnam on several occasions and for different reasons (Rob adopted two children and Dr. Vernon has done some work there!). Rob brought to my attention the term “drifter” without any hesitation after I described my father to them. It makes perfect sense.

Now he’s in Canada. I learned that I have family there too so he is probably with them. Perhaps Canada is next on my list of places to meet family!

Shauna, Randy, and I went to the airport to greet our great aunt and uncle and one of their daughters, Loan; they were all born in Vietnam but live in the United States. My great uncle is my father’s father’s brother (he is the brother of my grandfather). He and his wife live in Barling, Arkansas where 6 of 7 of his children were raised at some point. His oldest daughter, however, never came to the United States, and that is who they came to see. She, her husband, one of their daughters and her husband also met them at the airport with us and the next day we all traveled the 6+ hours to Rach Gia, the original home of my great uncle and his generation, including my grandfather and his children—my father, uncles, and aunts.

The cutest uncle, Shauna, his daughter Loan, me, Loan's mom lying back there, and Loan's oldest sister

The ride was longer than expected–Shauna and Randy went before and it took them 6 hours tops. This time our chauffeur–yes, the oldest daughter and her husband (Mr. and Mrs. Luu), have a large passenger van with a chauffeur and maids–did not take the ferry and went a long way around to the city. I didn’t mind though; we had plenty of fruit to eat to keep us occupied.

On the way to Rach Gia

Mostly "milk apple" and some other tasty fruit

The brown sugar tasting fruit is on the spoon--YUM

Dragon fruit

Many of the fruits I don’t even know English names for. And my oh my, they were tasty. We made a stop in Can Tho, the half-way mark between HCMC and Rach Gia, just to pick up more fruit. It was insane! In Vietnam, your family feeds and feeds you to show their love. I’m pretty sure I gained at least 10 pounds here from all of the food. I guess I’ll just have a REAL souvenir to take home.

So much delicious fruit

I feel like all I did while staying with my family was eat and sleep. We probably ate 5 meals a day. And they kept filling up my bowl even after I couldn’t handle anymore. It is somewhat rude if you don’t clean your bowl, so it was quite the challenge for me. I have a funny way of using chopsticks too, just how I hold my pen in a funny way, so I was always given a spoon. I can use chopsticks though, I promise!

And then there was more fruit. Every day, served as a snack or dessert. Some of the fruits were super sweet–one tasted like pure brown sugar. NO lie. I’m surprised I didn’t get sick from eating too much fruit in one sitting!

And the meals–always rice or noodles, typically served with seafood (Mr. Luu is a fisherman)–are to die for.

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We took an overnight bus on Christmas Day after our delicious Christmas pot luck that Shauna arranged with her friends (We ordered a turkey that was delivered, Shauna made green bean casserole and sweet potatoes, I made bruschetta, and Randy made some really tasty spicy fried rice while the other folks brought other yummy foods) to the city of Da Lat, the city of flowers, which is 5-7 from HCMC. It is more northern than HCMC, although not as north as Vinh, and quite cold! Shauna and Randy both had to buy sweaters, but lucky for me I had the one I bought for Zach in Vinh.

We traveled with Shauna and Randy’s friend Huong who I had met that day at our pot luck. She works at a cafe that Shauna and Randy frequented during the beginning of their stay in HCMC and she would come over to their house occasionally to help them with their Vietnamese. She is very pretty, very helpful, and has very good English-speaking skills! Da Lat is her hometown but her family actually lives an hour away on their farm where they mainly grow coffee. We rented a motorbike, visited Da Lat’s famous “Crazy House” and a beautiful flowerful pagoda, hiked to a beautiful waterfall, and stayed at a hotel the first night where we drank Da Lat wine and played cards. The next day Huong’s sister took us to the famous Flower Garden of Da Lat and also to the university there where she attends.

Then she took us to their parents’ home where we stayed that night. The way there was long and probably the scariest ride of my life. I was on Huong’s sister’s motorbike while Shauna was on Randy’s and we drove on twisty-turney paved streets for some time up the mountain as the sun set then rode on a dirt road the rest of the way which seemed like forever. It was such a bumpy ride–every bump I felt like I would fly off the bike. Every house we passed I wished was our destination. I thought of how ineffective our helmets would be if we were to have an accident. Our destination was the very last house on the path far away from civilization.

There was one part of the path where we had to ride over water across this super narrow wooden bridge attached with rope–Randy says it is called a “monkey bridge.” I can’t believe we crossed it. And with all of our luggage! I had a suitcase that Huong’s sister but between her and the wheel while I carried her backpack and purse; Randy had his huge backpack between him and the wheel and Shauna carried her huge backpack. It is amazing what Vietnamese people can carry on their bicycles and motorbikes–our load doesn’t even compare.

Although the road was the scariest of my life, it was well worth it! We arrived to a welcoming family who had prepared a meal for us already. We ate, got to know each other, and then played cards! Killer is the game, also called 13 or Thin lanh (sp?), Vietnamese for “Go Ahead.” Huong’s dad was a baller at it–he won almost every time! It is a popular card game among the Vietnamese–my family in America and every Asian person I know knows how to play. It was very entertaining and fun. Huong is the oldest of 5–three girls and two boys. Huong is 23, the next is 21, 20, 19, and 15, respectively. Huong’s 21 year old sister and 19 year old brother go home every weekend but the main residents are the parents, the 15 year old boy, and an uncle and his wife and child (I’m not sure about the 20 year old sister). They have several dogs, a couple of cats, many pigs and chickens, and a few caged birds.

We worked on the farm in the morning and it was really fun aside from the giant biting ants. We probably picked 37 kg of coffee beans within a few hours. The ripe coffee beans looked like cranberries and the trees were beautiful. Their farm was huge too! They also grow avocados, star fruit, bananas, mango, coconut, guava, longan, durian, etc.

Huong’s dad was in some accident when he was 18 or so that made him lose part of his right arm up to the elbow. He’s a farmer and has been quite successful while he works hard with just an arm and a half. He made paths from his farm to the water reservoir that he built a pipeline to. He supports all five of his children with one (Huong) going to the university in HCMC and two going to the one in Da Lat. He even works on the farm barefoot! Huong really admires him, as do I.

My last class

ASEM Vietnam Language school in Vinh City was a wonderful place to volunteer. I was treated just like the rest of the teachers and had the opportunity to teach almost every class. It was a unique experience for both me and the students. I was the first Vietnamese-American person that most of the students have ever encountered and I discovered that I enjoy teaching for certain age groups. I taught two different classes every day except for Mr. Tinh and Mr. Michael’s classes–I had the opportunity to have each of theirs twice!

They were good groups of students who were all eager to learn more English or more about me.
For each new class I opened up a map of the United States to show them where I live and where my family lives. I also brought the scrap book that Shauna made for Mama’s birthday from five years ago to introduce the students to my family. They asked me as many questions as they could with the English that they knew and even taught me a little bit of Vietnamese. In this way, we were being of service to each other! It was really an enjoyable reciprocal exchange. I wish I had more time here to learn more of the Vietnamese language. I’ll go home and forget it if I don’t keep practicing and studying. I’m interested in buying the Rosetta stone for Vietnamese since I won’t be around such students when I go home nor surrounded by the Vietnamese language to help continue the learning. It will also help for when I communicate with my second cousins and their parents who live in the states!

Overall, teaching here was a really wonderful experience. I made some really great friends with the teachers and had a whole lot of fun with the students. Michael tells me the students still ask about me. They asked him, “When is Ms. Kristi coming back?” He told them, “Soon.” I hope so.