"Bạn thân mến,

Bạn vừa qua các thủ tục tại trại Pendleton để bắt đầu xây dựng "Cuộc Sống Mới" tại Hoa Kỳ. Tôi mong mỏi việc thích ứng vào xã hội Mỹ của bạn được tiến triển êm đẹp.

You processed through Camp Pendleton on the way to your New Life in the United States. I hope that your adjustment into American society is progressing smoothly.

Thân ái,

N.G.W Thorne

Senior Civil Coordinator"

 

         

          I cut out the above words from the pile of papers in the folder given to me when I left the refugee camp to go to the far north of the United States, starting our life in exile. The picture of the tent in the refugee camp was from a newspaper in Willmar, and it looked exactly like the tent we stayed in while waiting for immigration settlement. A tent like that could accommodate two or three families, depending on the household number of people. My family had nine people, and I remember we lived with a young couple. The tent was equipped with military cots, woolen blankets, mattresses, and pure white sheets. There were only one or two bulbs on the ceiling to light up the night. The young couple used bed sheets as curtains around their two cots placed next to each other for privacy. As for us, we just left it like that, sleeping covered up with blankets at night because even though it was June or July, the Pendleton Valley was chilly at night.

During our days at camps - one month in Guam, one month in Pendleton - our family of nine had absolutely no idea where we would go or what we would do in the coming days.

When we left our small but cozy house in Saigon, we only brought a few sets of clothes, a few packs of instant noodles, and... a pot of freshly cooked rice. Our house then was located in the Navy's non-commissioned officers' quarters, measuring 3 meters wide and 9 meters long when it was provided to us. Our neighbors, thus included both officers and non-commissioned officers and we lived together very harmoniously.

Looking back at those days was also fun. The neighbor on my right was a family of a corporal. He was stationed far away and only came home once in a while. Every time he came home, his wife got pregnant. Their house was small and there were so many children to feed, so the wife had to take any jobs offered among the community to make ends meet. The children were well-behaved though, and I never heard them cry or bother the neighbors. Her house had a hammock, and sometimes I heard the hammock creaking, but I never heard her lull the baby to sleep. She helped me wash clothes, clean the house, and do anything my mother needed. My husband was stationed far away in the Central region, and his salary was just enough to buy cigarettes. My youngest sister was still in school, my children had to go to school too, and I had to go to work. I was away all day, so I didn't know much about my neighbors. Even if I did, I wouldn't have enough money to help them. My husband rarely came home, and my children were still young and didn't remember him. The third child was only 2 years old at that time, very cute, often ran to the sergeant's house accross the street to play with their children, copying his friends calling the sergeant "dad". Everyone in the family laughed at me!

We called our residents " house", but they were actually just empty rooms built in a row side by side. When we took over the house, the walls were not plastered or painted yet. My husband and I had to borrow money at high interest rates to buy paint, lime, built a water tank for bathing and washing, divided the living room and bedroom, and laid the floor before we could live in it. A few years later, we built another room in the back to accommodate a family of 8. We were in the process of building a mezzanine when we had to flee, leaving everything behind, including our family albums, which I regret the most. Whoever took over our house would be very lucky because it didn’t lack anything, even though the house was small. They would also enjoy a bunch of colorful silk ao dai, trousers, shirts, and a full barrel of rice that could last a whole month. There was also a trellis of fragrant squash in the back of the house that my mother tended, and a pond of green morning glory.

On the afternoon of April 29, we each stuffed what we needed most in a small bag, and went with an officer friend running the inner road to Saigon wharf. It was getting dark before we could board the big ship and head out to sea.

It's been a long time, I don't remember how I felt in those days, whether I was worried or sad or not. But I remember for sure that the next day, out at sea, when the Vietnamese flag was lowered, and all guns had to be put down, everyone cried. As for the rest, it seems like I gave it to God: whatever supposed to happen would happen. I did not often worry about the future, I only worried about dealing with the time being. Of course, the weeks before that, when my work office was closed, I was at home worried, every night I laid down crying, especially when I heard artillery fire near my house. My oldest child was so scared that he cried loudly, even when he grew up he still remembered that days clearly. But strangely, while listening to the news on the radio about so many trouble things happening out there, I don't remember anything, I only remember the song " Burning Leaves in the Yard " by Pham Duy. It's really strange, while fire was burning in my heart, and on the street, I only remember the soothing lyrics about smoke of love!!

When we fled, besides my husband who is a naval officer and my children, I also have my youngest sister, my younger brother, my mother, and my sister-in-law.

After the Mau Than battle in 1968, my youngest sister left Hue to go to Bao Loc to live with my eldest sister. In 1972, Bao Loc was bombarded and she broke her leg. My eldest sister lost her husband and a child and decided to move back to Hue. My youngest sister then moved to Saigon to live with me and go to school there.

Before our evacuation in 1975, my younger brother was studying at Hue University and my other younger sister, who had graduated from Education University of Hue,  was a teacher in one of the high school in Hue. In March 1975, Hue was taken over by the North troops. It took my two siblings almost a month to get from Hue to Saigon. Sometimes they walked, sometimes they hitched a ride, sometimes they borrowed a Vespa from our cousin when they reached Nha Trang. Not long after they arrived in Saigon, the older sister got married and moved out. When Saigon fell, she was stuck because our military residential quater closed its gates and she couldn't get in. My mother had been living with me be snce I had my first child.

My sister-in-law was unemployed at that time, so she moved in with my family.

Three children, 6, 5, and 2 years old, one of them ran holding on to his grandmother, I held hand of  the second one, and the youngest was carried by his father. We ran from the military quater to the Saigon wharf.

I also had another younger brother who came from Cam Ranh to Saigon to attend some kind of military training course. Cam Ranh was lost, he stayed at my house. In the last days, the Saigon government called on soldiers to return to their units, those who were in Saigon should report somewhere in Binh Duong. He said goodbye to me to follow the call and I lost contact from then on. Otherwise, would he join me then, he wouldn't have disappeared at the age of twenty!

Thinking back, I feel we were very lucky. We went in a large group but didn't get lost, didn't have any accidents, didn't lose anything (because we didn't bring anything to lose, or we had lost everything already!), and no one were worried about tomorrow. It seemed that at some point, people became numb, let life take them wherever it wanted. Besides, there were thousands of people with the same fate living and breathing around us, so why should worry about things that hadn't happened yet?

In Guam and Pendleton, I left my child in the tent with my mother and volunteered to do office work, translate documents, and act as an interpreter for refugees. I worked because I wanted to work, because if I just stayed in a tent, waiting in line to receive food day in day out, I would have been depressed. At that time, I didn’t think about the salary, but when I got out of the camp, they handed me an envelope. I don’t remember how much now, but at least I had some money to spend during my first days in a new land.

In the refugee camp, when I worked as an interpreter, I also had many memorable memories. One of those memories I told in the story " The Violin ". There is another story that I have always kept in my mind even though it is not serious.

It was noon. It was very hot. The climate was that of desert area, between the mountains and hills, hot during the day and cold at night. Refugees had finished their meal and returned to their tents. Workers and volunteers had taking breaks, and I was the only one sitting there guarding the office. A very young woman, probably younger than me, came in with an empty milk bottle. She held out the bottle and asked me to fill some milk for her child. She said she had just arrived and had not been given milk yet. I was really surprised because this was an office, not a kitchen. Even though there might be milk in the office refrigerator but I did not think I could open it and give it to her because it was not mine. I did not feel empathy to her at that moment, just felt that I was an employee, a refugee, and I was not allowed to take someone else's stuff to give away. I apologized to her and told her I had no authority. Oh my, how sharp her look was! I still remember it to this day. I'm sure she pouted, thinking I was a cold soul, seeing a hungry child but not helping. I have encountered many different looks later in life. There were looks of contempt, looks of doubt, looks of hate, etc., but it was hard to forget the look of that young mother. Of course, if she went around, she would definitely find milk for her child because in this refugee camp, there was no shortage of food. She just went to the wrong place. Maybe she forgot, maybe she still remembers, but I will never forget.

 

 

We were sponsored by the Vinje Lutheran Church. While in the camp, talking to Pastor Robert Ostergaard on the phone, hearing his hearty laugh, I felt reassured and immediately felt fond of his carefree laugh. When we met in person, I found his laugh to be consistent with his personality. He was friendly, down-to-earth, and easygoing, unlike Pastor Dean Larson, who was older, calm and was more serious.

The reason my family stayed in the Pendleton refugee camp for a whole month and only left in mid-July was because our family of 9 refused to split up and settled to different locations as the settlement staff suggested. In a foreign land, if we could not find a way to stay close together, why splitted up?

Leaving the camp, everyone was given a small amount of money to buy food or drinks. At that time, I was kind of dumb. At the airport, hungry, we went into a restaurant. Everything was so expensive to us. I only looked at the prices on the menu, but I didn't know what was what. I could barely talk about some popular topics, but how did I know what bacon, sausage, sunny side up, pancakes, hash browns, hot links... looked like, whether they were salty or sweet? So I ordered the cheapest items on the menu. The servers brought out what I ordered, and they included only a few pieces of bacon and breads, so I had to give them to my children. Maybe because I was so hungry, when we arrived at the Minneapolis airport and then were transported by bus to Willmar, a small city nearly 100 miles away with population around 17,000, I vomitted so hard my face turned pale.

 

 

In addition to Pastor Larson, there were several other families from the church, 18 people in all, who came to pick us up. Mrs. Marilyn Tiede explained to the press: "They were tired, of course," but "in good shape." She must have seen my pale face.

Another funny thing happened at the Minneapolis airport. Seeing that everyone was tired, Mrs. Tiede suggested that everyone took a break and relax. She asked me if I needed to go to the powder room. I said no, I didn't have any makeup on, so why would I need to go to the powder room? She thought for a moment and then asked me if I needed to go to the bathroom. I also said no, because I thought who would take a shower in a public place like that? She asked me if I needed to go to the restroom. I also shook my head because it was fine to rest outside, there was no need to rest in a separate room. But then when we saw the restroom sign "W.C", everyone said they needed to go there. It turned out that all those words have the same meaning, but I didn't know then. Every time I think about this silly thing, I can't help but laugh. I remember on the plane they called it lavatory . What a mess, there's only one restroom but so many words.

 

We were taken to stay temporarily at the vacation home of Mr. and Mrs. Hogan, owners of a luxury clothing store in the city. The house by the lake was lovely, located on a spacious land with green grass and tall shady trees. There was a small wooden dock for their boats to sail around the lake. Mrs. Hogan and her daughters were slim and beautiful. They kindly left their bathing suits at the vacation home for us to use, and they fit us perfectly. Those were magical days. Every day we went to the lake to swim, laid on the grass or just turned on the radio to listen to trendy music, watch TV, read books. It was the era of the Carpenters, great music with young and beautiful singers. People in the church brought rice to our family because they knew we only wanted rice and were not used to bread and potatoes three times a day.

Every day somebody would come to teach us about social life and the difficulties we might encounter, the careers that may be suitable for us, but they do not talk about the opportunities that can help us advance in life. Their job is helping us to find a job so that we can support ourselves, not to rely on the community or the government's help.

 

 

In early August, my family moved into our first rented house. Adults started going to work and children got ready for school.

My two older children, one is in first grade and the other is in kindergarten. The children adapted very quickly. Everyday they got on the bus that stops right in front of our house to go to school. After school, they came home and ran to the neighbor's house behind our house to play with their friends. The house is old, just brought from somewhere and rented to us, but had a very large yard so the children could run around without bothering anyone. 

 

 

My mother, of course, did not work. She helped me look after my children. I was hired as a substitute at a high school, helping Vietnamese school students take notes and tutoring math and English. My husband worked at a mental hospital. My sister-in-law worked at a restaurant. My younger brother worked for a paint company, drawing advertisements. The minimum wage at that time was only 2 USD an hour. I was paid 3 USD, and my husband was paid nearly 4 USD, the most, because few people could do his job and he worked at night. As a Lieutenant in the VN Navy, now he worked as a staff member in a mental institution. My life, both materially and spiritually, suddenly turned upside down and spun like a top. But that was a different story to be told. Personally, I was very happy to work in an educational environment, among Vietnamese children, and to learn many things from the teachers and staffs there, who were very caring and patient.

 

   

Winter 1976 - Summer 1977

 

Willmar is the city of Kandiyohi County in the state of Minnesota.  Four seasons spring, summer, fall, and winter appeared themselves distinctly through the year. Spring and Fall were very short. Summer was unbearably hot, and winter was very cold and long. This state of Thousand Lakes has many lakes. In the summer, Vietnamese immigrants went fishing on the lakes to relax, and in the winter, they go catching fish in small streams, then freezed their catch in the snow. A few men followed people from the church to fish on the frozen lake, set up tents, made fires, drilled a small hole through the ice, and sat waiting for the fish to bite. The women stayed at home, looking up through the glass windows at the vast open white sky and... felt overcome with intense nostalgia.

 

 

Winter, no matter how beautiful, was just a freezing season to us. Looking day in day out at the gloomy sky and the cold white ground around us, the hearts of those who were far from home felt greatly sad, but the children did not care where their homeland was. They played innocently in the snow, having fun with their friends.

 

 

 

After only two freezing winters, we had to say goodbye to the small city with so much memories to keep. My husband and I, our kids, my mom and my sibblings loaded our belongings into two old cars. And with 600 USD saved after working for two years in our pockets, we started our journey southward, from Willmar, Minnesota, the northernmost part of the United States, to San Jose, the southwest of the United States, passing through the states of South Dakota, Nebraska, stopping in Colorado to visit some of our Vietnamese acquaintances living there, watching my husband and his old friends getting drunk for days like the characters in Cao Tan's poems, then continued on our way, driving through Utah, Nevada at night, to San Jose, California, where some of our former Vietnamese Navy friends have settled. They had been sponsored either by private individuals or by some churches, were shown to take opportunities to  go back to school, achieved some skills enough to find jobs to help develop the Silicon Valley, which some poetic souls gave it the name Valley of Yellow Flowers. Our journey lasted nearly two weeks, including the days spent in Denver.

We took our relocation like taking a vacation trip. We had no money so we stopped by the public parks along the road during the day which had barbecues stands and restrooms. We then went to supermarkets near by to buy food and drinks, spread out blankets on the grass, ate grilled meat sandwiches, laid down under the shade of trees and slept until the temperature cooled enough to drive on. We also passed some nights in some motels where we could take shower and wash ourselves. The American highway system was very safe back then, the roads were wide and kind of deserted, the people were kind, and there was no trouble from the police or curious, discriminatory locals.

We lived in Minnesota for exactly two years, arriving there in July 1975, and leaving there in July 1977. Although two years were short compared to 40 years away from home, I will never forget those first days in a strange land. And although it was only two years, there were so many ups and downs in both material and spiritual life. My only regret is that I could not express my gratitude to the people in the Vinje church. They spent their time, money, and generosity to support my large family so that we would not be bewildered or depressed. They never showed that they were the civilized and we were the savage. They made me believe in humanity. When we left that city, their pride was hurt, but that was it. A lost bird must fly to find its flock, otherwise it will wither, like a tree without water. After my family left, other families also left the city one by one and moved to California. Later, occasionally we crossed each other, but like the duckweed on a river course, we would happen seeing each other briefly and then floating our separate way , never meet again.

Forty years have passed. The time we have spent in this foreign land is longer than the time we spent in our motherland. Yet every April, the old images resurface like new ones. I don’t want to remember the days I was in Saigon, reading daily newspapers, following the TV news, seeing endless lines of our people staggering, clinging to each other, evacuating from the highlands to the plains like headless dragons. I don’t want to remember the scenes of military boots and combat uniforms being left behind scatterd around on the ground. I don’t want to remember the days I was sitting on the deck of a ship on my fleeing spree, holding my children tightly, looking at the vast ocean and the vast people around me. I filter out only the happy moments to place in my memory, so that every April I can bring them out and remember them with a smile.

Yeah, every year. It's been 40 years, it's unbelievable.

Đặng Lệ Khánh

_______

 

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