Hugged by humidity, the sun's glaring rays, and sweat, we bike through Vietnam's tropical countryside. The trail we take constitutes a narrow, raised dirt path which is surrounded by expansive fields of rice. The houses dot the hilly roadside with hues of bright pastels—dreamy yellows, cheerful teals, calming blues and skinny chickens with amusingly long necks peck behind us. Ahead lies a cornfield, with rows of green stretching to infinity. Lounging in the comfort of the plentiful ponds are water buffalo and their quiet strength ripples through their broad bodies. It strikes me that this pocket of immense beauty may represent a lifestyle of difficult labor to its inhabitants.
-on sublimity and one of my favorite memories from Vietnam
In the middle of May, I boarded a plane at LAX and landed in Saigon, Vietnam. My view from the airplane minutes before we landed at 9pm was like that of a storybook— glittering rivers snaked around clusters of light and my western-cultured imagination longed to spy castles and moats. Shortly after, I found my pal Sami and we stepped into sticky Vietnam, boarded a taxi, and drove to the Thien Xuan Hotel.
Well, to be fair it didn't happen exactly like that.
Two days before I needed to leave, I realized that I had left my travel visa in Berkeley. I remember feeling the blood drain from my head as I realized that a single piece of paper could compromise thousands of dollars and the effort I put into selling Krispy Kreme donuts at 6am in frigid San Francisco. That weekend morphed into a series of sleepless nights as my guilt gnawed my conscience raw, especially because my parents were surprisingly forgiving and sympathetic towards my detrimental mistake. However, I received a text from Emily on Sunday, telling me that it was possible to obtain a travel visa once in Vietnam. Although the Vietnam Embassy rejected travel visas and admonished against them I decided to take a chance and purchased a visa acceptance letter through a third-party website. That night at 11pm my dad and I headed to LAX and as we arrived, the visa acceptance letter appeared in my inbox. A kind man from EVA airlines allowed us to print the letter inside the employee office and on the screen I saw the visa acceptance letter for a different person, which quelled my fears immensely. Needless to say, after tremendous heartache, headache, and whatever other aches there are, I was legally allowed into Vietnam. Woohoo!
Part 1: Hue
The first city we travelled to was Hue, the imperial capital of Vietnam. Hue is much more rural than Ho Chi Minh City (more mosquitos!) and unfortunately, I woke up to an enormously swelled lower lip on the first day. We had our orientation that morning, where we met the volunteer photographers (who took all the amazing pictures in this blog post) and Co Tran and Co Sally, who kindly dedicated their busy work schedules to be our caretakers and guides for the trip.
Our crew! And me, trying (not successfully) to conceal my ginormous lower lip
The next day we travelled to a nearby village to repaint a school that had been built by ACWP, the organization that VMO is partnered with. In order to get to the village, we travelled by bus over a horrendously bumpy road before reaching the shore of a large fish farm. Although this village was blessed by ACWP to have a school, it was very easy to conclude why many children all over Vietnam do not attend school. Had the school not been built, the children would have to take a long boat ride just in order to reach the next village, which cost us about fifty American dollars.
We boarded a rickety, wooden boat with a motor attached to it and sped through the murky water under the overcast sky. Immersed in the water stood wooden shacks, which provided areas of shaded rest for the farmers. Later on, the photographers told me that they had seen the farmers cast a net into the water 10 times, but had not seen a single fish in the net.
The one-room schoolhouse that we painted stood about 50 feet from the water and was in desperate need of a paint job as its walls were peeling in large chunks and the sides were darkly stained with streaks of mold. We were surprised to find out that the schoolhouse had in fact been painted only a year earlier and yet, was in this condition. However, once we began working, we realized that the paint was poor quality as we did not even use a primer and had only half a day to paint the entire building. Because the village lacked resources, any advancements made, such as the painted exterior of the schoolhouse, quickly deteriorated. I realized that in underprivileged areas, strides towards modernity must be matched by a much greater effort for maintenance. On the other hand, in urban cities, improvements are easily implemented and are much more long-lasting. Therefore, a gaping divide exists between developing and developed areas because the rate of improvement behaves exponentially. During our time in this village, there were two things that really struck me.
First, was the hardworking attitude of the schoolteacher and Co Tran. Even though we were supposedly young, robust adults, we tired out extremely quickly under the smothering heat and had to take frequent breaks to prevent nausea. However, Co Tran and the schoolteacher crouched down in positions that would ache even my knees (and I don't even have knee problems) and worked tirelessly while also producing innovative methods to speed up the process. Their mental strength was evident by their capacity to grit their teeth and work through the pain. This really reminds me of Seth Holmes' analysis of unskilled labor in Fresh Fruit, Broken Bodies. Although we, as college students at a respected American university are socially classified as more skillful than poor denizens of a developing country, Co Tran and the schoolteacher worked much more adeptly, intelligently, and consistently—demonstrating far greater skill.
the schoolhouse
My second realization came from observing the village kids. While most were happily shouting, kicking around a peeling soccer ball, and attempting to "help" us paint, there was one older child who constantly taunted the rest and stole their toys. Later on, when the kids gathered in the schoolhouse so that we could gift them with milk and candy, that child sat in the back of the classroom by himself. Although the kids all seemed to be so innocent, harmless, and friendly, the child served as a reminder that as the kids grew older, their lived experiences and intrinsic personalities, could produce not only future teachers, doctors, and loving parents, but also abusive partners, robbers, and drug addicts. My mother has always reminded me that when she was younger, she was swimming in her village lake when her leg violently cramped up and she began to drown. She shouted for "help" but none of the village children came to her help except for her cousin. Today, her cousin sits in a prison in China for smuggling opium and kidnapping children to sell them. Violent people cannot be so categorically labelled as immoral and hateful, especially when harsh upbringings and circumstances may force desperate means for survival. As pointed out by the photographers, the fish farm was becoming polluted and not doing so well; these social determinants could eventually push many of the village children into seeking potentially violent careers to make ends meet.
The next day, we headed to our first mobile clinic. Basically, there are mobile clinics scattered all across Vietnam, but because they usually charge money, the residents will not regularly visit. During the school year, we fundraised money for prescription drugs and along with a team of volunteering doctors and pharmacists, we were able to provide a free mobile clinic for those around the area. Our team was split into three groups: those who took blood pressure, those who helped in pharmacy, and those who helped give directions. We quickly realized that the help we were giving was extremely trivial. I was in pharmacy with Megan, Arianna, Haien, and Dalena and although the work we were doing was simple, it was incredibly fast-paced and exhausting. Basically, we had to allocate medications into a bag which became a heated flurry of decoding the doctors' messy handwriting, memorizing prescription names and their labels, and working as fast as we could to stem the accelerating influx of prescriptions.
allocating our medications with our sweet and patient pharmacist
The next day, we volunteered at a different mobile clinic, which was a similar flurry of trying to help as much as we could while not getting in any doctor's' or pharmacist's way.We also hosted a Hepatitis B Vaccination clinic for children, in which we could not do much but hand out milk and candy, demonstrate how to properly brush teeth, and ensure that no child experienced side effects from the vaccination. I remember witnessing a touching moment when we handed milks out to the children and I realized one of the boys we had given milk to did not have one anymore. Turns out, he had immediately given it to his younger brother.
Our last medical experience in Hue was visiting the children's ward of a hospital. Besides fundraising money for prescription drugs during the school year, we had also raised enough money to pay for two pediatric surgeries and would be visiting the two girls that these surgeries were going to. The hospital setup was radically different from that of an American hospital. There were about 20 children crammed into each room, with no divider between each bed, providing no privacy. I remember seeing a child with a bag connected to his genitals, which were oozing pus, and thinking about how upsetting it would be to not only be in this crowded hospital room, but also be observed by twelve or so American college students. Many of the families here are extremely poor, but even so almost every child had a parent lying next to him or her, sacrificing their wages to provide comfort to the children. Their parental love was humbling and although American hospitals are similar, I did not quite expect this in Vietnam as Asian culture promotes a less intimate parent-child bond. One of the girls that we were helping was only one years old but I had guessed that she was at least two years old, not because of her height (she was really small) but because of how skinny she was, no indication of baby fat. In contrast to the rest of her body protruded her very large, very bloated stomach, which bulged from the consequences of her kidney failure. The other child that we helped looked very similar and was also plagued by kidney failure. She is 10 years old and was extremely thankful, mature, and sweet towards us.
After realizing the sheer number of patients that are unable to pay for their operations, we each decided to donate another $15 towards the pediatric ward, which would total $200. Although this was a small amount by American standards, $200 could potentially save lives— and it did. One of the doctors frantically told us that a 31-year old patient had been wheeled in and he had severe stomach cancer which he could not afford. If we helped him, his operation would only cost $100 and would save his life. If we did not, he would be turned away. During discussion sections with my Field Study Internship, I often enjoyed dissecting ethical questions with my classmates. However, in this tense moment, playing fate turned from an academic exercise to reality and I felt sickened by the prospect of valuing certain lives over others. We did not deserve to make the celestial decision of whose thread of life to snip but because of our position in society relative to the patients', we did anyways. Personally, the decision for me was pretty straightforward. As a 31-year old man, he could potentially represent a father, a loving husband, a son, a brother, the breadwinner for the family. On the other hand, children are not so complexly woven into the world and instead are mostly tied to their parents. Like a stone dropped into a pond, the man's outcome would not only affect him but ripple tremendously to those around him, in ways that we could never predict. In that moment, we created an unseen miracle and gifted a young man with life. Objectively, it was the greatest contribution that us as a team had given medically. Despite working tediously and sweating profusely in the mobile clinics, our most meaningful impact came from something that we could have given overseas: money. It was at once an ironic, disheartening, and joyful experience. Though, I still do feel uneasy that a man who has most likely worked harder, suffered harder, and sacrificed more than any of us ever had was essentially indebted to us—privileged Americans who donated a measly $15 each— for saving his life.
Part 2: An Giang
Anh Hung Dan Toc Mobile Clinic
After departing Hue and relaxing for a few days in Da Nang, we took a six hour bus ride from Ho Chi Minh to An Giang. I assumed that we were traveling quite a bit away, at least 500 miles. However, because the roads in Vietnam are quite narrow and strewn with potholes, we had apparently only travelled around 100 miles. Along the way, we stopped at a beautiful pagoda, where the nuns served us a vegetarian meal. It was unsettling to see the traditional pagoda built in the haste of modernization. The serene structure stood amidst a rowdy night market, fighting hard to preserve Vietnamese Buddhist culture.
dusky view from pagoda
At the mobile clinics in An Giang, we worked alongside a much larger crew, which not only included primary care physicians, but also dentists, ultrasound technicians, and gynecologists. A medical student graduate also travelled with us and she allowed us to take turns shadowing her around the clinics. Because the children often drink milk and do not receive frequent dental checkups, many had to have their teeth pulled by the dentists. The dentists essentially pulled teeth for four hours...
During the An Giang mobile clinics, I also checked the blood pressure of patients manually. I remember it being quite uncomfortable at times when a patient would have abnormal numbers and I would have to write it down in front of them. I was also surprised by how thankful the patients were towards me for taking their blood pressure when the task that I was doing was honestly quite simple.
While shadowing, the medical student told me that many of the patients fake their illnesses so that they can collect medicine for other family members that could not be present. She said that it was obvious when people were lying when they could not quite describe the pain they were feeling or pointed to several different body parts when asked to identify the pained location multiple times. However, the primary care physicians will often prescribe them a small amount of the medicine anyways. Because the patients do not have regular checkups and are unable to consistently see the same doctor, the physicians are unable to treat the root causes of the pain and instead seek pain relief for the symptoms. While I was in the ultrasound room, almost every adult patient we saw had a fatty liver, indicating high alcoholism. Furthermore, almost every adult patient would go in for a certain symptom, such as kidney stones and the ultrasound technician would find other problems as well. There was even a pregnancy announcement in the ultrasound room. Many of the young children who were sent to the ultrasound room complained of stomach problems because the surrounding area is prone to stomach parasites and worms. As a result, children must take medicine once a month to fight against the worms.
patients waiting in the muggy air for their prescription medicines
Part 3: Ho Chi Minh
Our last stop was Ho Chi Minh where we visited a rehabilitation center for children with Brittle Bone Disease. The center was named the Diamond Rehabilitation Center because the children's bones are shaped in a beautiful crystalline structure and despite the brittleness of the bones, the children are hardy like diamonds are. The entire facility had a padded floor in order to prevent the children from breaking their bones. Many of the children had never walked before in their lives, but with corrective surgeries and daily exercises such as yoga and swimming, they learned how to walk and even gave us a runway show. One of the boys was just seven years old and previously he was completely immobilized. Now, he can slide himself around with the help of a support pillow. We watched the students perform a yoga routine and their tenacity was evident through their heavy breathing and profuse sweat beads. Another observation I made was that the children were extremely happy and constantly burst into giggles with each other. Some of the children at the center were 22 years old, older than any of us were. I wondered if they felt degraded when they performed childhood songs and dances for us along with the other children. After the children sang for us, they asked us to sing and dance for them. Since we are a mess, we attempted the Macarena and it was a complete, awkward, but hilarious fiasco.
Diamond Rehabilitation Center
Part 4: Closing
Our last stop was the ACWP banquet, in which we ate at their Bloom restaurant; all the funds raised at Bloom are donated towards building schools or funding mobile clinics and the staff consists of young adults that ACWP is helping better their futures. The manager at Bloom is a young woman who ACWP had supported through nursing school. They realized that she was extremely intelligent and hardworking and offered to pay for her medical school tuition. However, she declined and reasoned that the money should not go towards advancing her, for she had already progressed so far, but instead should go towards helping other children. Now she serves as the restaurant manager and teaches young adults skills to thrive in the restaurant business, giving them an opportunity to move to Ho Chi Minh and pursue a higher education.
My time in Vietnam has taught me many lessons, but the most prominent is that without an education, people can work as hard as humanly possible but still be stuck, like a car's wheels churning frantically in mud but going nowhere. Even if people are lucky enough to receive benefits such as free mobile clinics or a renovation of the schoolhouse, the deep issues stemming from inequality are only temporarily patched up. In my anthropology class, I learned about learned helplessness—a term encapsulating the state of mind people fall into when any attempt to fix their problems is futile. For example, students at UC Berkeley may feel hopeless if they feel terrified for a test; however, the students can cope with their fear by realizing that by studying hard enough, it is possible to achieve what they want. Learned helplessness is developed from trying to chase the impossible. For instance, had we not paid for the 31-year old man's operation, he would feel learned helplessness because no matter what he did, there was no way he could pay for his operation. Education is the bridge from learned helplessness to the "American Dream"—the notion that if you work hard enough, you will achieve what you deserve.
Lastly, I wanted to add that besides witnessing kindness, strength, and encouragement exchanged between those that we visited, I also discovered similar moments occurring between my awesome (for lack of better term, or because this is the perfect term) fellow trip-members. I generally consider myself to be one that tends to take initiative when helping other people. However, I was almost always beaten by another trip member when it came to volunteering for a task. One moment that especially struck me was when someone lost their shoe while crossing the traffic intersection. Crossing the roads in Vietnam is a battle of sorts—thrilling but something I would prefer to never do again. Not only that, but it was raining in intense torrents. If you were to stand outside for even two seconds, you would look like you had just taken a shower. During the two seconds I was debating whether or not to retrieve the shoe from the middle of the road, a different trip member was already heading down the street to get it and I don't know why, but I almost started crying because I thought it was so sweet.
Love them, and Khanh!
Thank you to ACWP for providing us with these experiences, thank you to my parents for being forgiving when I lost my visa (lol), thank you to UC Berkeley VMO for organizing the trip, thank you to the physicians, dentists, and pharmacists for teaching us, thank you to the photographers for capturing our trip, thank you to Co Tran and Co Sally for your gracious spirits, thank you to the patients for letting us intrude, and thank you to all those who shared their beautiful culture with us.
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