Small Bamboo

by Tracy Vo

  The situation at the farmhouse was tense. Dad says there were about thirty or forty people packed into the building. Everyone had to be quiet so people were too scared to move around. They just sat in the stillness and waited. The organisers had explained that during the night they would be given a signal, normally a flashing light, to move to the next location. At around nine o’clock, having waited most of the day, some of the others started to get worried but Dad, knowing it would be safer to move in the middle of the night, wasn’t concerned.

  A few more hours passed. Uncle Ut turned to Dad and said, ‘Brother, why are they taking so long? The longer I sit here, the more I think something’s wrong.’

  ‘It’s only midnight. Maybe they are waiting another hour or so until it’s completely safe,’ Dad tried to reassure Uncle Ut. But the signal better come soon, he thought to himself, otherwise we could be in trouble.

  Everyone in the house became increasingly anxious. Not only were their hopes of escape fading fast but the longer it took the more chance something could go wrong—if it hadn’t already. By three in the morning there was still no signal. One of the men whom Dad and Uncle Ut had been talking to earlier suddenly stood up.

  ‘We have to leave,’ he said. ‘Staying here with all these people is just too dangerous. We haven’t heard anything for hours now. It’s not happening. Let’s go before we’re discovered and captured.’

  It was about a kilometre from the house to the main road. Luckily it was a full moon so there was enough light for them to see where they were going, though it also increased the danger because patrols could easily spot them. About ten of them left together and walked fast to get to the road. But at four o’clock in the morning, there were no buses going past. Dad spotted some xic los up the road and he grabbed Uncle Ut and the man they’d befriended. He felt bad about leaving the rest of the group, but it was too dangerous to stay together—and, in truth, it was a case of every man for himself.

  Dad and Uncle Ut were so disappointed, even though they knew that these escape plans rarely succeeded. Dad thought about Uncle Thirteen and his several attempts to escape, and Uncle Eleven who had tried to escape after being released from the re-education camps, only to be caught and re-incarcerated. He felt bad for Uncle Five who had gone to so much effort to organise this, and would never see his money again. Any number of things could have gone wrong. They had heard of fake deals, with innocent people paying huge amounts of money to conmen. Sometimes it was just too dangerous for the boat to get to the meeting place, or the organisers were caught and captured. Being caught was Dad’s worse nightmare. He was glad they were on their way home and not in the hands of Communist officers.

  It was around six in the morning when they got back to Uncle Five’s house. At first Uncle Five was just relieved that his brothers were unharmed but then, as they explained what had happened or, more to the point, what had not happened, he was disappointed. Then Uncle Five wasn’t just disappointed, he was frustrated. And furious. He had been organising this escape plan with his friend for months, not to mention the many other plans he had considered in the past year. He was sick of wasting time, and money, and relying on other people. He just wanted to look after his family as best he could. So at that moment, Uncle Five decided that if they were ever going to get out of Vietnam, he would have to organise it himself.

  ‘Brothers, the time has come to leave,’ he said to my dad and Uncle Ut. ‘The new regime wants to take away everything that every South Vietnamese person owns. We have suffered enough and we will suffer even more. We all have to leave—now!’

  Dad rarely heard this kind of talk from Uncle Five, who was normally so calm and controlled and stoic. But now he heard the desperation in his brother’s voice. It was time for the family to leave Vietnam, even if it meant they had to risk their lives to do it.

  As soon as he could, Dad left Uncle Five’s home to look for Mum, who he knew would be out working even though it was early in the morning. As he searched for her, he thought about the escape plan. Perhaps it was never meant to happen? Maybe he was meant to stay in Vietnam with Mum? Deep down, he hadn’t wanted to leave her; he wanted them to be together and, when the time came, to go together.

  After walking around the neighbourhood for about an hour, asking people if they had seen her, he spotted her at the end of the road, with her bags of medicine, ready to sell to her customers. He started walking faster and then she saw him. Mum was shocked, she couldn’t believe that it was Dad; she thought she’d never see him again, and she was so happy. But then she realised the plan had failed and she was disappointed for him.

  They hugged—and even kissed—and from then on they spent every spare moment together.

  Mum would be at Uncle Five’s house most nights, cooking and eating with them; she was truly part of the Vo family now. Even though times were difficult, the family would try and enjoy life as much as they could, and that meant huge family feasts full of eating, drinking, talking and laughing. The Vos knew, and still know, how to have a good time together.

  Mum also spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house in Gia Dinh. My grandpa was a quiet and gentle man. He let Grandma do all the talking—she was always the talker—but when he did speak, everyone listened because his words would be full of wisdom and warmth. When it came to my grandmother’s business—caring for their children and grandchildren, and in this case finding a wife for their son—he just let her do whatever she thought best, and kept out of the way! But he sure did love my mother too and he would tell Mum whenever he got the chance.

  By now Grandma was even more convinced that Mum was the right woman for her son. So one day she decided to visit my mum’s mother and have the talk. The mothers held hands.

  ‘Your daughter is so wonderful,’ my grandmother said. ‘She is perfect for Tai. And she’s so good with the rest of the family. She’s an excellent cook as well. I love her very much and I feel like she is already part of our family. Are you happy with my son?’

  ‘We are very happy with Tai,’ my Ba Ngoai (the Vietnamese term for maternal grandmother) replied. ‘He is a kind and gentle man. He always helps us when we need it. He has been very good with Lien and towards our family. Lien also loves spending time with your family. She’s very happy every time she comes home from being with them.’

  ‘If the opportunity comes, we would love for our son to marry your daughter,’ my grandma said.

  ‘We would be very happy for that to happen too,’ Ba Ngoai said.

  And so it was agreed that Mum and Dad would marry. But that didn’t mean there was going to be a wedding straight away. My grandparents weren’t completely old-fashioned. They wanted to leave it up to Mum and Dad to make the decision for themselves. They only hoped it would be done soon so the two families could celebrate their union while they were still all together. But with the way things were in South Vietnam, with the new Communist regime taking control of their lives, time was fast running out. The mood for celebrating was fading.

  6

  THE ESCAPE

  Uncle Five spent months planning the family’s escape from Vietnam. He spoke to several different people and considered many plans and offers. After all the different scenarios my Uncle Thirteen experienced and also Dad’s failed attempt, it was tough for Uncle Five to work out which one would be the best. There were so many options. People could hide in a house in the country, then be picked up by cars and driven to a waiting boat. Or they could go to the docks in South Vietnam and board a vessel that would take them straight out to sea. Uncle Five didn’t mind where they would board a boat. What made his plan quite difficult was the number of people he had to consider. He needed a big boat and an escape route that wouldn’t draw the attention of the authorities.

  After discussions with the family, which in itself took a while, there were sixteen names on the list: Uncle Five, Aunt Five and their three children, Chi To Oanh, Anh Hien and Anh Hung; Aunt Twelve; Aunt Sixteen; Uncle Tinh (my Uncle Seventeen); Uncle Ut (
my Uncle Twenty); a son of Uncle Five’s close friend Anh Tuan; Uncle Five’s brother, his wife and daughter, and his wife’s two brothers; and my dad.

  The only Vo sibling left out was my Aunt Fifteen. She chose not to leave because her husband’s family were still in Vietnam. She also wanted to look after the members of Dad’s family who were staying, including my grandparents and my uncles who were still in the re-education camps.

  One day Uncle Five sat down with my dad to talk. He explained he was very close to making a deal to get the family on a boat out of Vietnam. Dad was excited that their escape might actually happen, because Uncle Five had organised it himself, and that they were going together as a family. Even though Uncle Five himself didn’t know all the details—with these escape attempts, no one ever did—they talked about it for a while, how difficult it was to get a large enough boat, and how this time Uncle Five felt confident that the plan would work. Then Uncle Five said there was one spare place on the boat for another person.

  ‘Do you want to think about inviting Lien to come with us?’ Uncle Five asked Dad. ‘You don’t have to worry about the money. I will pay all the costs for her to leave. But you do need to make a decision in the next day or two.’

  Dad didn’t need to think about that! Of course he wanted to ask Mum to go with them, and he knew she’d want to go too. He was so thankful to Uncle Five for his generosity and for including her as part of the family. But Uncle Five had one condition: she had to have her parents’ permission to go.

  At the time Dad was twenty-three years old and Mum was twenty-four. They had their whole lives ahead of them—a whole new future they could build in another country. It was time for them to make a commitment and escape Vietnam together. Dad left straight away to speak to Mum, who was at her parents’ home. He told her about Uncle Five’s plans. Mum was very happy for them, though a little sad they were leaving as she’d grown so close to Dad’s family, not to mention Dad himself. Then Dad explained Uncle Five’s offer to include Mum, and she was completely surprised. And ecstatic.

  ‘Of course, I want to come with you!’ she said.

  Mum was astounded by Uncle Five’s generosity but she also felt guilty for taking the last spot. Dad reassured her that Uncle Five would not have asked if he didn’t want her to go, and that she was very much part of their family. They chatted excitedly about the plans, about their futures, both of them grinning from ear to ear—it was hard to believe they were going to escape Vietnam together—but first they had to fulfil Uncle Five’s condition and get Mum’s parents’ permission.

  My mum’s parents had no intention of escaping Vietnam. They weren’t as well off as Dad’s family so they couldn’t afford to pay their way onto a boat. My maternal grandparents were resilient people. They could cope with anything life threw at them. Mum was really the only member of her family who had considered escaping. Working on the black market gave her an insight into how the future would be for her; she didn’t want that. Every moment she spent with her friends and with Dad, the main topic of conversation was always escaping. Mum knew she would not stay in Vietnam for the rest of her life.

  Nervously, Mum and Dad went into the lounge room and sat down with her parents. Dad took a deep breath and began: ‘My brother has organised a very big boat for my family to leave Vietnam. He has taken care of all the organisation himself, and is confident that it will work. He has asked Lien to come with us. He will pay for all the costs and promises that we will take care of her . . .’

  Mum’s parents looked at each other but said nothing. Dad continued: ‘I would like to ask your permission for Lien to come with us.’

  He took another deep breath but before he could speak again, Mum’s mother said, ‘Of course. Please, take her away from here and give her a better life. We are very grateful for your brother’s offer.’

  ‘This is a great opportunity, Lien,’ her father said. ‘And it may be your only chance. If you wish to go, we are happy for you.’

  Mum was so relieved, though deep down she always knew her parents would want her to escape if she could. She was also saddened by the fact she was leaving her own family behind. But her father was right—it was her only chance to escape—and then perhaps she could help her family get out in the future. Mum says she will be forever grateful for Uncle Five’s generosity.

  Mum and Dad rushed back to Uncle Five’s house to tell him the news. Even though the date had not yet been confirmed, they knew they only had a few days to prepare and there was much to do. Uncle Five had sacrificed so much for this escape: he’d sold his cars, scooters, business, everything. It was an enormous risk and if they were caught, the family would come back to nothing.

  By dawn on 20 April 1978 Uncle Five’s house was filled with nervous energy. The entire household hadn’t slept and for some of the family members the anticipation was overwhelming. The day had come—they were leaving Vietnam.

  Like most escape plans, everything was done in secret. The Communists were taking over every aspect of South Vietnamese life, and they had patrols on the streets and spies everywhere. It was common for potential escapees to be given only a meeting place and time, with no further information until they arrived. Uncle Five’s family only knew that they were going to the city of Long Xuyen, which is about 190 kilometres west of Ho Chi Minh City. There, a boat would be waiting to take them to, hopefully, freedom.

  At around eight that morning most of Uncle Five’s family piled into a van driven by a family friend. Uncle Five and my dad stayed behind to lock up the house and finalise Uncle Five’s business; they would leave together a little later in the morning. Mum, though, had to make her own way.

  My mother would meet up with the others at a big bus station in Phu Lam, an inner city suburb of Ho Chi Minh City. It was only about 8 kilometres from downtown but the roads were so atrocious that the journey would take a while. Mum woke up at five that morning; she was too anxious to sleep. Her father drove her into the city. He wanted to take her straight to Phu Lam but Mum thought it was too risky, so they stopped at the busy Ba Chieu Markets instead, about 2 kilometres north of the main city. It was busy even at that time of the morning. Mum and her father’s farewell was typical of the times—rather than sadness or despair at parting, it was a feeling of relief and happiness as loved ones left in search of a better life, mixed with a lot of worry. My mother and her father knew that it would be a long time before they saw each other again, if they ever did, but neither of them cried. The South Vietnamese had seen so much tragedy during the war that the prospect of getting on a crowded and ill-equipped boat and taking to the wild seas with no known destination didn’t even compare to what they had experienced at the hands of the Communists. The war had made them tough. They hugged, and that was the last time Mum would see her father in more than a decade.

  Mum walked through the markets, trying to look like she had some purpose other than escaping Vietnam. She found a xe lam (similar to a tuk tuk) which took her to the bus station in downtown Ho Chi Minh City. From there she caught a bus south to another big busy station at Phu Lam, where Dad’s family would be waiting for her in the van. When Mum arrived at Phu Lam at about nine o’clock, she was immensely relieved to find the van already there. She climbed in the van and hugged Aunt Five and the others.

  The van left immediately, as it would take them most of the day to drive to Long Xuyen. It was a dangerous journey too. The roads in Vietnam were (and still are) notoriously busy with scooters weaving in and out of the traffic, speeding trucks and potholes. The government had positioned road patrols and checks all over the country, so they also had to be careful they weren’t stopped and detained.

  It was around two in the afternoon when they finally arrived in Long Xuyen, a district in the An Giang Province, in the Mekong Delta region, 198 kilometres south-west of Ho Chi Minh City. It’s a fertile area where rice, fish and vegetables are farmed. One of Mum’s aunties ran a small café or eating house there, so she knew the area well. The group stopped the
re for a meal. After they’d eaten, Mum, Aunt Five and her children went to her aunty’s home to bathe. They returned to the café to rest while they waited. There was still no word about Uncle Five or Dad.

  After they closed up the house and finalised the business, Uncle Five and Dad left Ho Chi Minh City on a scooter at around eleven o’clock in the morning. With Dad driving and Uncle Five on the back, it was a very slow and challenging 190 kilometres on the treacherous roads to Long Xuyen. When they finally arrived at about six o’clock that evening, they rode around the town, looking for the van until they spotted it parked in front of the eating house. Dad knew that it was owned by Mum’s aunty and they would find the family inside.