Small Bamboo (2 page)

That Easter holiday changed everything—my priorities, my goals, my needs and my family’s needs. My parents never stopped me pursuing what I wanted to do in life. Every opportunity that came my way, they would encourage me to go for it. I had the freedom to enjoy the life they could never have experienced in Vietnam. Now it was time for me to go home.

1
THE VO CLAN

People hear about big Asian families consisting of eight or more children. Well, my father is one of twenty-four kids. Yes, that’s right—twenty-four. He is number eighteen, the second youngest of the twelve who are still alive today. It’s a huge family, full of so much joy and laughter, but also so much heartache.

Tragedy struck Dad’s family very early. It was 1947.

My Uncle Two, the oldest son in my father’s family, was born in 1932. He was much loved, as he was the firstborn. In Vietnamese culture we use numbers to describe who is where in the family tree. My grandfather is number one so his firstborn is number two, and so on. How far you go with numbers really depends on the family. I call my younger uncles and aunties by name, not by their number. Some families even go by nicknames rather than real names. It can all be quite confusing.

Uncle Two was extremely intelligent. As a teenager he loved school and was always at the top of the class. My grandmother was obsessed with going to psychics and fortune tellers, and one day a fortune teller told her that Uncle Two would become leader of Vietnam when he grew up. She was very proud. Her son was just fifteen years old when he was offered a scholarship to finish his studies at a prestigious French school in Saigon. Uncle Two was so happy, he couldn’t wait to get home to tell his parents. All his school friends congratulated him, telling him how proud and excited they were.

As he walked home among the hustle and bustle of honking scooters and ringing bicycle bells, Uncle Two couldn’t contain his excitement. He had the biggest grin on his face. Suddenly rain started bucketing down, but he didn’t care. He just laughed and enjoyed it. He thought to himself,
I’m off to a great school and this will bring so many opportunities for the future
.
I will get a good job and help provide for my parents and the rest of my family
. When Uncle Two told his parents the news, they were thrilled. The family celebrated with a huge feast, inviting relatives, friends and even the neighbours to join them.

The next day Uncle Two wasn’t feeling well. His whole body ached. He struggled to get out of bed but didn’t think much of it. He thought he’d just caught the flu in the rain the day before and would be fine in a few days. But he didn’t get better and in fact his condition worsened. My grandparents weren’t sure what was wrong with their son and took him to the doctor, who gave him some medication—back then it was mainly basic prescription drugs from France, or Chinese medicine. There wasn’t much available. The doctor said Uncle Two should recover in a couple of days. But the medicine didn’t help.

Grandma then mixed up some Chinese herbs, all kinds of concoctions, but they didn’t work either. My grandparents watched as Uncle Two, their eldest boy, became sicker and sicker. He fought for weeks but eventually he died of pneumonia. The sudden loss of their firstborn broke my grandparents’ hearts. They had experienced two emotional extremes in just a few weeks—the joy of their son’s educational achievement, and then his sudden death.

A dark cloud shrouded their home for months. My grandfather took it very hard. He found day-to-day life difficult. Their other children were also devastated, and tried to comfort their parents. My grandmother, pregnant with her tenth child, my Uncle Eleven, tried desperately to keep it together. That year Grandma experienced four deaths on her side of the family, so she shed a lot of tears while she was pregnant with Uncle Eleven. Grandma thinks that emotional toll had an effect, as Uncle Eleven has a constant slight frown on his face, even when he’s not upset. My Grandma would always say in Vietnamese, ‘
Mat No Buon
’, which translates to ‘His face is always sad’.

Over the next two decades my grandparents lost twelve children, mostly through sickness, when many of them were young. My Aunt Nine passed away from a virus when she was only nine years old. But the lives of my grandparents were always enriched by the love and support of their surviving children.

All my aunties and uncles were well educated. That was the main priority for my grandfather, who had learnt from his own childhood that without a proper education, life would be tough. Grandpa had such a wonderful soul. I loved him dearly. He had a creative mind and was constantly reading books. Dad believes my love of books is due to my grandfather’s influence. Grandpa worked as a draughtsman for a French company in Saigon until his retirement. He has had a huge influence on all the male members of the Vo clan, and my father and uncles have very kind words to say about Grandpa. Uncle Seven wrote to me from Canada about him:

Your grandfather, Tracy, I would describe him as an ordinary man, but humanly gifted. He’s a man with a lot of simplicity and a man of discretion. At all times, facing all situations whether good or bad, joyful or sad, he possessed a quality that everybody wished to have, and this quality is tremendous calmness. He always had the right words that one should say in whatever situation. In many conversations between the two of us, he often answered my questions (especially when I was a child or a teenager) first with a smile that says it all, a loving smile and an understanding smile. I have to mention here that my wife often tells my two sons that: ‘Your Grandpa had the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, the smile of generosity, the smile of forgiveness. I wish to see this smile as often as possible on your faces. And on your father’s face too.’ Then she laughed and continued: ‘I think it’s too much to ask, but just try.’

These are the qualities my Grandpa hoped to pass onto his children and his grandchildren.

When Uncle Two passed away, Uncle Three stepped up to take his place as eldest son. I guess he became Grandpa’s sidekick, helping him to look after such a huge family. Grandpa relied on Uncle Three a lot. I would describe Uncle Three as the Godfather of the Vo clan. Even his voice is like Marlon Brando’s! I can listen to him speak for hours. At family dinners Uncle Three always sits at the head of the table, immaculately dressed. He has such wisdom, poise and presence. When he speaks, everyone listens. He also has a calming effect on people. If there are any heated disagreements in the family, he’s able to smooth things over and calm everyone down. I have never heard him yell or raise his voice. He has never demanded our respect, but we certainly make sure we give it to him.

Early on my uncle knew he wanted to fly planes. He powered through school, and his hard work took him to places he had only ever dreamed of. In 1953, when he was eighteen years old, the South Vietnamese Air Force sent him to Morocco. The only way to get to Morocco in those days was by ship, so after twenty-three days, Uncle Three finally arrived in Marrakech, where he stayed for a year and a half. He could not believe his luck—a young Vietnamese man, travelling the world to exotic places, doing what he loved most. After graduating at the top of his class in Marrakech, he moved to France for further training, which took him all over the country. When he recalled all the places he had been early in his flying career, I could hear the joy and excitement in his voice, even after all this time. Some of the places he mentioned were Paris, Nice, Cannes, Marseilles and other parts of Europe, such as Spain and southern Italy. It was a beautiful and thrilling time in his life.

When Uncle Three returned to Saigon in 1955, the Second Indochina War, also known as the Vietnam War, had just begun. He was now a qualified pilot, part of the transport group, flying C-47s for the South Vietnamese Air Force. His swift rise in the ranks was due to his skill and calm demeanour under pressure. He taught the C-47 instructors how to teach others. His colleagues respected him, and he always respected them in return, no matter what rank they were. He enjoyed his time with the Air Force, but the job wasn’t easy at all. When he was teaching, Uncle Three was sent on highly dangerous missions. Among his assignments, he had to fly into hostile areas in North Vietnam, places crawling with the enemy, and deliver supplies to rangers. He always flew those missions under the cover of night and at sufficient heights to avoid radar detection, but on most of them he came under gunfire and missile attack. During one mission he lost one of his engines and was forced to crash land in a field in Thailand. Another time one of the fuel tanks was fired at and the plane lost fuel fast, but somehow Uncle Three managed to land safely. His skills would come in handy for one of the most important missions of his life, one that was to come years later, when he tried to escape Vietnam.

When Dad was a youngster he didn’t see his eldest brother all that much, as he was always away on assignment. When Uncle Three was allowed to come home, especially after one of those dangerous missions, the family was so relieved to see him. Dad always looked up to Uncle Three, and still does. Despite a twenty-year age difference, they’re the closest of brothers. My father would do anything for his brother.

Dad grew up in Gia Dinh Province, a large, heavily populated industrial region surrounding Saigon, which was made up of several districts. Dad lived in the district of Go Vap in a small suburb called Binh Hoa Xa, near Downtown Saigon. Those who lived there were from all walks of life, rich and poor, well educated to non-educated. Dad lived with my grandparents and twelve other people, who included some of his brothers and sisters and their children, and servants. It was quite a large house for a Vietnamese family, the size of a three-bedroom house in Australia. Most homes in Vietnam are about the size of a tiny apartment or a studio but house half a dozen family members who eat, sleep and bathe in one room. When I visited my aunt’s home in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) in 1992, at the age of nine, I was shocked to see how small their house was. The kitchen/living room was the size of an average bathroom. My aunt, her husband and their two children slept on a loft bed on top of the kitchen. Dad’s family home back in the 1950s was luxurious compared to most Vietnamese homes. It was a single level home, with one big open space where everyone ate together and slept together on the floor. There was a front yard where Dad enjoyed playing hopscotch and skip with two of his brothers—my Uncle Tinh, or Uncle Seventeen, who is one year older than my dad, and Uncle Ut, also known as Uncle Twenty, who is two years younger—and their neighbours. Dad says they didn’t care that these games were quite girly.

The most fun they had was with live crickets. Grandpa would buy up to fifteen crickets from the markets for Dad and Uncle Ut. He even built homes out of cardboard shoe-boxes for the insects, making a small square compartment for each cricket. Grandpa was so creative and innovative, he could build something out of nothing. Each compartment would have soil. Grandpa told his sons that the more soil in each compartment, the stronger the crickets would grow. The brothers would then choose the biggest and strongest ones for boxing and organise weekly battles between their little insects, which were small but quite feisty.

When the day of battle came around, each brother would cup his boxer in his hands so it wouldn’t hop away, then he’d run to the front yard, ready for battle. The two boys placed their crickets ever so delicately on the ground. The whole suburb would seem to fall silent before the match, but it was just Dad, who was six, and Uncle Ut, four, focused on their little fighters. Then their screams erupted.

‘Come on! Come on! Fight, fight!’

They’d be yelling at the crickets, completely oblivious to what was happening around them. Some older residents would look into the front yard to see what all the fuss was about, why these young boys were yelling so loudly at the ground.

‘Come on, punch him! Punch him!’

After just minutes, one little boxer would appear weary and unstable, struggling to throw more punches against its opponent. The boys would urge their crickets to keep going until the master of the tired defeated one eventually conceded. The losing master would either retrieve his cricket and place it back in the safety of the shoebox, or he would let it hop away. Sometimes it would go to cricket heaven, as Dad called it. Dad claims to have won most of those battles, but my Uncle Ut might think differently.

My father’s childhood was filled with plenty of good memories. He was never bored—his brothers and neighbours would always find something to do outdoors. He says that when you’re young you can create any game from anything. He says he built slingshots out of materials he found on the street, then tried to hunt roosters. He would never harm the birds, of course—his bullets were made of paper. Dad says he had a good life compared to other youngsters in Saigon. Some were so poor they would have to work from a young age or be forced to beg on the busy, dirty streets. He saw these children who were barely clothed, wearing just a pair of ripped shorts, digging through rubbish left on the side of the road or putting their hands out to passers-by, asking for money or food. Even at a young age, Dad understood how much other people struggled. Dad knew he had it pretty good.

2
WAR

The first Indochina War, which ended in 1954, saw France surrendering its involvement in the region. Vietnam was split into two—the North came under Communist rule while a democratic government ran the South. Ho Chi Minh, the leader of the North, wanted the entire country to be under Communist rule, mimicking the Soviet Union and China. The South Vietnamese government, however, wanted to maintain its close connection with the West, namely the United States. North Vietnam was backed by allies in the South, known as the Viet Cong. So began the Vietnam War, which resulted in almost two decades of fierce fighting, with millions killed or injured.

The war didn’t affect my father in his younger years. But he already had several older brothers in the South Vietnamese Air Force and Army, and he knew the dangers his brothers encountered while they were away fighting. Then in 1968 the war came to his home. It was January and my father was twelve years old. The streets across Gia Dinh Province were full of joy and celebration as families welcomed Tet, the Lunar New Year (also known as Chinese New Year). But they could not avoid the constant reminders that their country was at war—warnings were repeatedly aired on the radio: ‘Please, leave the area. It’s too dangerous to stay. Move to an area that’s safer. We advise you to leave now.’