Monday, December 28, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
VIETNAM - DAY 5
Stephen, one of team members, has been to this area of Vietnam before. He remembers going to another orphanage close by and suggests that we check it out. Vanessa finds someone in town with a car who will act as our driver for the morning and we head out first thing giving Thao a much needed break. The orphanage is only about a 30 minute car ride away. The first thing I notice when we pull up to the building is that there really is no building. It would appear to be just a small little shop sandwiched between a couple of shed like structures on a sparse bit of road. We are greeted at the door by the woman who runs the facility. She remembers Stephen and is very glad to see us. We walk through a couple rooms, down a hall, and into a corridor where children are everywhere. We walk down the steps as she leads us to an open room with slotted metal cribs. We are asked to take off our shoes and leave them at the entrance before stepping across the threshold. I do as I'm told.
The room consists of two rows of metal cribs, each crib is occupied and the child in the crib is tied to a metal bar with heavy string. There are deep moans, crying, laughing, and heavy blank stares emanating from the room. I am immediately drawn to a woman in the corner holding a fragile little girl whose legs appear to be misshapen. The woman is rocking the girl back and forth as tears stream down her face. A man looks on. Vanessa tells me that this is the mother and father. They have brought their daughter here today to give her over to the orphanage's care. This is a pain I have never seen before and wanting to give the mother some privacy, I move to another part of the room, glancing from time to time in the family's direction. When I look back the mother is gone, and the father is left holding the child. He appears somewhat detached, almost angry, yet still going through the rocking motions. He, too, eventually places his daughter in the last metal crib at the very end of a row and leaves. There is a significant amount of noise in the room, riding over it all are the little girl's deep guttural cries. Vanessa looks at me and says, "She is crying for her mother, she keeps calling out for her mom." The women who work in the facility are very busy, constantly taking care, bathing, preparing food. No one is with the girl.
I see that due to her disability, the girl's movements are limited, and she is not able to look around. I'm sure she's very confused as to what is happening and she knows that her parents have left. I approach the crib and stand over her. My presence alone is somewhat shocking. I'm sure she's never seen a white person before. She looks at me, silent. After the initial shock, she begins to cry again, looking directly into my eyes. I bend down and stroke her face, her hair, her fragile hand. In time her cries slowly begin to fade as I whisper, "It's going to be ok sweetheart, it's ok, it's ok. I love you baby girl." I repeat my whisper over and over and over again. She looks at me with tearstained eyes. Confused, not understanding why. I don't have an answer. I don't know what to do to fix it. All I know to do is to hold her hand and tell her how much I care for her and love her. That's all I can do, and in the moment that is enough. She eventually is calm and peaceful, never taking her eyes off mine and she drifts to sleep. I continue to think about her every night since . . . haunted by a moment that I am grateful to have shared with her. I think about her parents, especially the mother, and the tremendous heartbreak I had witnessed.
As if on cue, a little boy comes running into the room, right up to me and begins to point at the pamphlet I am holding, the one that the orphanage director gave me when I entered the facility. I look at it more closely and see that it is the little boy's picture which is on the front cover. He is absolutely adorable, bursting with energy and personality. There are other children at this orphanage who have no physical or mental disabilities but have been either abandoned on the streets or dropped off at the door step. All of the children live, eat, and sleep together whether they have disabilities or not. I see some of the children whose mental and physical disabilities are less severe helping out the more severe cases. My little guy leads us out into the main corridor where the disabled children who can walk and communicate on some level reside. The little boy has just returned from his lesson and is ready to play. His is roughly 4 years old, with a shaved head and a little patch of hair front and center. I am in love. He is just busting out of this place! Sharp as a whip, he is the best non-English speaking communicator we've met on the trip, easily showing us around using very elaborate hand gestures. He notices that I have a camera on my phone and begins posing for pictures. His boisterous spirit attracts a small crowd of children who all want their picture taken with us, in groups and one at a time. Everyone is having a great time, laughing and joking around.
It is finally time to go. I am sad to leave this place. Again, like the other facility, it is not scary. It is clean and run efficiently - these children are cared for. The sadness comes from the situation and how these little ones got here. The head of the orphanage walks us out after we stop by a small gift shop where she shows us beaded purses, key chains, and figurines, all on sale to help pay for the facility. There is a baby rocking back and forth in a hammock. She tells us he was left on the steps just the other night. We head back to Thao's
I think about Thao, I think about Lynn, Loc and all the children I've met at Thao's library and I think about all of the children in the orphanages that we visited.
What can I do, how can I help? The children with profound mental and physical disabilities at the two orphanages we visited are being cared for with love and dignity. The question is . . . why and how is this happening? How is it that within a 20 mile radius there are two homes filled to capacity with children with SEVERE disabilities. And as I found out earlier, there is no more room to take others and there are others. Where do they go? Where will they go? Thao tells me many die before making it to the orphanages. The nuns tell me that there is no adult care because the children don't live that long. These children are dying and yet there are always new children arriving regularly. What is going on? Obviously there needs to be a tremendous amount of research done. Could a comparison of the number of severely mentally and physically handicapped children before the war and after the war reveal anything? Those results could give clues as to what might be happening. Testing must be done to the soil
and water supply. More research needs to be conducting in regards to Agent Orange!!!
In regards to Thao, she needs to see a proper doctor. There is no cure for her condition, but maybe something can be done to alleviate some of her pain and prolong her life.
As far as the children of Thao's village, they are of the first generation to read, write, and go to school. WE CAN"T STOP NOW. They are at a crucial point. They need proper school supplies, books, and a reading center to continue their progress and have a fighting chance. I know there are many communities in the world that could benefit from a library, but who will run the library, who will take care of things after it is built and we go home? Thao is the key, the facilitator. It just so happens that it's her dream! We give the community an amazing learning tool, and we make a very deserving, incredible, young woman's dream a reality. Its a win win!! We give these children the AUDACITY to want to thrive, to be able to say I'm going to college. We continue to give someone like Loc, the AUDACITY to say I'm going to be a doctor, and find out why Thao is the way she is. Thao has already planted the seed, she has created something form nothing, but she has reached as far as she can given her circumstances, and she needs help.
Thao couldn't go to school because of her medical condition, but she was so eager to learn, and so her mother bought a couple books to teach her. Thao's mother made it to the 4th grade and she taught Thao up to the 4th grade level at which point she couldn't teach her anymore. That was not enough for Thao. She thought, instead of feeling sorry for myself that I can't go to school, I'm going to do something about it, and she hounded her mother to purchase the next level of reading and writing lessons, and from there on out, she taught herself. Thao has taught children Vietnamese and Math at the local school and now continues to tutor children on these same subjects in her library. She is self taught from the BOOKS her mother saved up to buy.
I am struck by this 'angel' in a misshapen body. Her uncommon intelligence, her depth of compassion, her unending fortitude, the love she brings to those around her. She has brought hope to her community, to her part of this world and she has brought hope to me.
It is our last evening with the family and we all sit around the kitchen table sharing a dessert that consists of a tapioca like pudding with banana and peanut. Thao then presents us all with gifts and cards that she requests we not read till Christmas. We are going to take family portraits tomorrow before heading back to Ho Chi Minh City. She also tells us Loc is coming by in the morning, he has a gift for us and wants to say goodbye. I miss Thao already.
The room consists of two rows of metal cribs, each crib is occupied and the child in the crib is tied to a metal bar with heavy string. There are deep moans, crying, laughing, and heavy blank stares emanating from the room. I am immediately drawn to a woman in the corner holding a fragile little girl whose legs appear to be misshapen. The woman is rocking the girl back and forth as tears stream down her face. A man looks on. Vanessa tells me that this is the mother and father. They have brought their daughter here today to give her over to the orphanage's care. This is a pain I have never seen before and wanting to give the mother some privacy, I move to another part of the room, glancing from time to time in the family's direction. When I look back the mother is gone, and the father is left holding the child. He appears somewhat detached, almost angry, yet still going through the rocking motions. He, too, eventually places his daughter in the last metal crib at the very end of a row and leaves. There is a significant amount of noise in the room, riding over it all are the little girl's deep guttural cries. Vanessa looks at me and says, "She is crying for her mother, she keeps calling out for her mom." The women who work in the facility are very busy, constantly taking care, bathing, preparing food. No one is with the girl.
I see that due to her disability, the girl's movements are limited, and she is not able to look around. I'm sure she's very confused as to what is happening and she knows that her parents have left. I approach the crib and stand over her. My presence alone is somewhat shocking. I'm sure she's never seen a white person before. She looks at me, silent. After the initial shock, she begins to cry again, looking directly into my eyes. I bend down and stroke her face, her hair, her fragile hand. In time her cries slowly begin to fade as I whisper, "It's going to be ok sweetheart, it's ok, it's ok. I love you baby girl." I repeat my whisper over and over and over again. She looks at me with tearstained eyes. Confused, not understanding why. I don't have an answer. I don't know what to do to fix it. All I know to do is to hold her hand and tell her how much I care for her and love her. That's all I can do, and in the moment that is enough. She eventually is calm and peaceful, never taking her eyes off mine and she drifts to sleep. I continue to think about her every night since . . . haunted by a moment that I am grateful to have shared with her. I think about her parents, especially the mother, and the tremendous heartbreak I had witnessed.
As if on cue, a little boy comes running into the room, right up to me and begins to point at the pamphlet I am holding, the one that the orphanage director gave me when I entered the facility. I look at it more closely and see that it is the little boy's picture which is on the front cover. He is absolutely adorable, bursting with energy and personality. There are other children at this orphanage who have no physical or mental disabilities but have been either abandoned on the streets or dropped off at the door step. All of the children live, eat, and sleep together whether they have disabilities or not. I see some of the children whose mental and physical disabilities are less severe helping out the more severe cases. My little guy leads us out into the main corridor where the disabled children who can walk and communicate on some level reside. The little boy has just returned from his lesson and is ready to play. His is roughly 4 years old, with a shaved head and a little patch of hair front and center. I am in love. He is just busting out of this place! Sharp as a whip, he is the best non-English speaking communicator we've met on the trip, easily showing us around using very elaborate hand gestures. He notices that I have a camera on my phone and begins posing for pictures. His boisterous spirit attracts a small crowd of children who all want their picture taken with us, in groups and one at a time. Everyone is having a great time, laughing and joking around.
It is finally time to go. I am sad to leave this place. Again, like the other facility, it is not scary. It is clean and run efficiently - these children are cared for. The sadness comes from the situation and how these little ones got here. The head of the orphanage walks us out after we stop by a small gift shop where she shows us beaded purses, key chains, and figurines, all on sale to help pay for the facility. There is a baby rocking back and forth in a hammock. She tells us he was left on the steps just the other night. We head back to Thao's
I think about Thao, I think about Lynn, Loc and all the children I've met at Thao's library and I think about all of the children in the orphanages that we visited.
What can I do, how can I help? The children with profound mental and physical disabilities at the two orphanages we visited are being cared for with love and dignity. The question is . . . why and how is this happening? How is it that within a 20 mile radius there are two homes filled to capacity with children with SEVERE disabilities. And as I found out earlier, there is no more room to take others and there are others. Where do they go? Where will they go? Thao tells me many die before making it to the orphanages. The nuns tell me that there is no adult care because the children don't live that long. These children are dying and yet there are always new children arriving regularly. What is going on? Obviously there needs to be a tremendous amount of research done. Could a comparison of the number of severely mentally and physically handicapped children before the war and after the war reveal anything? Those results could give clues as to what might be happening. Testing must be done to the soil
and water supply. More research needs to be conducting in regards to Agent Orange!!!
In regards to Thao, she needs to see a proper doctor. There is no cure for her condition, but maybe something can be done to alleviate some of her pain and prolong her life.
As far as the children of Thao's village, they are of the first generation to read, write, and go to school. WE CAN"T STOP NOW. They are at a crucial point. They need proper school supplies, books, and a reading center to continue their progress and have a fighting chance. I know there are many communities in the world that could benefit from a library, but who will run the library, who will take care of things after it is built and we go home? Thao is the key, the facilitator. It just so happens that it's her dream! We give the community an amazing learning tool, and we make a very deserving, incredible, young woman's dream a reality. Its a win win!! We give these children the AUDACITY to want to thrive, to be able to say I'm going to college. We continue to give someone like Loc, the AUDACITY to say I'm going to be a doctor, and find out why Thao is the way she is. Thao has already planted the seed, she has created something form nothing, but she has reached as far as she can given her circumstances, and she needs help.
Thao couldn't go to school because of her medical condition, but she was so eager to learn, and so her mother bought a couple books to teach her. Thao's mother made it to the 4th grade and she taught Thao up to the 4th grade level at which point she couldn't teach her anymore. That was not enough for Thao. She thought, instead of feeling sorry for myself that I can't go to school, I'm going to do something about it, and she hounded her mother to purchase the next level of reading and writing lessons, and from there on out, she taught herself. Thao has taught children Vietnamese and Math at the local school and now continues to tutor children on these same subjects in her library. She is self taught from the BOOKS her mother saved up to buy.
I am struck by this 'angel' in a misshapen body. Her uncommon intelligence, her depth of compassion, her unending fortitude, the love she brings to those around her. She has brought hope to her community, to her part of this world and she has brought hope to me.
It is our last evening with the family and we all sit around the kitchen table sharing a dessert that consists of a tapioca like pudding with banana and peanut. Thao then presents us all with gifts and cards that she requests we not read till Christmas. We are going to take family portraits tomorrow before heading back to Ho Chi Minh City. She also tells us Loc is coming by in the morning, he has a gift for us and wants to say goodbye. I miss Thao already.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
VIETNAM - DAY 4
Today is a day Thao has been waiting for. She is anxious to take us to the orphanage where she volunteers and for which she has helped raise money. Many of the children in the orphanage have been affected by Agent Orange. Unlike Thao, most suffer from profound mental retardation in addition to deformities. These children have either been abandoned or their families could no longer care for them. Thao will continue to tell me throughout the trip how lucky she is that she has such a wonderful, caring family and that she is the only one left in the area of all the young people who are exactly like her. The rest have all died. I tell her how glad I am that she is still here.
Thao's sister, Be Hai, is one year older than she and is set to marry on January 3rd 2010. She seems to be the most reserved of the family. Earlier in the morning I ride into town with her to secure more bottled water for the crew. We make the trip with very little words between us and limited gesturing. Nothing is wrong, I just get the sense that this is how she wants it. I ask her if I could talk to her on camera while she washes dishes by a spigot outside the home. She finds this somewhat peculiar but eventually concedes. This is a a family that is constantly interacting, talking, and laughing. Soon I discover there is a thin veil between the joyous interplay and the heartache and worry that comes with Thao's situation. Be Hai expresses great concern and worry about what is to happen after she gets married. She is troubled that her fiance and his family might not understand how actively involved she must be in Thao's life. Tears begin to well up in her eyes and she immediately hides her face, burying it in the dishes, hoping that I do not pick up on her sadness. She tells us Thao will be in the wedding.
Thao's mom and dad have two children. After Thao, they were afraid to have anymore. The family does not know whether it was Thao's mother or father who passed along the Agent Orange poison or both. Neither show any obvious signs or symptoms, and both expressed that they do not want to know who has been infected or how. It's a mystery, and they would like to keep it that way and move on. The only known variable is that the family has been living in this area for decades and this area was hit hard by Agent Orange during the war. Thao is 25. The war ended long before Thao and her sister were conceived. We will soon see children 2 and 3 years of age born with severe mental and physical birth defects as a result of Agent Orange. Is the chemical mutating through the genes and becoming part of the DNA? Could Thao's sister who shows no signs of Agent Orange give birth to a child with Agent Orange birth defects? We don't know. No one knows. This is a war that was fought over 30 years ago and these children are still paying the price. There could be generations of victims.
Thao's mother becomes very emotional during our conversation. She expresses much guilt over Thao's condition. She says rumors have always been swirling around town that Thao's condition is contagious and blame is placed on the family for awful acts they must have committed in this life or another to have a child such as Thao. Much of Thao's mother's pain has to do with an overwhelming fear of who will take care of Thao if something were to happen to her. Thao is the center of this family. They have set in place an incredible system of immediate care (please note - Thao still does not go to a doctor). Thao, though very independent, is never truly left alone. Someone is always there to help her get through her very active day.
It is time to head off to the orphanage. Thao will ride on a moped sandwiched in-between two people holding her in place. Her father will follow with Thao's wheelchair strapped to the back of his moped. The crew and I are all paired up with locals who will be riding us to the orphanage on the back of their mopeds. Everyone has come through to make this trip happen. Thao is suited up in a white jacket and white hat that she jokingly cocks to the side. The rest of us are equipped with helmets. We all mount the bikes and our convoy heads off for our newest adventure. 5 mopeds deep we parade through the small villages, the stares and glances have now intensified. After a 15 minute ride through the countryside, we reach our destination.
We roll up to the orphanage and a nun comes out to greet us at the door, leading us into the facility. From the moment I enter, there are a dozen hands reaching out to me, pulling at me, accompanied by wide eyed stares and moaning. The nuns and Thao's father are quick to remove the hands tugging at me, but I don't mind. I have never been to a place like this before. We head upstairs to the main room. Children's music softly plays in the background as a beautiful brilliant ray of light streams into the facility. Child-like decals adorn the walls and I see a small pen of brightly colored balls off to one side. The room is very clean, decorated in bold cheerful hues. Along one side of the wall is a row of boys strapped into blue plastic chairs. Several children are sprawled out on the cushy red mat, immobile. I see their bones bending in directions I did not know possible. The nuns are very hands on and are constantly in contact with the children, wiping their mouths, sitting them upright, adjusting a leg. I am told there is only one in this group who can speak. I ask if I can talk to her and the nuns carry her over, gently propping her up and strapping her into a very small wheelchair. She is wearing a pretty white and pink dress. She has a yellow barrette in her hair and pierced ears. She is extremely tiny, like that of a 4 year old, only she is 9. Thao's father tells me he thinks she has what Thao has. Although she does have short legs, they are deformed and the bone is protruding along the line of one of her legs. Her body is extremely frail and I am warned her bones can break with a strong touch. She looks at me, smiles, then holds up her fingers making a peace sign. I take her picture with my iphone. We talk to her for a bit via a translator. I am told she understands when we speak to her. Her responses are very short in a hushed whisper, mostly facial expressions and head nods.
Children are being hooked up to a medieval looking contraption with several wires traveling from a box with multiple knobs to a dozen cup like metal pieces that are then taped down to different parts of the child's body. It would appear to be some sort of electrical shock therapy. When asked, I'm told that it is actually a machine used to administer an Eastern form of therapy similar to cupping. Cupping is a method of applying accupressure by creating a relative vacuum next to the patient's skin. The therapy is believed to relieve many ailments including muscular pain. Despite the crude looking apparatus, all the children who are hooked up to these machines seem very calm. This is not a scary place. These children are cared for and treated with dignity and respect. I feel a lot of love here. The sadness comes from why there are children born like this. The sadness comes from what I feel later when I witness the pain of parents having to give over a child because the severity of the child's disabilities makes the family incapable of being able to care for that child properly.
I am told there is a group of children having a lesson in the orphanage's one room school house only a few yards away from the building we are in now. We leave the main home and head over. The schoolhouse space is used by the nuns to teach the remainder of the children who can walk and speak. I enter the room of a dozen and I wave "hello". The children wave back, some with smiles, some with blank stares, some with looks of confusion on their faces. The room consists of 6 double desks, a small crucifix on the wall, and a chalk board containing the Vietnamese alphabet. I am told these children come to the schoolhouse 5 days a week and everyday they are basically taught the same reading and writing lesson and by the next day they have no memory of what they were taught the day before. This is a common mental disability that many of the children share, a total loss of memory. They only know the moment and even the moment can be confusing. I remember a story Thao had told me earlier about the first time she came to this orphanage. Her friends were wheeling her up the walkway and one of the nuns came running out shaking her hands back and forth saying, "We can't take anymore!" I then wonder. Where do those children go when there is no room left? Thao finds her story hilarious. Looking at these children, I can't imagine Thao in a place like this. Thao is a very intelligent young woman who has a family willing and able to take care of her needs. Thao has never been faced with the possibility of being sent away to an orphanage or being abandoned on the street, which is the fate of almost everyone in her condition. She tells me how grateful she is that I have the chance to witness all of this and reminds me how blessed she is. It is time to head back to Thao's home.
Our moped convey has now been increased to 6 as Thao's two friends follow us on the way back. We all arrive and make our way to Thao's day bed where she is able to lay down while I get acquainted with her friends. Thao has commissioned her friend Ein to make a piece of art for me and the guys. It is wrapped in newspaper. I am presented with the unexpected gift and unwrap it to find a beautiful rice art work. The piece is made of different shades of brown and neutral colored rice, the rice is affixed to a board creating a picture all within a frame. I cannot believe the kindness shown by Thao and her friend. It is absolutely lovely and I will treasure it always.
We are then told that Thao's favorite male student, Loc, has come to meet with us. Loc is brimming with personality and unlike many of the other students is not shy to talk to us at all. I am told that Loc comes from one of the more prosperous families in the village. He is filled with confidence and at the same time is humble and very loving towards Thao. I know if I ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he'll have an answer. Sure enough, not even a moment to think about the question, he tells me he wants to be a doctor. "The kind of doctor that helps people like Thao and then I will come back here and fix her problem and she will be a supermodel!" Loc says. Loc tells us how much he loves to read and that his mother and father read him stories growing up. I have no doubt in my mind if Loc wants to become a doctor, he will. Loc has found his purpose at this point in his 11 year-old life. He clearly has access to a world that Lynn and a majority of the other children do not and that is expressed in his confidence and personality.
It is now time for dinner. The crew and sit down to a meal with Thao's family and friends. We see a large plate of cut, raw, vegetables and greens before us along with beef, rice paper and sauce. What did the doctor, online websites and my mother tell me, "Do not eat raw foods, especially greens that have been washed with water!" The food looks great, but we all wonder what mysterious illness might be lurking in the greens. As a guest, it is incredibly rude not to eat a meal that has been prepared for you. The guys in my crew who have by the way traveled all over the world and tend to get sick no matter where they end up going, no matter how many precautions they take . . . well, we all decide . . . screw it and dig in. After the meal, we say our goodnights and head out into the darkness back to our hotel led by Thao's dad who is just beginning the night shift.
Thao's sister, Be Hai, is one year older than she and is set to marry on January 3rd 2010. She seems to be the most reserved of the family. Earlier in the morning I ride into town with her to secure more bottled water for the crew. We make the trip with very little words between us and limited gesturing. Nothing is wrong, I just get the sense that this is how she wants it. I ask her if I could talk to her on camera while she washes dishes by a spigot outside the home. She finds this somewhat peculiar but eventually concedes. This is a a family that is constantly interacting, talking, and laughing. Soon I discover there is a thin veil between the joyous interplay and the heartache and worry that comes with Thao's situation. Be Hai expresses great concern and worry about what is to happen after she gets married. She is troubled that her fiance and his family might not understand how actively involved she must be in Thao's life. Tears begin to well up in her eyes and she immediately hides her face, burying it in the dishes, hoping that I do not pick up on her sadness. She tells us Thao will be in the wedding.
Thao's mom and dad have two children. After Thao, they were afraid to have anymore. The family does not know whether it was Thao's mother or father who passed along the Agent Orange poison or both. Neither show any obvious signs or symptoms, and both expressed that they do not want to know who has been infected or how. It's a mystery, and they would like to keep it that way and move on. The only known variable is that the family has been living in this area for decades and this area was hit hard by Agent Orange during the war. Thao is 25. The war ended long before Thao and her sister were conceived. We will soon see children 2 and 3 years of age born with severe mental and physical birth defects as a result of Agent Orange. Is the chemical mutating through the genes and becoming part of the DNA? Could Thao's sister who shows no signs of Agent Orange give birth to a child with Agent Orange birth defects? We don't know. No one knows. This is a war that was fought over 30 years ago and these children are still paying the price. There could be generations of victims.
Thao's mother becomes very emotional during our conversation. She expresses much guilt over Thao's condition. She says rumors have always been swirling around town that Thao's condition is contagious and blame is placed on the family for awful acts they must have committed in this life or another to have a child such as Thao. Much of Thao's mother's pain has to do with an overwhelming fear of who will take care of Thao if something were to happen to her. Thao is the center of this family. They have set in place an incredible system of immediate care (please note - Thao still does not go to a doctor). Thao, though very independent, is never truly left alone. Someone is always there to help her get through her very active day.
It is time to head off to the orphanage. Thao will ride on a moped sandwiched in-between two people holding her in place. Her father will follow with Thao's wheelchair strapped to the back of his moped. The crew and I are all paired up with locals who will be riding us to the orphanage on the back of their mopeds. Everyone has come through to make this trip happen. Thao is suited up in a white jacket and white hat that she jokingly cocks to the side. The rest of us are equipped with helmets. We all mount the bikes and our convoy heads off for our newest adventure. 5 mopeds deep we parade through the small villages, the stares and glances have now intensified. After a 15 minute ride through the countryside, we reach our destination.
We roll up to the orphanage and a nun comes out to greet us at the door, leading us into the facility. From the moment I enter, there are a dozen hands reaching out to me, pulling at me, accompanied by wide eyed stares and moaning. The nuns and Thao's father are quick to remove the hands tugging at me, but I don't mind. I have never been to a place like this before. We head upstairs to the main room. Children's music softly plays in the background as a beautiful brilliant ray of light streams into the facility. Child-like decals adorn the walls and I see a small pen of brightly colored balls off to one side. The room is very clean, decorated in bold cheerful hues. Along one side of the wall is a row of boys strapped into blue plastic chairs. Several children are sprawled out on the cushy red mat, immobile. I see their bones bending in directions I did not know possible. The nuns are very hands on and are constantly in contact with the children, wiping their mouths, sitting them upright, adjusting a leg. I am told there is only one in this group who can speak. I ask if I can talk to her and the nuns carry her over, gently propping her up and strapping her into a very small wheelchair. She is wearing a pretty white and pink dress. She has a yellow barrette in her hair and pierced ears. She is extremely tiny, like that of a 4 year old, only she is 9. Thao's father tells me he thinks she has what Thao has. Although she does have short legs, they are deformed and the bone is protruding along the line of one of her legs. Her body is extremely frail and I am warned her bones can break with a strong touch. She looks at me, smiles, then holds up her fingers making a peace sign. I take her picture with my iphone. We talk to her for a bit via a translator. I am told she understands when we speak to her. Her responses are very short in a hushed whisper, mostly facial expressions and head nods.
Children are being hooked up to a medieval looking contraption with several wires traveling from a box with multiple knobs to a dozen cup like metal pieces that are then taped down to different parts of the child's body. It would appear to be some sort of electrical shock therapy. When asked, I'm told that it is actually a machine used to administer an Eastern form of therapy similar to cupping. Cupping is a method of applying accupressure by creating a relative vacuum next to the patient's skin. The therapy is believed to relieve many ailments including muscular pain. Despite the crude looking apparatus, all the children who are hooked up to these machines seem very calm. This is not a scary place. These children are cared for and treated with dignity and respect. I feel a lot of love here. The sadness comes from why there are children born like this. The sadness comes from what I feel later when I witness the pain of parents having to give over a child because the severity of the child's disabilities makes the family incapable of being able to care for that child properly.
I am told there is a group of children having a lesson in the orphanage's one room school house only a few yards away from the building we are in now. We leave the main home and head over. The schoolhouse space is used by the nuns to teach the remainder of the children who can walk and speak. I enter the room of a dozen and I wave "hello". The children wave back, some with smiles, some with blank stares, some with looks of confusion on their faces. The room consists of 6 double desks, a small crucifix on the wall, and a chalk board containing the Vietnamese alphabet. I am told these children come to the schoolhouse 5 days a week and everyday they are basically taught the same reading and writing lesson and by the next day they have no memory of what they were taught the day before. This is a common mental disability that many of the children share, a total loss of memory. They only know the moment and even the moment can be confusing. I remember a story Thao had told me earlier about the first time she came to this orphanage. Her friends were wheeling her up the walkway and one of the nuns came running out shaking her hands back and forth saying, "We can't take anymore!" I then wonder. Where do those children go when there is no room left? Thao finds her story hilarious. Looking at these children, I can't imagine Thao in a place like this. Thao is a very intelligent young woman who has a family willing and able to take care of her needs. Thao has never been faced with the possibility of being sent away to an orphanage or being abandoned on the street, which is the fate of almost everyone in her condition. She tells me how grateful she is that I have the chance to witness all of this and reminds me how blessed she is. It is time to head back to Thao's home.
Our moped convey has now been increased to 6 as Thao's two friends follow us on the way back. We all arrive and make our way to Thao's day bed where she is able to lay down while I get acquainted with her friends. Thao has commissioned her friend Ein to make a piece of art for me and the guys. It is wrapped in newspaper. I am presented with the unexpected gift and unwrap it to find a beautiful rice art work. The piece is made of different shades of brown and neutral colored rice, the rice is affixed to a board creating a picture all within a frame. I cannot believe the kindness shown by Thao and her friend. It is absolutely lovely and I will treasure it always.
We are then told that Thao's favorite male student, Loc, has come to meet with us. Loc is brimming with personality and unlike many of the other students is not shy to talk to us at all. I am told that Loc comes from one of the more prosperous families in the village. He is filled with confidence and at the same time is humble and very loving towards Thao. I know if I ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he'll have an answer. Sure enough, not even a moment to think about the question, he tells me he wants to be a doctor. "The kind of doctor that helps people like Thao and then I will come back here and fix her problem and she will be a supermodel!" Loc says. Loc tells us how much he loves to read and that his mother and father read him stories growing up. I have no doubt in my mind if Loc wants to become a doctor, he will. Loc has found his purpose at this point in his 11 year-old life. He clearly has access to a world that Lynn and a majority of the other children do not and that is expressed in his confidence and personality.
It is now time for dinner. The crew and sit down to a meal with Thao's family and friends. We see a large plate of cut, raw, vegetables and greens before us along with beef, rice paper and sauce. What did the doctor, online websites and my mother tell me, "Do not eat raw foods, especially greens that have been washed with water!" The food looks great, but we all wonder what mysterious illness might be lurking in the greens. As a guest, it is incredibly rude not to eat a meal that has been prepared for you. The guys in my crew who have by the way traveled all over the world and tend to get sick no matter where they end up going, no matter how many precautions they take . . . well, we all decide . . . screw it and dig in. After the meal, we say our goodnights and head out into the darkness back to our hotel led by Thao's dad who is just beginning the night shift.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
VIETNAM - DAY 3
Choir bells toll, my iphone alarm is going off and it is 6am. I am awake and have yet to experience any serious sign of jet lag. I somehow have miraculously adjusted to Vietnam. A knock at the door, I open to find a beautiful young woman gesturing that food is ready for us. Our rooms open out onto a small patio with a glass table and chairs and soon the woman and her assistant are bringing over trays of beef and noodle soup that smell absolutely heavenly. I must interject at this time, the people of Vietnam are very lovely looking and very trim. We are constantly given soooo much food everywhere we go. It is hot and humid in Cu Chi and ingesting mass quantities of food is not the first priority on my list. Not wanting to offend and all offerings being very delicious, we continue to acquiesce. We inhale our breakfast of beef and noodle soup followed by the coffee and condensed milk concoction. After breakfast we head over to Thao's home where the family has already begun their day.
We follow Thao's father as he lights incense and recites his morning prayers, in the home, outside the home, and in the library/holding structure. Thao's father looks like an old time movie star with his svelte figure, sun-kissed skin and perfect teeth. He is always making everything as comfortable as possible. This man sleeps 2 hours everynight. I never once see him sit down, only to eat. He's either tending to the pigs and chickens, looking after the 100 year old grandfather, taking care of Thao, selling his pig feed and fertilizer, or maintaining the grounds, and then after dinner he heads over to the hotel we are staying at and is the night security guard until 5am at which time he comes back home to walk the cattle. If we want to see him walk the cattle we are told we need to be over at the house around 5am. Thao's father adores his family and lives to serve them, clearly seen in everything he does.
We head to the library. Soon bicycles line the front of the structure and the children make their way in, perusing through the books for the latest find. Thao has recently been given a shipment of more donations along with a bench that the children sit along and read, mouthing the words as they go. When I join the group I see one of the little ones has picked up a donated English book that I brought over, Where the Wild Things Are. Other children peer over the young boy's shoulder as he carefully flips the pages of the new book. I ask the children if I can read the book to them. I see they are intrigued by my strange presence and agree. I begin to read, many not really understanding exactly what I am saying but still captivated by the odd sounds coming out of my mouth, looking at me, then the pictures, then the words. As the story progresses, we laugh together sharing this new experience. Then it is their turn to read me a story in Vietnamese. The excitement of who will read next flows through the group until one boy is chosen. He begins, everyone is hushed, looking on, excited to share their story and reading skills with me, and so the exchange goes. Words have brought us all together in this moment, with Thao looking on from her bench.
Lynn enters the library. She is one of Thao's favorites. She carefully looks through the stacks and finds a few books she would like to take home. We follow her and her mother down a desolate dirt road around the corner to a shedlike structure with no doors only openings, this is her home. Lynn immediately puts her things down in the single room and begins to read at a makeshift desk. The area contains two wooden bedlike frames with no mattress or blankets, a fan, a desk and some sort of graduation picture on the wall. A stray dog runs through the room from the back entrance through the front. Lynn agrees to answer questions about the library and we decide to interview her in the backyard area as there is limited light in the room. Lynn is a very serious, elegant little girl of 9 who is decked out in her school uniform which consists of a navy skirt, white button down shirt and red tie, hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looks perfect. Her mother is very kind and proudly looks on as we affix the wireless mic to Lynn's school uniform. I remember seeing Lynn's mother over at the hotel where she cleans rooms. I begin to ask Lynn a series of questions about her school, her favorite subjects, the library and Thao. I then ask Lynn what she wants to be when she grows up and she shakes her head, looking to the ground whispering, "I don't know". This is a question I will ask many of the children all with the same response, "I don't know". When I've asked 9 year olds in the US, what they want to do when they grow up, I'm met with a laundry list of possibilities from astronaut to firefighter, truck driver to teacher. Vanessa tells me the children don't have an answer because for them they've already reached beyond their parents by going to school. In addition, many do not know to want for anything because the opportunities are not there, they cannot see the possibilities. Are there possibilities? I realize in some communities and areas of the world life is about daily survival-- finding food for the day, staying alive one more day after contracting a deadly disease, securing clean drinking water. But here, in this struggling rural village of Vietnam, many of the children do at least have a school to go to and Thao who has planted the seed of potential and imagination by providing the children access to books. I now see that this is a community on the verge of change.
When I ask Lynn's mother to sign a documentation release form on behalf of Lynn a rush of embarrassment sweeps over her face. The mother does not know how to read or write. I immediately drop the subject as we head back into their home. I wonder how that must feel, to not be able to read and write but have a daughter who lives for books. I want Lynn to be able to tell me she would like to be a scientist, a nurse, a writer, anything. I'd like to think that there is a way to rise to one's full potential out of any situation. Maybe that is my all American "Pollyanna" mid-West upbringing. I was raised in a family where no dream was out of reach, where we were encouraged to think big. I remember as a kid the question "What do want to be when you grow up?" gave me a sense of purpose, something to strive for. My sister piloted a plane across the country and across the Atlantic Ocean at 11 and 12 for goodness sakes, no ceiling was too high. Now, as an adult, I pose the question to myself, "What do you want to be Elizabeth?" And I don't have an answer either. That question has shifted for me to, "What do you want to say with your life?" And I'm still not quite sure what the answer is. We say goodbye to Lynn and her mother and head back to Thao's.
I hold on to Thao's movie star dad as the crew and I head off on mopeds into town waving as we speed along, the guys behind us with camera in place. Many long peculiar stares adorn the faces of people as we fly down the road. I am very aware of how different we are than everyone else . . . outsiders, the current gossip of the village. I think about Thao and can only imagine how she might feel, being stared at, so different from everyone else, yet still a member of this community. She is an exceptional human being and an inspiration. Would she have been this exceptional and special without her disability, or has she used her disabililty as an opportunity, as a gift, to rise to heights she might never have known she was capable of?
I think about my sister and how after her death I found myself at a crystal clear crossroad. I could let the loss of her consume me whole and roll over to this single significant event - her sudden death. Or I could choose to transform my life and get up and move through life with love in my heart. I choose the latter. That does not mean I will never stray from the path or trip and fall, but the intent is clear to pick up and continue to move forward. My sister, Vicki, woke me up from a dreamlike state and now for the first time in my life, I'm truly living. I look at Thao and see her courageously and fearlessly moving through life. Getting up every morning at 6am and starting her day, opening up the library to a fleet of children who depend on her. It drives Thao, giving her the strength to keep going. At some point all human beings experience suffering. What we eventually decide to do with that experience of suffering is up to us. Our reaction is a choice and the only part of the equation we have control over. That choice can be anything from shooting up heroin to eating a whole box of donuts to getting out of bed when the alarm goes off to running a marathon - choice.
After coming back to the house and dismounting the bikes, the crew and I head out down the road into the vast fields to watch the sun set over the trees. We see farmers fertilizing their crops for the final time this evening. The grasshopper catcher with his net is skimming the tops of a thousand blades of grass ensnaring the stray grasshoppers. The faint laughter of children can be heard coming from the main road. It is a harmonious and tranquil setting. The last bit of sun eclipses the tree tops and another day has passed.
We follow Thao's father as he lights incense and recites his morning prayers, in the home, outside the home, and in the library/holding structure. Thao's father looks like an old time movie star with his svelte figure, sun-kissed skin and perfect teeth. He is always making everything as comfortable as possible. This man sleeps 2 hours everynight. I never once see him sit down, only to eat. He's either tending to the pigs and chickens, looking after the 100 year old grandfather, taking care of Thao, selling his pig feed and fertilizer, or maintaining the grounds, and then after dinner he heads over to the hotel we are staying at and is the night security guard until 5am at which time he comes back home to walk the cattle. If we want to see him walk the cattle we are told we need to be over at the house around 5am. Thao's father adores his family and lives to serve them, clearly seen in everything he does.
We head to the library. Soon bicycles line the front of the structure and the children make their way in, perusing through the books for the latest find. Thao has recently been given a shipment of more donations along with a bench that the children sit along and read, mouthing the words as they go. When I join the group I see one of the little ones has picked up a donated English book that I brought over, Where the Wild Things Are. Other children peer over the young boy's shoulder as he carefully flips the pages of the new book. I ask the children if I can read the book to them. I see they are intrigued by my strange presence and agree. I begin to read, many not really understanding exactly what I am saying but still captivated by the odd sounds coming out of my mouth, looking at me, then the pictures, then the words. As the story progresses, we laugh together sharing this new experience. Then it is their turn to read me a story in Vietnamese. The excitement of who will read next flows through the group until one boy is chosen. He begins, everyone is hushed, looking on, excited to share their story and reading skills with me, and so the exchange goes. Words have brought us all together in this moment, with Thao looking on from her bench.
Lynn enters the library. She is one of Thao's favorites. She carefully looks through the stacks and finds a few books she would like to take home. We follow her and her mother down a desolate dirt road around the corner to a shedlike structure with no doors only openings, this is her home. Lynn immediately puts her things down in the single room and begins to read at a makeshift desk. The area contains two wooden bedlike frames with no mattress or blankets, a fan, a desk and some sort of graduation picture on the wall. A stray dog runs through the room from the back entrance through the front. Lynn agrees to answer questions about the library and we decide to interview her in the backyard area as there is limited light in the room. Lynn is a very serious, elegant little girl of 9 who is decked out in her school uniform which consists of a navy skirt, white button down shirt and red tie, hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looks perfect. Her mother is very kind and proudly looks on as we affix the wireless mic to Lynn's school uniform. I remember seeing Lynn's mother over at the hotel where she cleans rooms. I begin to ask Lynn a series of questions about her school, her favorite subjects, the library and Thao. I then ask Lynn what she wants to be when she grows up and she shakes her head, looking to the ground whispering, "I don't know". This is a question I will ask many of the children all with the same response, "I don't know". When I've asked 9 year olds in the US, what they want to do when they grow up, I'm met with a laundry list of possibilities from astronaut to firefighter, truck driver to teacher. Vanessa tells me the children don't have an answer because for them they've already reached beyond their parents by going to school. In addition, many do not know to want for anything because the opportunities are not there, they cannot see the possibilities. Are there possibilities? I realize in some communities and areas of the world life is about daily survival-- finding food for the day, staying alive one more day after contracting a deadly disease, securing clean drinking water. But here, in this struggling rural village of Vietnam, many of the children do at least have a school to go to and Thao who has planted the seed of potential and imagination by providing the children access to books. I now see that this is a community on the verge of change.
When I ask Lynn's mother to sign a documentation release form on behalf of Lynn a rush of embarrassment sweeps over her face. The mother does not know how to read or write. I immediately drop the subject as we head back into their home. I wonder how that must feel, to not be able to read and write but have a daughter who lives for books. I want Lynn to be able to tell me she would like to be a scientist, a nurse, a writer, anything. I'd like to think that there is a way to rise to one's full potential out of any situation. Maybe that is my all American "Pollyanna" mid-West upbringing. I was raised in a family where no dream was out of reach, where we were encouraged to think big. I remember as a kid the question "What do want to be when you grow up?" gave me a sense of purpose, something to strive for. My sister piloted a plane across the country and across the Atlantic Ocean at 11 and 12 for goodness sakes, no ceiling was too high. Now, as an adult, I pose the question to myself, "What do you want to be Elizabeth?" And I don't have an answer either. That question has shifted for me to, "What do you want to say with your life?" And I'm still not quite sure what the answer is. We say goodbye to Lynn and her mother and head back to Thao's.
I hold on to Thao's movie star dad as the crew and I head off on mopeds into town waving as we speed along, the guys behind us with camera in place. Many long peculiar stares adorn the faces of people as we fly down the road. I am very aware of how different we are than everyone else . . . outsiders, the current gossip of the village. I think about Thao and can only imagine how she might feel, being stared at, so different from everyone else, yet still a member of this community. She is an exceptional human being and an inspiration. Would she have been this exceptional and special without her disability, or has she used her disabililty as an opportunity, as a gift, to rise to heights she might never have known she was capable of?
I think about my sister and how after her death I found myself at a crystal clear crossroad. I could let the loss of her consume me whole and roll over to this single significant event - her sudden death. Or I could choose to transform my life and get up and move through life with love in my heart. I choose the latter. That does not mean I will never stray from the path or trip and fall, but the intent is clear to pick up and continue to move forward. My sister, Vicki, woke me up from a dreamlike state and now for the first time in my life, I'm truly living. I look at Thao and see her courageously and fearlessly moving through life. Getting up every morning at 6am and starting her day, opening up the library to a fleet of children who depend on her. It drives Thao, giving her the strength to keep going. At some point all human beings experience suffering. What we eventually decide to do with that experience of suffering is up to us. Our reaction is a choice and the only part of the equation we have control over. That choice can be anything from shooting up heroin to eating a whole box of donuts to getting out of bed when the alarm goes off to running a marathon - choice.
After coming back to the house and dismounting the bikes, the crew and I head out down the road into the vast fields to watch the sun set over the trees. We see farmers fertilizing their crops for the final time this evening. The grasshopper catcher with his net is skimming the tops of a thousand blades of grass ensnaring the stray grasshoppers. The faint laughter of children can be heard coming from the main road. It is a harmonious and tranquil setting. The last bit of sun eclipses the tree tops and another day has passed.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
VIETNAM - DAY 2
It is 7AM and the wave of mopeds have already begun to wash by our hotel. Entire families riding on a single scooter heading out for the day, all with colorful masks decorating their nose and mouth to protect them from the fumes that hang over Saigon. First we have breakfast which consists of an egg and loaf of french bread with soy sauce, lime, salt and pepper. It's delicious. Then our coffee is set down before us, its a strong shot of equal part coffee and condensed milk. After breakfast Vanessa arrives and we pile into the mini-van with all bags and equipment in toe, heading for Cu Chi and Thao.
Cu Chi is a suburban district of Ho Chi Minh City. It is famous for the Cu Chi tunnels, constructed during the Vietnam war and serving as headquarters for the Vietnamese soldiers. Within this area much fighting took place between the Americans and Vietnamese. Cu Chi was also an area hit hard with the chemical known as Agent Orange. There are people in Cu Chi who have never seen a white person before or the last white person they saw was during the War. Heading further into the country side, we see less and less cars and more bicycles. From Vietnamese cityscape to the rural landscape, it is very new and exciting to me, so different a reality than my own.
Thao has suggested that we stay at a place which is right next to her house. The place has a website and looks to be a convalescent home. We have no idea what to expect. Not quite sure what we are walking into to, we arrive at the hotel which is several small structures surrounded by beautiful gardens, ponds, statues, benches and tree lined walkways. It is a serene setting, extremely peaceful. We cannot believe our good fortune. What are the odds that this oasis with full ELECTRICAL POWER (needed throughout the day to download footage) would be right next to Thao's home?!? The nearest hotel is at least an hour away, outside of her village. Feeling very comfortable and grateful at this point the team and I unload our suitcases and make our way over to Thao's house.
I anxiously round the corner to Thao's, wheeling my suitcase filled with books (many donated by YOU!) and make my way down the driveway. I'm not quite sure what is waiting for me at the end of the drive and how I'm going to react. I have been talking to this young woman via email for months now, looking at her pictures, traveling 6,000 miles but have never actually met her face to face! She's been a huge figure in my mind but to actually see her, meet her in person, I start to feel intimidated by the situation. What if this is just crazy? What if she thinks I'm nuts for coming all this way? What if she doesn't want my help? Then I see this beautiful sweet angelic young woman sitting in a wheelchair behind the frame of her house. She looks at me and a huge smile comes across her face as does mine. In this moment I know that "all is good" and this is where I'm meant to be, right here and now. I open my arms to Thao and so it begins.
Thao leads us through her home that she shares with her mother, father, sister and 100 year old grandfather. Her family is incredibly loving and welcomes us all. We travel through the front area of the house which contains the grandfather and Thao's day beds, through the kitchen and out the back. This is where the family keeps their chickens and pigs. A whole lot of pigs, pig squeels will quickly become the soundtrack to our days spent at the home. From huge pigs to a litter of little piglets jumping over one another fighting for their mother's milk, pigs are everywhere. Thao's family also has a garden area where they grow their own greens along with a spicket for washing dishes and a shack where they cook over an open flame. Several children can be seen hiding around the perimeter of Thao's home, peeking in on this foreign camera crew. Giggling at my feeble attempts to speak Vietnamese, only a word here and there, we are greeted by all with kindness and warm laughter.
Getting used to talking via a translator takes some adjustment and luckily Vanessa and Thao have already become friends prior to this meeting. The two are completely comfortable and at ease with one another. The team and I are so grateful for their connection. It makes communication so much easier.
The family is preparing an unexpected lunch for us. Soon we are sitting down to a feast of chicken, beef, rice, morning glory accompanied by yummy and delicious spices and sauces. Paper is a very expensive luxury in rural Vietnam, I didn't realize till that moment how dependent I am on napkins as my fingers are instantaneously coated in the divine sticky sauce. After lunch Thao shows me photo albums and reads some of her poetry (which I will be sharing with you later on). We then proceeded to the library.
I discover the library is a separate structure from the home. Upon entering the structure we meet a strong odor and identify the smell with the large bags of fertilizer and pig feed that is housed within the structure as well. The ingredients on the bags, though in Vietnamese, contain words such as TOXIC and NITRO. This is not an environment where Thao along with the children should be, breathing in the air 6 hours a day everyday of the week.
***ON A VERY IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: We almost missed our flight upon arrival in the US on our way back from HCM. Extremely high levels of NITROGEN were found on Stephen's camera (co-founder of Weyo and a member of our crew). Nitrogen is an ingredient used in bomb making and is also found in fertilizer. Just from being in the library a few hours a day for 4 days, the air was rich enough in toxic particles containing Nitrogen that particles attached themselves to the camera at levels high enough to set off airport security detectors and possibly withhold us from air travel. JUST IMAGINE WHAT THIS IS DOING TO THAO'S LUNGS (which are already severely compromised) and the children who come to the library to learn and use the space as a refuge. EVERYDAY THAT WE ARE NOT THERE BUILDING A SHED TO HOUSE THE FEED AND FERTILIZER AND REWORKING THE EXISTING STRUCTURE IS ANOTHER DAY THAO AND THOSE CHILDREN'S HEALTH ARE AT RISK. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.
You wouldn't know it to look at Thao's face, which almost always has a smile on it, but she is in extreme pain. Thao was born with severe birth defects as a result of Agent Orange. Agent Orange is the code name for a chemical defoliant used by the US military during the Vietnam War. The object was to spray the fields of Vietnam, removing the plants and trees that were camouflaging the Vietnamese soldiers, exposing the enemy. As a result both the Vietnamese people and US soldiers were exposed to high levels of this very dangerous potent chemical resulting in serious skin diseases, cancers, mental disabilities, severe birth defects and death. Despite the numerous deaths and health problems on both sides, little is known about Agent Orange and how it has come to be passed down genetically through generations. Is the water supply of Vietnam still tainted with this highly toxic chemical? We do not know.
One of Thao's arms is significantly longer than the other. She cannot touch her face with one of her hands. There is a large lump on the front portion of her head. Her lungs are up by her throat and bulging out of her chest. She takes short quick breaths, almost gasping for air at times. She has very very short legs, almost non-existing. One leg has no feeling, the other has a sharp growth coming out of it that when touched sends piercing shooting pain throughout Thao's body. Her bones are very soft. I can feel how malleable they are. A sudden move or any sort of fall results in several broken bones. All of her broken bones throughout Thao's life have not healed properly and feel like squishy cartilage just under the skin. No one in Cu Chi knows what to do for Thao. Thao sees no doctor and takes no medicine for her condition. The only time Thao goes to the hospital is when the pain gets so bad that she looses her vision.
Maybe something can be done to help her live a longer more comfortable life. We don't know?
Despite all of the pain Thao feels, she tells me she is blessed, she is lucky. I see she is a champion for the children and under privileged of her community. Later in the week she will take us to an orphanage where she volunteers her time for children who suffer from severe Agent Orange birth defects and mental disabilities whose families can no longer care for them or who have been abandoned.
I go home that first night after meeting Thao, a million thoughts swirl through my head.
Cu Chi is a suburban district of Ho Chi Minh City. It is famous for the Cu Chi tunnels, constructed during the Vietnam war and serving as headquarters for the Vietnamese soldiers. Within this area much fighting took place between the Americans and Vietnamese. Cu Chi was also an area hit hard with the chemical known as Agent Orange. There are people in Cu Chi who have never seen a white person before or the last white person they saw was during the War. Heading further into the country side, we see less and less cars and more bicycles. From Vietnamese cityscape to the rural landscape, it is very new and exciting to me, so different a reality than my own.
Thao has suggested that we stay at a place which is right next to her house. The place has a website and looks to be a convalescent home. We have no idea what to expect. Not quite sure what we are walking into to, we arrive at the hotel which is several small structures surrounded by beautiful gardens, ponds, statues, benches and tree lined walkways. It is a serene setting, extremely peaceful. We cannot believe our good fortune. What are the odds that this oasis with full ELECTRICAL POWER (needed throughout the day to download footage) would be right next to Thao's home?!? The nearest hotel is at least an hour away, outside of her village. Feeling very comfortable and grateful at this point the team and I unload our suitcases and make our way over to Thao's house.
I anxiously round the corner to Thao's, wheeling my suitcase filled with books (many donated by YOU!) and make my way down the driveway. I'm not quite sure what is waiting for me at the end of the drive and how I'm going to react. I have been talking to this young woman via email for months now, looking at her pictures, traveling 6,000 miles but have never actually met her face to face! She's been a huge figure in my mind but to actually see her, meet her in person, I start to feel intimidated by the situation. What if this is just crazy? What if she thinks I'm nuts for coming all this way? What if she doesn't want my help? Then I see this beautiful sweet angelic young woman sitting in a wheelchair behind the frame of her house. She looks at me and a huge smile comes across her face as does mine. In this moment I know that "all is good" and this is where I'm meant to be, right here and now. I open my arms to Thao and so it begins.
Thao leads us through her home that she shares with her mother, father, sister and 100 year old grandfather. Her family is incredibly loving and welcomes us all. We travel through the front area of the house which contains the grandfather and Thao's day beds, through the kitchen and out the back. This is where the family keeps their chickens and pigs. A whole lot of pigs, pig squeels will quickly become the soundtrack to our days spent at the home. From huge pigs to a litter of little piglets jumping over one another fighting for their mother's milk, pigs are everywhere. Thao's family also has a garden area where they grow their own greens along with a spicket for washing dishes and a shack where they cook over an open flame. Several children can be seen hiding around the perimeter of Thao's home, peeking in on this foreign camera crew. Giggling at my feeble attempts to speak Vietnamese, only a word here and there, we are greeted by all with kindness and warm laughter.
Getting used to talking via a translator takes some adjustment and luckily Vanessa and Thao have already become friends prior to this meeting. The two are completely comfortable and at ease with one another. The team and I are so grateful for their connection. It makes communication so much easier.
The family is preparing an unexpected lunch for us. Soon we are sitting down to a feast of chicken, beef, rice, morning glory accompanied by yummy and delicious spices and sauces. Paper is a very expensive luxury in rural Vietnam, I didn't realize till that moment how dependent I am on napkins as my fingers are instantaneously coated in the divine sticky sauce. After lunch Thao shows me photo albums and reads some of her poetry (which I will be sharing with you later on). We then proceeded to the library.
I discover the library is a separate structure from the home. Upon entering the structure we meet a strong odor and identify the smell with the large bags of fertilizer and pig feed that is housed within the structure as well. The ingredients on the bags, though in Vietnamese, contain words such as TOXIC and NITRO. This is not an environment where Thao along with the children should be, breathing in the air 6 hours a day everyday of the week.
***ON A VERY IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: We almost missed our flight upon arrival in the US on our way back from HCM. Extremely high levels of NITROGEN were found on Stephen's camera (co-founder of Weyo and a member of our crew). Nitrogen is an ingredient used in bomb making and is also found in fertilizer. Just from being in the library a few hours a day for 4 days, the air was rich enough in toxic particles containing Nitrogen that particles attached themselves to the camera at levels high enough to set off airport security detectors and possibly withhold us from air travel. JUST IMAGINE WHAT THIS IS DOING TO THAO'S LUNGS (which are already severely compromised) and the children who come to the library to learn and use the space as a refuge. EVERYDAY THAT WE ARE NOT THERE BUILDING A SHED TO HOUSE THE FEED AND FERTILIZER AND REWORKING THE EXISTING STRUCTURE IS ANOTHER DAY THAO AND THOSE CHILDREN'S HEALTH ARE AT RISK. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.
You wouldn't know it to look at Thao's face, which almost always has a smile on it, but she is in extreme pain. Thao was born with severe birth defects as a result of Agent Orange. Agent Orange is the code name for a chemical defoliant used by the US military during the Vietnam War. The object was to spray the fields of Vietnam, removing the plants and trees that were camouflaging the Vietnamese soldiers, exposing the enemy. As a result both the Vietnamese people and US soldiers were exposed to high levels of this very dangerous potent chemical resulting in serious skin diseases, cancers, mental disabilities, severe birth defects and death. Despite the numerous deaths and health problems on both sides, little is known about Agent Orange and how it has come to be passed down genetically through generations. Is the water supply of Vietnam still tainted with this highly toxic chemical? We do not know.
One of Thao's arms is significantly longer than the other. She cannot touch her face with one of her hands. There is a large lump on the front portion of her head. Her lungs are up by her throat and bulging out of her chest. She takes short quick breaths, almost gasping for air at times. She has very very short legs, almost non-existing. One leg has no feeling, the other has a sharp growth coming out of it that when touched sends piercing shooting pain throughout Thao's body. Her bones are very soft. I can feel how malleable they are. A sudden move or any sort of fall results in several broken bones. All of her broken bones throughout Thao's life have not healed properly and feel like squishy cartilage just under the skin. No one in Cu Chi knows what to do for Thao. Thao sees no doctor and takes no medicine for her condition. The only time Thao goes to the hospital is when the pain gets so bad that she looses her vision.
Maybe something can be done to help her live a longer more comfortable life. We don't know?
Despite all of the pain Thao feels, she tells me she is blessed, she is lucky. I see she is a champion for the children and under privileged of her community. Later in the week she will take us to an orphanage where she volunteers her time for children who suffer from severe Agent Orange birth defects and mental disabilities whose families can no longer care for them or who have been abandoned.
I go home that first night after meeting Thao, a million thoughts swirl through my head.
VIETNAM - DAY 1
We arrive in Ho Chi Minh City late Monday night via Tokyo via Detroit via Norfolk. The flight is pretty intense, 23 hours in total. Despite walking around the plane several times throughout the flight, my ankles swell up like balloons. So 23 hours, 3 heart wrenching in-flight movies, 4 airplane meals and a pair of cankels later we arrive at the HCM airport - Vietnam. Once we secure our luggage we head out into the steamy tropical night where a chorus of Vietnamese folks await their loved ones. We are greeted with a huge smile and hug from our translator/ fixer, Vanessa. Vanessa is brilliant, I cannot sing her praises enough. From the moment we meet her to the time we part ways, there are no problems, no mix ups, never waited for anything, the trip was seamless. She connects us with the nicest people, the best deals and her language skills are beyond impressive. Vanessa had been working with me prior to the trip, translating emails back and forth between Thao and making all prior arrangements.
Walking into the anxious crowd and greeted by the lovely Vanessa, who has a car waiting for us at the curb, we load up the vehicle and speed off into the night towards our hotel. At this point it is 11:30PM in Vietnam (11:30 AM the next day, East Coast time) but there is no time for jet lag, we have a job to do and our bodies adjust quite quickly.
Vanessa booked us two rooms close to the airport, we pull up and are received by the staff who have been waiting our arrival. We are whisked upstairs to our rooms, say goodnight to Vanessa and prepare to shoot our first video diary. After completing this task, it is now almost 2AM and we are meeting Vanessa in 5 short hours to travel to Cu Chi, finally meeting Thao for the first time. I fall asleep that night excited, anxious, a little nervous, but ready. I know after this experience my life will never be the same.
Walking into the anxious crowd and greeted by the lovely Vanessa, who has a car waiting for us at the curb, we load up the vehicle and speed off into the night towards our hotel. At this point it is 11:30PM in Vietnam (11:30 AM the next day, East Coast time) but there is no time for jet lag, we have a job to do and our bodies adjust quite quickly.
Vanessa booked us two rooms close to the airport, we pull up and are received by the staff who have been waiting our arrival. We are whisked upstairs to our rooms, say goodnight to Vanessa and prepare to shoot our first video diary. After completing this task, it is now almost 2AM and we are meeting Vanessa in 5 short hours to travel to Cu Chi, finally meeting Thao for the first time. I fall asleep that night excited, anxious, a little nervous, but ready. I know after this experience my life will never be the same.
WE ARE BACK!!
Hello Friends!!
AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING
Sorry its taken me a little bit of time to post since being back in the states. Unfortunately the team and I got very sick after landing in Norfolk VA. We're not quite sure what it was, slowly but surely we're making a come back.
The trip was AMAZING!!
THAO IS AN AMAZING INSPIRING HUMAN BEING, I WISH YOU ALL TO MEET HER ONE DAY!!
Where to start?
I'm just now going through the footage and cannot wait to share it all with you - in time my friends.
AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING
Sorry its taken me a little bit of time to post since being back in the states. Unfortunately the team and I got very sick after landing in Norfolk VA. We're not quite sure what it was, slowly but surely we're making a come back.
The trip was AMAZING!!
THAO IS AN AMAZING INSPIRING HUMAN BEING, I WISH YOU ALL TO MEET HER ONE DAY!!
Where to start?
I'm just now going through the footage and cannot wait to share it all with you - in time my friends.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
This is really happening!!
I am so excited as is Thao, our crew in Vietnam and the crew here in the US!
I've got my shots and my rain boots and we are soon headed out the door!
I can't wait to meet Thao in person and share her story with all of you.
Thank you for the much needed donations that continue to come in along with books for Thao's library. I've packed my suitcase with as many books as I can as I will continue to send Thao books throughout this entire process.
I will be posting pictures and video when we get back to the states.
much love
elizabeth
I've got my shots and my rain boots and we are soon headed out the door!
I can't wait to meet Thao in person and share her story with all of you.
Thank you for the much needed donations that continue to come in along with books for Thao's library. I've packed my suitcase with as many books as I can as I will continue to send Thao books throughout this entire process.
I will be posting pictures and video when we get back to the states.
much love
elizabeth
Friday, October 9, 2009
much love
thank you so much for the continued well wishes and encouragement.
i am very touched by how much love and support is coming our way.
i am very touched by how much love and support is coming our way.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Weyo
Breaking News
I have teamed up with an amazing group called Weyo, the work they do is incredible and I am so happy to have them aboard, check out their website at www.weyonow.com
I have teamed up with an amazing group called Weyo, the work they do is incredible and I am so happy to have them aboard, check out their website at www.weyonow.com
As some of you may know I am making my first feature documentary and I need your help.
HAMMY FEATURES
PRESENTS
THE PURPOSE PROJECT
Huynh Thanh Thao ("Thao") is a twenty-five year old woman living in a poor village outside of Ho Chi Min City in Vietnam. Born with no legs as a result of Agent Orange, Thao leads a productive life, with daily activities including tutoring local children, helping her mother at a local shop, and most importantly cultivating her library.
Stationed against one wall of the hut she shares with her mother, sister and 100 year old grandfather, sits her library organized on makeshift shelves. It is visited by children from the village on a daily basis, checking out books and longing for the enrichment of literature so often taken for granted. When visiting friend and photojournalist, Stephen Katz, he showed me photographs of Thao and her library. As he shared them, he confessed that he asked her if she "could have anything in the world, what would it be?" Her response had nothing to do with her health or the need for legs, but rather $300 - so she could buy more books.
THE PURPOSE PROJECT
Living and working as an actress in New York City for the past 13 years, my daily life consists of meetings, rehearsals, auditions, event socials, opening nights and a sadness that can't be shaken. A little over a year ago I lost my beautiful twenty-six year old sister to depression, a battle she had been fighting for over a decade. The first half of her life was filled with much victory and success (breaking the record for being the youngest person to pilot a plane across the country and then the Atlantic Ocean at the age of 11 and 12 respectively). During the second half of her life, she graduated the top of her class, served in the Peace Corp with the poor of Moldova, all while fighting a seemingly uphill battle in her head. She was fearless, brilliant, funny, humble and brave, and her choice not only changed my world, but forced me to reevaluate my own life, a life that can no longer be taken for granted. As Stephen told me Thao's story, I felt I had to do something, not just because of her $300 dream that seems so easily attainable, but something else lingered. Something in her eyes that I had lost. A peace, a quiet understanding that radiated from this young woman who was given seemingly so little and gives so much. It's the purpose that we all search for at one point in our lives, that driving force that carries us through life's triumphs and tragedies and makes this life that we're given worth living.
WHAT YOU CAN DO
There are three phases to THE PURPOSE PROJECT. I'm at the final push in the fundraising for Phase I, and am now asking for your help to secure the final funds by November 20th.
PHASE I
My first journey over to Vietnam and the initial phase of the project consists of interviewing and following Thao through out her daily life, meeting with her family, friends and the people of her village to assess the needs of the library before returning to the states to meet with Foundations and individuals that have expressed great interest in taking Thao's dream to a whole new level.
DESCRIPTION
FIXER - a local liason that assures no problems occur with locals, officials, or government personnel; and that all meetings take place in a calm and peaceful manner (know where to go and the safest way to get there)
$100/day for 5 days =$500.00
TRANSLATOR - a bilingual that knows Thao and her environment, will assist in helping Thao feel comfortable during the filming; has already been working with our team on a variety of correspondence with Thao
$40/day for 5 days =$200.00
DRIVER - our transporter who will provide a vehicle and transport our crew and film gear to Cu Chi, which is located near Thao's village; will travel back and forth with us each day
$50/day for 5 days =$250.00
AIRFARE - three coach class round-trip airfare from the US to Vietnam (already purchased on credit cards to secure lowest fare rate)
$850 each =$2,550.00
MEALS - once we are in Vietnam, we become a crew of six. Buy a crew member a meal, the entire crew a meal or food for the team for an entire day, for the seven days in Vietnam, plus the travel day.
$1-$90/day for 8 days =$720.00
LODGING - our crew of three will spend two nights in Ho Chi Min City while the remaining four nights will be spent in Cu Chi near Thao's village; sharing rooms when possible. $50/night, 2 rooms for 2 nights =$200.00
$30/night, 3 rooms for 4 nights =$360.00
TOTAL $4,780.00
BECOME PART OF THE STORY
Even a donation of a $1 helps us get closer to our goal. I am so grateful for any and all contributions. If you are unable to contribute at this time and you know someone who might be able to, feel free to pass blog address along. Your good thoughts and blessings go a long way.
DONATE A BOOK
I have already begun to send Thao books and will continue to do so throughout the entire project. She expressed to me that the young children of the village have begun to read in English and are hungry for English books (12 years and under). Got any children's books hanging around the house or apartment? Book plates with the donor's name will be affixed to all books donated to Thao's library.
We are leaving for Vietnam on Sunday November 29th and will return Sunday December 6th. I will be posting updates as to the film’s progress and its fund raising efforts.
Love and Peace
Elizabeth Van Meter
PRESENTS
THE PURPOSE PROJECT
Huynh Thanh Thao ("Thao") is a twenty-five year old woman living in a poor village outside of Ho Chi Min City in Vietnam. Born with no legs as a result of Agent Orange, Thao leads a productive life, with daily activities including tutoring local children, helping her mother at a local shop, and most importantly cultivating her library.
Stationed against one wall of the hut she shares with her mother, sister and 100 year old grandfather, sits her library organized on makeshift shelves. It is visited by children from the village on a daily basis, checking out books and longing for the enrichment of literature so often taken for granted. When visiting friend and photojournalist, Stephen Katz, he showed me photographs of Thao and her library. As he shared them, he confessed that he asked her if she "could have anything in the world, what would it be?" Her response had nothing to do with her health or the need for legs, but rather $300 - so she could buy more books.
THE PURPOSE PROJECT
Living and working as an actress in New York City for the past 13 years, my daily life consists of meetings, rehearsals, auditions, event socials, opening nights and a sadness that can't be shaken. A little over a year ago I lost my beautiful twenty-six year old sister to depression, a battle she had been fighting for over a decade. The first half of her life was filled with much victory and success (breaking the record for being the youngest person to pilot a plane across the country and then the Atlantic Ocean at the age of 11 and 12 respectively). During the second half of her life, she graduated the top of her class, served in the Peace Corp with the poor of Moldova, all while fighting a seemingly uphill battle in her head. She was fearless, brilliant, funny, humble and brave, and her choice not only changed my world, but forced me to reevaluate my own life, a life that can no longer be taken for granted. As Stephen told me Thao's story, I felt I had to do something, not just because of her $300 dream that seems so easily attainable, but something else lingered. Something in her eyes that I had lost. A peace, a quiet understanding that radiated from this young woman who was given seemingly so little and gives so much. It's the purpose that we all search for at one point in our lives, that driving force that carries us through life's triumphs and tragedies and makes this life that we're given worth living.
WHAT YOU CAN DO
There are three phases to THE PURPOSE PROJECT. I'm at the final push in the fundraising for Phase I, and am now asking for your help to secure the final funds by November 20th.
PHASE I
My first journey over to Vietnam and the initial phase of the project consists of interviewing and following Thao through out her daily life, meeting with her family, friends and the people of her village to assess the needs of the library before returning to the states to meet with Foundations and individuals that have expressed great interest in taking Thao's dream to a whole new level.
DESCRIPTION
FIXER - a local liason that assures no problems occur with locals, officials, or government personnel; and that all meetings take place in a calm and peaceful manner (know where to go and the safest way to get there)
$100/day for 5 days =$500.00
TRANSLATOR - a bilingual that knows Thao and her environment, will assist in helping Thao feel comfortable during the filming; has already been working with our team on a variety of correspondence with Thao
$40/day for 5 days =$200.00
DRIVER - our transporter who will provide a vehicle and transport our crew and film gear to Cu Chi, which is located near Thao's village; will travel back and forth with us each day
$50/day for 5 days =$250.00
AIRFARE - three coach class round-trip airfare from the US to Vietnam (already purchased on credit cards to secure lowest fare rate)
$850 each =$2,550.00
MEALS - once we are in Vietnam, we become a crew of six. Buy a crew member a meal, the entire crew a meal or food for the team for an entire day, for the seven days in Vietnam, plus the travel day.
$1-$90/day for 8 days =$720.00
LODGING - our crew of three will spend two nights in Ho Chi Min City while the remaining four nights will be spent in Cu Chi near Thao's village; sharing rooms when possible. $50/night, 2 rooms for 2 nights =$200.00
$30/night, 3 rooms for 4 nights =$360.00
TOTAL $4,780.00
BECOME PART OF THE STORY
Even a donation of a $1 helps us get closer to our goal. I am so grateful for any and all contributions. If you are unable to contribute at this time and you know someone who might be able to, feel free to pass blog address along. Your good thoughts and blessings go a long way.
DONATE A BOOK
I have already begun to send Thao books and will continue to do so throughout the entire project. She expressed to me that the young children of the village have begun to read in English and are hungry for English books (12 years and under). Got any children's books hanging around the house or apartment? Book plates with the donor's name will be affixed to all books donated to Thao's library.
We are leaving for Vietnam on Sunday November 29th and will return Sunday December 6th. I will be posting updates as to the film’s progress and its fund raising efforts.
Love and Peace
Elizabeth Van Meter
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)