Delta Feelings. The Good and The Bad
Part 1:
Five days until complete parental supervision. Five days until I should disinfect my squat toilet and finish grading my finals. Five days until Vi Thanh rolls out the red carpet for my parents. I’ve been talking them up since the day I arrived. We might as well build a palanquin to take them from house to house. They will be feasting so hard there’s no way my motorbike can handle that weight.
A fleeting three months past and I am ready to close the first chapter of Delta life. It’s been embarrassing, terrifying, frustrating, awesome, but above all, it’s been lovely beyond compare.
Here are some of those moments.
EMBARRASSING. Lúng túng
I bought a sweet bicycle, journeyed towards countryside Can Tho, and came back immobile. Something in my back didn’t sit right.
Please, let me sit as I teach this class. I’ll just watch the rest of you guys roller disco. Okay, I’ll have a couple beers to loosen up the tightness. I guess I can dance…
The night rolled on and on and suddenly I disappeared from Can Tho and into a night club. Smoke streaked through the club, filling the spaces between terrible raging dance music. Fred and I floated towards the top level, peering down upon the wealthy and entranced. Collins smiles, “Crazy, isn’t it?” The attendees were of all ages ranging from mid twenties to late fifties. Groups circled around small tables of fruit and alcohol. Fred and I look at each other in amazement. Are we really still in Can Tho?
The night turned a sharp corner into dawn as Maru pushed me out of bed. “Connie, its 7:30 AM. Time for Brooke’s farewell breakfast. I stumbled towards my bicycle, half asleep, half hungover, peddling stiffly around traffic, trucks, and pedestrians. The taste of bun and coffee lifted me up and I walked to 8:30 class.
“Good morning, Miss Connie!” chimed the lovely little ones. Their smiles radiated so brightly I couldn’t help but return the welcome. “Good morning!” The next hour breezed by with coffee coursing through my veins. The caffeine helping me enthusiastically punctuate and exclaim each phrase and vocab word. “THREEE” I shout pointing to my tongue, making sure the kids see my front teeth. Half of the act was for proper pronunciation and the other half was just to entertain. The coffee took a left turn and I streaked towards the bathroom not having time to bring toilet paper. I looked left, right, up and down. Oh, great. Funny how just yesterday I only swore against using the bidet shower. I ate my words and never turned back.
Class ended an I split back to Campus 1, flopped into the hammock, and uncomfortably shifted around until I fell fast asleep. Taylor somehow dragged me up and out to recovery Yoga. I was convinced this would cure all lower back stiffness. First came leg stretches, finger twists, toe pulls, followed by the back bend. I was shy with my first bend, convinced I would never move again if I misguided myself. The teacher asked for another, this time focusing on the lower back. I pushed even further past that point of no return and pfffft. My stomach let one out. No response. And then another. Taylor and I returned to standing position, glanced at each other, and burst out in laughter. The class remained silent for only a second later before an old Vietnamese lady looked back and joined in. Taylor and I lost all serenity, spreading the uncontrollable laughter throughout class. Our instructor paused, debating how to regain peace. He began a spiel about how completely usual it is for people to shit in their pants during back bends. “It’s completely normally” The story didn’t help. More laughter. Taylor and I both realized that everyone assumed it was her, the white girl who must have farted, not I, the one who “look like a Vietnamese.”
TERRIFYING. Sợ hãi
That evening, Matt and I headed for my first movie going experience with the comfy chairs, the strong air conditioning, the pulsating sound system; forget that Steven Spielberg had produced another thought provoking and beautiful film, I was living luxuriously for the evening. Matt even brought oreos! We happily stepped out of the theater into the sticky damp heat of Vietnam. I’m beginning to dislike the false sense of comfort that air conditioners provide. With a quick stop at the rugby showing, Matt and I began for home, past the roundabout and up the bridge. Matt let go of the gas and the motorbike came to a whirling stop. A cab screeched in behind us and did a hard U. The road ahead was blocked with motorbikes. A frantic policeman chased after the cab, motioning for him to return. Ahead, shrapnel scattered across the road, blood puddling at its epicenter. Passersby surrounded the injured rider, lying on his back, still and dispirited. The wounded was lifted into the back of cramped cab. Matt and I heaved a simultaneous sigh. Life is real close to death. We rode past the accident, past the bloodied helpers, past the mutilated motorbike. This was not the first, nor would it be close to the last. Motorbike accidents are like swatting at mosquitoes. So common you almost forget that they once were alive.
— —
Joe and Anh ride into Vi Thanh for a guest appearance with my first years. I turn them around and lead them to Trinh’s highway coffee shop. I lean into a left turn to cross the highway. Joe mentions that there’s a big pile of wood on the side. I mistakenly look back. Joe yells. Break. A motorbike flashes right past my face. I freeze. My motorbike trembles into the coffee shop. I was lucky once. I don’t intend to play the same hand twice.
— —
Tien and I like to run every so often when there’s free time. She’s a sweet first year who’s new to English. We spend our walk-and-jogs learning basic phrases like “run fast”, “run slow”, “to do exercise”, “wake up early”, and “I’m scared of dogs when I run.” It began a few years back when rabid dogs chased me through the streets of Beira. The fear still lingers. When Tien and I turn that second corner of the road, a particular dog always perks his head up. He sniffs the air then moves towards us. If it was just me I would turn back and go another route but Tien was there so I continued forward. Then he began to bark. I froze and side stepped around Tien, putting her between me and the dog. She’s half a head shorter than me, but she does karate so I tell myself it’s okay. “I’m not scared of many things,” I began in English, “but Khi tôi chạy, tôi sợ hãi chó.” She laughs either at my timidness and/or my broken Vietnamese.
FRUSTRATING. Nản lòng
My back only worsened after the yoga fart. I was bedridden for a week. Showering was a hassle and using the squat toilet was even worse. Sleeping wasn't any better. I went to a doctor out of desperation. We had trouble communicating. I think he thought I wanted my kidney checked out. He gave me a list of five drugs. I took none and improved a couple weeks later. The remedy: Bri’s ab workout for bad backs, Anh’s Asian icy hot, and pickup soccer. Miracles can happen. At least that’s what I gathered from watching all of Season 1 of Lost that week.
— —
At first arrival, the bleak misogyny was amusing. I was convinced that something so impossibly wrong had to be a joke.
Conversations with select Vietnamese:
- “He needs more food than you because he’s a man.” (On explaining why a male friend received a special order of food)
- “You’re so beautiful, why don’t you have a boyfriend?” (On meeting men for the first time)
- “Maybe you’re not strong enough to ride a bicycle that far.” (On my crazy ideas of riding around South East Asia)
- “There must be more men in a University because they are smarter and better than women.” (On a class conversation about education.)
- “Are you married?” (No, this doesn’t need to be the first question you ask when meeting someone).
Then there’s an implicit list of a women’s actions and responsibilities.
- Do not leave until the man gives permission. (In most cases he won’t want you to leave).
- Look and dress appropriately for a man. (It’s a good thing I like to wear dresses. (1) It’s hot (2) Dresses are convenient for bidet’s).
- If you’re single, than surely you must want to be with any man. (My favorite vocab lesson: I live alone, but I’m not lonely).
I only recently started drinking around Vietnamese men. At first I thought I was refusing to drink out of cultural awareness. A recent conversation with a Vietnamese whom I trust revealed it was out of indistinguishable fear. My first drinking experience with Vietnamese men was uncommon and shocking. I was harassed and objectified. It took me about two and a half months to silently overcome that fear with anger. Much of it is thanks to a great group of Vietnamese friends who support me and watch out for me. Of course, I still can’t avoid certain situations in which I am completely smothered by drunken men. No, its not that flattering. Also telling you “no” would make me seem like the rude one.
To my student who thinks men hold more CEO positions because they are stronger, smarter, and more capable than women:
There is no programmed sequence that determines your aptitude and success. If you let the world keep telling you who you ought to be and what you ought to do, then you might not be able to run that mile within 8 minutes. You might not feel the need to apply for a University scholarship. You might not think you're a respectable individual. And you might not think life beyond following the obligatory rules is possible.
“Nothing is impossible” I work hard to get a good result. — Luân
- These feelings are not directed towards any one Vietnamese person but to the general public of both men and women across countries.
AWESOME. LOVELY.
…To be continued. I still have to clean up before my parents arrive.
