Vietnam has an incredibly young population. The median age is 26 years, compared to 36 in the U.S.
And to western eyes the large number of children here are much more apparent. For one thing, they have a lot more independence--getting themselves to and from school, for example--and with very few playgrounds, gymnasiums or youth programs, the sidewalks are where they spend their free time. Just a few minutes ago on the way home I cracked up watching two kids playing inside the glass booth of a street side ATM machine.
Another reason you notice kids more is that life here isn't separated into nuclear families in individual homes apart from the workplace. Almost any building you see is a combination home and shop or restaurant, and if the children aren't working in the family business, then they are playing in it. The typical shop does double duty as a nursery and the shopkeeper is also a childcare provider. At our favorite restaurant last Sunday afternoon, we waited for our meal while listening to the big sister in a loft above the dining room singing a lullaby to a crying baby while mom was busy in the kitchen. The baby had better luck tuning out the street noise and falling asleep than I do.
The worst part about Vietnam for us is seeing the number of children essentially employed as beggars. It's over 20,000 in Ho Chi Minh City, and at least two families of them work on our street.
One is a pair of sisters, about 12 and 8, who I assume go to school since I only see them at night and on school holidays. They walk a regular circuit between three hotels and one expensive restaurant on the block. They have a slouch-shouldered way of walking from one entrance to the next, never changing the expressions on their faces. The older one leads the younger one, and when someone exits one of these buildings she flips the cotton cap she wears off her head and holds it out. When she gets the shake of the head no she flips the cap back on her head again and moves on. Everyone on the street--the man who manages the taxi cue, the woman who runs the coffee stand, the heavily made up young women, only a few years older, waiting in the doorways of the beauty salons--ignores them, and they ignore everyone right back.
The other group on our street includes a little boy in a vintage wheelchair. His brothers push him up and down the street like demons, bouncing him over the curb and into traffic in a way that terrifies me to watch. When they see a tourist, they race toward him and use the wheelchair to block the path. The other day I came back to the hotel and saw them parked on the sidewalk in front, peering through the glass doors. I braced myself, but they ignored me when I went passed, totally focused on something inside. When I got inside, I realized that they were watching the television mounted on the wall, which was showing American professional wrestling.
Some children assist their parents or other family in begging (or selling gum or lottery tickets.) Babies ride on their mother's hip, holding out their hands like they've been trained, and when they're old enough to walk, the adult spots the mark from a distance and nudges the child to go make the solicitation.
Last week I saw a girl about 9 years old helping a man old enough to be her great-great-grandfather. He was blind and playing the flute as he shuffled down the street. He wore old pajamas, and the top had a large hole near the hem which the girl used as a handle to pull him along, holding out her hat in front of her as they went.
One time I saw a boy about 14 years old taking care of his older brother who appeared to have Downs syndrome. This was at the small playground in the park near us where every night more children then you can imagine pack into it and somehow all get along. The two teenagers sat on the curb nearby watching the crowd carefully, and whenever a child or parent left behind a plastic juice bottle or water bottle, the younger one got up to retrieve it. The older one sat and guarded an old plastic fertilizer bag they used to collect their haul, and when his brother returned with a new bottle, he got up and squashed it underfoot.
Most street children don't go to school at all, and those are the kids we met while tutoring for an organization called
Thao Dan. Our group of kids was between 7 and 13 years old and they can't read or write in Vietnamese, but the older ones speak English as well as almost anyone we've met, having picked it up on the street.
When our class at 5:30 in the evening, their day was just starting. Their jobs are to hustle in various ways in the backpackers ghetto from dinner time until the last drunks drag back to their hotels about 3 a.m. Then they travel back out to their homes in remote districts of the city and sleep until the next afternoon. The social worker at Thao Dan tells us that their parents keep them out of school to work like that.
The kids we met this way are amazing. On the one hand they were completely unfamiliar with the habits of taking turns and listening to the teacher and not touching the teacher's stuff. On the other hand, they seemed desperate for whatever it is we were doing with them. When Ilene read a picture book to them last night, I never saw children so entranced. They beg us to come back the next day and they cling to us when we are there, fighting with one another over who will sit next to us. They are full of energy, shouting out answers, proud to show off what they do know, never too shy to guess when they don't know. And they all have a disconcerting confidence for their age, like they are 10 years older.
When we dismiss class, which is held in a borrowed room in the neighborhood People's Committee office, they show off how they know to shake hands and shout "See you later! See you tomorrow! See you next week! See you next year!" They run out the door and by the time we exit, they've already merged into the economy of the street. We see them in front of the bars and cafes along De Tham and Pham Ngu Lau working their hustles.
Last week, we were having dinner nearby and a boy about 11 years old who we know and who is my favorite one in the class came in selling cigars. For the most part, restaurant owners let anyone come in to pester the customers as long as you have something to sell. The typical routine involves going from table to table and holding the merchandise in front of each person's nose until they shake their head no about three times and then moving on. About half way through the dining room our student spotted us and just gave a grin to acknowledge me but didn't come to our table and didn't do any of the friendly showing off he does in class. He ducked out quickly like he was embarrassed for me to see him that way.
Of course, on the street like that each night, they are incredibly vulnerable to all kinds of exploitation. When I pass motorbike drivers who whisper to me "You want very young girl?" I know that before long these kids may be who they are talking about. So when I see the backpackers chatting with the kids like they are mascots or characters in a heartwarming movie about lovable street urchins, it makes me pretty fed up with tourists.
Ilene and I can't help wondering if the more English we teach them the more valuable they become to their families on the street and the less likely they are to go to school. With more time, we would . . . . well, without the language and local knowledge and the contacts, there's not a lot we can do that would be effective. Are we going to persuade their parents to send them to school? After nine weeks, we're still not much more than tourists ourselves, and undoubtedly I got more interesting stories out of our classes than they got education. For now, this is an issue that I know a little bit about but haven't found a real way into. As with everything here, I observe without really understanding what's going on.
But I can say that the people at Thao Dan seemed eager to have the help we could offer, and I assume that means there's some value in it. If you're in Saigon and want to volunteer, I suggest stopping by a bookstore and buying a pile of the simplest math and English books you can find and a box of pencils and stopping by the
Thao Dan office. If you're on your way to Vietnam, fill the extra space in your luggage with coloring books. They run a lot of other programs besides these ersatz classes--street outreach, shelters, drop-in centers--and they're always building their supplies for gift baskets they distribute during Tet.
When it comes to charitable donations in Vietnam, it's hard to know what to do to make sure a gift will be used as intended. There is no such thing as a 501c3 here, and there aren't the same systems for financial control and accountability that we are used to at home.
But Thao Dan passes the sniff test for me and Ilene. We generally have the philosophy of "do your givin' where you're livin'," but we are starting to consider Saigon our second home, and we're doing what we can to support Thao Dan. If you're interested in supporting their work from afar, we suggest an electronic money transfer service called
Xoom. Or you might consider supporting the work of an organization with a presence in your home country such as (in the case of the U.S.),
The East Meets West Foundation or
Save the Children. Or if you have experience with any charities here that you recommend, please share it in the comments.
We hope you've enjoyed reading our travelogue. We actually have some more fun posts to catch up on even though our trip is over, so keep checking back.
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Robert
We started back home on Wednesday, Saigon time. It was a late flight, so we spent the day making the rounds to our regular haunts and saying goodbye. Many of our friends met us at the airport to see us off, just like in the days when a plane trip was a big deal.
