(Lời giới thiệu của chị Lê Văn Tài: Xin gởi anh Châu bài viết và hình vẽ của cháu út. Cháu viết lúc học lớp 10. Các Cô Thầy giáo rất thích, xin tiền của trường để in thành sách, nhưng trường đang xây cất thêm nên Ông Hiệu Trưởng không cho. Nếu được, anh có thễ đưa vào trang Ðặc San 20, đễ các cháu Hổ Cáp II có thể đọc, vì bằng Anh Văn.........)

My name is NiNi. I was born on August 28, 1981 in a small town in Southern Vietnam. My parents, sister, brother, and I lived on a farm. Our house, though small, was very warm and cozy. We lived on a plain, next to the Cửu Long ( Nine Dragons) River. It was my father’s hometown, where most of Vietnam’s crops were produced. Almost everyone who lived here were farmers, each with their own farm and rice fields. The land was extremely peaceful. There were many crooked rivers, which brought rich soil to the crops and enriched the coconut fields. There were also a great number of other fruitful trees, which brought forward delicious fruits all year round. Some of these were mangoes, oranges, guavas .... each branch was weighted with beautiful fruits, especially under the warm summer sun. All the children here had to help their parents at home and in the field. The older ones had to help tend the field, breed the bulls, and feed the chickens and pigs. Not many children were able to go to school. Those who were able to were very lucky and fortunate. Before 1975, my country was divided in two. The Communists were in the North, and the Republicans were in the South. My father was a Naval Officer in the Army of the Vietnamese Republicans. On April 30, Viet Cong (Vietnamese Communists) took over South Vietnam. They forced all of the Republican Officers and workers to go to the “ re-educational camps”. At these camps, my father and those who worked for the previous government had to work very hard in the woods, under the control of the Communist. After 3 years, my father was released from the camp. He went back to his hometown and was not allowed to leave the town without the government’s permission. Since he was a Republican officer, my father could not find any decent job. He had to work on the farm to earn a living. My mother was a teacher in high school. In 1980, she moved back to my father’s hometown and took a teaching job there. I was born here, in a small temple, which the Viet Cong turned into a hospital. Most the people lost their freedom. People could not go to church because the Viet Cong turned the churches into granaries. Everyday, when my mother was at school, my father stayed home to take care of us. Once she comes home, my father goes out to the field to work. My father was very devoted to his family. He worked hard to try to support us. My father plowed and tended the rice field everyday. Sometimes, my brother and sister would try to help him, but I was too little to do anything. Everyday was the same. When my father came home from his hard work, my mother brought out the food and we all got together to eat dinner. Time went by very fast. These were some of our happiest moments for us. Yet, life began to change tremendously. Under the watchful eyes of the governor and his followers, my father had no freedom. Once in a while, my father was forced to work with others who were in similar situation, to build dams and re-build the dirt roads. These works were very difficult. As a result, in February 1982, he escaped from his hometown to Saigon city. Here, he lived illegally in his parents-in-law’s apartment. My mother continued her teaching and tried her best to take care of us. Life was very hard and meaningless without my father. At that time, I was only 8 months old. I was very sad and missed my father very much. Every afternoon, when the sun begins to fade, I always look into the horizon and across the river to wait for his return. Nevertheless, everyday was the same, my dad never return. On May 1983, my mother decided to go to Saigon city to reunite with my father. We left our house, our field, our farm, and everything we had behind and moved to Saigon. In Saigon, my parents, my sister, my brother, and I lived with my grandparents in their apartment. My grandparent’s apartment was near the market. The streets were always crowded with people from early morning to the late afternoon. The local market was a colorful, noisy place crowded with interesting people and things to see. People could even have their shoes shined or get their fortunes told at the market. In my grandparents’ apartment, I spoke the first word and walked the first step. When I was four, I went to a kinder garden school near my house. Every afternoon, my mother came to school to take me home. My teacher told my mother how talented I was in coloring and drawing. Once in a while, my mother took us to the marketplace on Main Street. We were overjoyed because the market was a crowded place. It was filled with tall buildings and vehicles such as motorcycles, bicycles, and tricycles. On the sidewalks, people wearing nice clothes walked in groups, talking and smiling. Life was much better here than in my father’s hometown. Every year, during Tet (New Year celebration), my grandmother made many kinds of food: cakes, candies, and dried fruits. My aunts arranged "hoa mai", flowers which represented luck and happiness. They put these arrangements on the tables and on top of the drawer in the living room, where our ancestors were worshipped. When we saw the yellow flowers, watermelons, and firecrackers, we knew that Tet was nearby. That meant we were going to get new clothes. My immediate family lived with my mother’s parents. Because my mother’s salary as a teacher could not help our family to survive, we had to depend greatly on my grandparents, aunts, and uncles financially. My father could not find anything to do to help us, so he decided to escape from Vietnam to find a better life for all of us. From 1983 to 1985, my father attempted to escape numerous of times, but without success. Although the government could not catch him, he always came home wounded. He was injured trying to crawl through wired fences so he would not get caught. Despite all the hardships he had to face, my father refused to give up the attempt of finding a new life in America. A better life, a life of freedom and prosperity. In July 1985, my father escaped from Vietnam on a sail boat, with six other people. The escape was dangerous because they were caught in a storm. They were stuck in the middle of the ocean for approximately two weeks. In these two weeks, they had to face starvation and sickness. But finally, they were able to arrive successfully to Philippine with the help of God. My father stayed in refugee camp at Palawan for a year. He came to America in 1986, and he lived in Connecticut ever since. My father began a new life, by learning the language and worked at a nearby factory. My father worked very hard so he could save enough money to send back to his family. In 1987, I was in first grade, my sister was in 7th, and my brother was in 3rd. Our school was very small, but lovable. It had a large iron gate in front of the school, which opened to welcome our students every single morning. There were rows of bright, georgous red flowering trees that surrounded our school. Because of our eager to be united with my father, my mother took my sister, my brother and me on an escape. We attempted to escape 22 times and were caught by the Vietnamese Communists three times. We were put in four different jails. The jails were small but packed with about 100 people. It was where no sunlight could be seen and no fresh wind could escape throught. Once we got caught, the Viet Cong tied all of our hands together with a rope. My hand were not tied together because I was too small. They forced us to go into the truck, which was crowded with prisoners. Then, they took us to the jail. The escapes were full of hardships and dangers. During one of our escapes, the leader of our group hid us in the bushes of wild plant. We stayed there, waiting for the night to fall so our boat would come to take us to the sea. In those bushes, the ants and bees attacked us, stung our body, yet, we did not dare to move. We had to bare with the pain because were afraid of getting caught. One time, we hid in a place densed with wild bushes, two fisherman saw us. They told each other that they would report to the police. When they left, we were scared. We rushed into the nearby wood of dates, which were full of thorny branches. Our escape failed that time. When we get home, my grandmother had to spend many hours trying to take the thorns out of our fragile body using a sharp needle. In a horrible dark night, we were on a small boat, leading us to the escaping one. The river was very quiet. Suddenly, another boat appeared with pirates holding swords. They stopped us, forced our boat to turn into a small tunnel that was filled with water grass. Then, they took our belongings. After that, they let us go. We returned home and were caught on the way. On October 7, 1988, we escaped again, after we were released from jail the night before. After my father received the news about our escape, he was very worried because there was a big storm at the time. He did not eat or sleep. Every night, he prayed to God and Maria for our safety and that someday we would be united. Our boat was in the middle of the ocean when the storm came. There were 73 of us on the boat, trying to survive and fighting desperately againts death. We were surrounded by water and total darkness. Many times, the powerful wind and wave knocked againts our little boat, trying to sink us to the bottom of the liveless ocean. We thought we were all going to die, so we prayed and waited for our death. But the boat moved slowly forward. After three days and three nights of fighting and struggling againts the storm, starvation, and thrirst, we managed to survive. Suddenly, when we were face to face with death, an Australian oil freighter appeared out of nowhere. It was as if God has been deeply touched by our bravery, so he opened up his hands to save us. The 73 of us were transported to the oil freighter. We were taken care of by the Australian doctors. All of us were extremely weak and weary. Some could not even talk. They gave us food to eat and water to drink. We stayed here for one night, and the next day, they brought us to Pulau Bidong island. Pulau Bidong island belonged to Malaysia. It stood alone, and was surrounded by nothing but water. The island had many coconut trees and mountain with beautiful wild plants and flowers. There was a spring running from the top of the mountain down to the valley. About 12 thousand Vietnamese refugees resided on this island, waiting to be immigrated. We stayed in the island for 10 months. My sister, my brother and I attended school to learn English. We learned how to say words such as “dog”, “cat”, and “my name is”. My mother worked voluntarily to help other refugees who were in the island. On August 25, 1989, we left the refugee camp to the United States. We stayed in Hong Kong for three days, and arrived at the Bradley Airport on August 28, 1989, right on my 8th birthday. My father and some of his friends waited for us at the airport. We all hugged each other as the joyfull tears rolled down upon our cheeks. It was a happy moment for our family as we reunited with my father. These tears were the TEARS OF JOY. My father brought us to our home in Hartford, Connecticut. Three days later, my sister, my brother, and I had to go to school. At first, I could not learn because my English was so limited. I was very sad and disappointed. With the help and encouragement of my parents and teachers, I tried very hard. Little by little, I was able to catch up with my classmates. I received several awards for writing and arts, which gave me pride and self-esteem. On August 28, 1993, our family moved to Windsor. Our house was very big, with a garden filled with flowers and fruit trees. Our life began to change in our new house. I often remembered of the small apartment back in Vietnam where we used to live. Everytime I thought back to my early childhood and the happy and painfull memories I have had, tears rolled down my eyes. These tears were no longer the tears of joy, but the tears of sorrow and pain. Yet, I continued to live and work hard, so I can be somebody ..... someday. .......... NiNi Connecticut