Hong Kong and Vietnam

Hong Kong

9/25/2006

I’m feeling the waves so, I’m not going to really update about Hong Kong yet, but I do want to tell you about this moment.

My last day in Hong Kong I basically ran errands. I found a grocery store and bought tide and my favorite oatmeal squares cereal and whatnot. I ran around and then went back to the ship to drop off everything and then take my laptop with me to starbucks. I have been good all week. I had one chocolate bar on my first night in China, but other than that I hadn’t had more than a bar or two since I left San Diego. And for me and my sweet tooth, that’s pretty darn good. Therefore, I was planning on buying something sweet (ie; chocolate cake) and of course a frap or something like that.

Now as a rule, I generally try to hold back from just giving people on the sidewalks money. I believe in soup kitchens and things like that. Yes, there are charities out there that don’t use your money the way you want them to, but that’s why you research them before giving them money. Case in point, when I was in New York during middle school, there was a homeless man standing on the sidewalk with a sign that said, “Please give me money for alcohol and drugs. (Hey, at least I’m not bull******* you).” Catch my drift. I’m not saying I haven’t, but you know how it is.

So, I’m on my way to Starbucks when something completely catches me by surprise. Or rather, some one caught me by surprise.

He was “standing” on the sidewalk. His left leg was only about as long as his arm. Standing for this man was on his hands and foot. His other leg—his right—was twisted or coiled around behind him so that his foot was touching or resting on his lower back.

At first, following my policy, I walked a few steps by him with most of the crowd. But then I paused and thought to myself, “what, Melody, are you made out of stone?” Since it was my last night in Hong Kong, I didn’t have much on me so I gave him a few ones and some coins, which I find very confusing by the way. And I was on my way—good deed done.

Once again my mind was back on the starbucks. “I wonder if I’ll get free internet. I hope the internet works. I hope I’ll be able to update all my windows and security networks.” And all that stuff. I walked into the starbucks and went up to the counter. I ordered, I payed. Then I sat down with my laptop.

Then I thought about the man. And I looked at my cake. “He probably doesn’t eat cake,” I thought to myself. He can’t work. It’s not that he doesn’t work. He can’t work. And I doubt he eats cake. Then I looked at my computer. No, he doesn’t have that either.

It will probably take me a while to sort out my feelings about what I see and do on this trip. I know I am going to see a lot more people like this man. And when I got out of the starbucks a few hours later, he was still there. Standing on the sidewalk with his cup. That is his job.

I didn’t take a picture of him. He is not an animal we go to the zoo to see. But I can see him clearly. And I’ve asked questions about him to myself. Was he born that way? Was he in an accident? Why didn’t they just amputate his leg? All sorts of nosey questions.

This is the beginning of a whole bunch of feelings I’ll probably have during this voyage. This is the beginning of the guilt for my privileges. The guilt I’ll have for being born where and when I was.

During Field Methods today we talked about what knock off products do to societies that we are visiting. Gucci bags are seen as the epitome of nice and beautiful and high class society. How can middle class citizens arise to that same standard that Western societies have? They buy or go to the knock off stores. To them it is not a fake bag. And in a way it helps make the real bags all the more fabulous and yet all the more unattainable for the middle class person in these countries. Even in Hong Kong, the middle class family may not be making what your average middle class family makes in America, but they have nannies and maids and that’s the standard. All of the maids were sitting out on Sunday—their day off--on broken down card board boxes and mats and things just socializing and doing each others hair and eye brows. And I mean hundreds and hundreds of Pilipino women sitting around the post office and subways just on the sides of the sidewalk doing whatever.

We also talked about globalization and the million dollar questions—will we really be improving the living conditions for people across the world or will we just be wiping out their way of life? Are we spreading knowledge or dismantling what makes each country so unique and different? We all want people to have enough to maintain a certain level of humanity, but who gets to decide what that standard is? The man with a small rice farm in Vietnam may be content with his way of life and may not want us to come in and tell him there is a “better” way to live. Who are we to decide that our way of life is better than his? What arrogance!

We also talked about ideas of beauty because a lot of people in Hong Kong and in China met people who wanted to take their pictures with them and told them they were beautiful. To me this is one of the bad side effects of globalization. If the ideal look is blonde with blue eyes and a certain shape of face with fair skin, then already A LOT of people have a “problem.” In the states young girls and women alike struggle with that “ideal” every day, but in the countries we’ve visited so far it seems to be worse. I’ve read articles about Asian women having surgery on their eyes to make their eye shape look more western. And a lot of the women wear lighter foundation than what their skin tone is to make them look paler. It just seems that this ideal look is even more impossible to obtain in the East for obvious reasons. How and when this happened I have no idea, but it needs to stop. Women are having too many corrective surgeries and are getting sick. They are going to end up like Michael Jackson—no matter how many surgeries he has, he will never be satisfied with his appearance.

I know I’m generalizing here, but this is what I’m thinking at this moment. And I don’t really feel like just telling you what I did because I already did that in my journal. I don’t want to just chase my tail with this blog.

Vietnam

10/05/2006

So I never got to updating with just that Hong Kong guy so I’m going to add my Orphanage and school visits from Vietnam with it.

I signed up for a service visit to a school for the deaf and an orphanage for kids with disabilities.

The kids at the school attend the school during the day and return home to their families at night. Some can attend regular classes at local schools and then only go to the school for exercises in listening and hearing or sign language and things like that. We were supposed to be supplied with toys to play with and to give the children. I was given a ruler, a map of Europe, and a book on elementary French words. A bit of a disappointment to be sure. But when we got there one there were plenty of crayons and markers and paper to go around. So we pulled them out and paired up with the kids. We each drew our families and showed our student named Chau (I think) was able to draw hers and write her name and she was sooo smart. I drew a very bad picture of the world and showed her where she was and where I was from. And it was great just to interact with them and “talk” to them.

Then they all dressed in these colorful costumes and did a dance for us that was so cute. The students all study art and dance. They sell crafts at the school to raise money for hearing aids and school supplies. Then the boys did a dance as well to hip hop music. They break danced and everything. It was great! None of us wanted to leave. These kids were so cute and smart. It was amazing how easy it was to communicate with them. They learn how to listen with their eyes and hands not just with the help of the hearing aids.

I wasn’t aware that the orphanage was for kids with disabilities and neither were many in our group. So we saved some of the candy and toys we had brought with us for the orphanage and then we weren’t allowed to give them any. For a good reason. This orphanage has about 400 kids and only a handful of staff. Comparable facilities in the states would have about 200 staff members. The women here can’t watch all of the kids at once so some of them had their ankles tied to the beds.

A group of children (and I wasn’t able to put them in any sort of age group) were in this one room. All of them were wearing diapers and some of them were soiled through. They don’t have the training or the means to teach all of the kids physical therapy and how to use their legs so many of them lose that ability. So there was a girl dragging herself across the floor and leaving a trail behind her. And of course we took off our shoes before entering the room so many of the SASers were barefoot. Great to think about huh?

They don’t get held very often so they really tried to jump on you which was interesting. I’m used to having kids jump on me that I know. But never random kids that I haven’t even met yet.

Hospital beds were lined up all over the place and I noticed this one boy who was half on his back and half on his side. He had completely lost the ability to use his arms, legs, feet, everything. He couldn’t sit up. I don’t think he could even move on his own. And he was trapped on a bed in the middle of the room with beds all around him. Probably because he never leaves that bed. So I climbed up on some other bed so I could say hi. And I was soo surprised when he replied with “hello, how are you.” It was slurred because he has a hard time with his speech. I told him I was good because well he speaks some English but that doesn’t mean he is fluent. There is a lot I would have liked to tell him.

A woman who said she takes care of him came over to help me understand what he was trying to say and to help translate. Now, this boy was as big as maybe a 10 year old. And he was wearing yellow bunny pajamas. So I assumed he was well little. But the woman helped me understand that his name is Bow. That is how it’s pronounced anyway. I’m not sure how to spell it. I asked him how old he is. And to my shock he replied 17. 17 frickin years old and he is stuck in that bed. They had told us that when the kids got older they went to a farm somewhere and helped pick coffee beans and tea leaves. I like to think these kids love the farm and are treated very well and not just used because they have no other place in society. It became apparent to me now that only those who are able to work at the farm go. The rest who knows. This boy was still 17. he’s not yet an adult. I didn’t ask where he would go. When we left that room to continue the tour of the facility, I had to say good bye and Bow replied with, “I’ll see you later.” I’ll never forget the smile on his face as I sat there and just held his hand. They get so little individual attention.

Then it was on to what we thought was a nursery. I went to the first crib I came to and started holding the boys hand. The man in the room told me he was three. There was another boy in the room who was crying a little bit so a woman picked him up and I asked if I could pick up this little boy. She nodded at me and I awkwardly picked him up.

I could tell immediately that he was not used to being picked up. He didn’t know what to do with his legs or body or head or any of it. But I know he liked it. He immediately started smiling and looking around. But he held his body board strait. Just as if he was still laying in that crib. The back of his head was completely flat from too much crib rest. I spun him around slowly just for fun I didn’t want to scare him and he would laugh and it was great. I danced with him for a while and took him out of the room into an open hall that showed the court yard and walked a bit. Then my arms were getting really tired and because he wasn’t really in a natural position I couldn’t maneuver him in my arms. And he couldn’t really hold his own head up either. So I tried putting him back down b/c my arms were going numb and he started crying and trying to lift himself back up. So of course I picked him back up again in different way and he started smiling again. Oh well. Let my arms go numb. I’m only here for a little while. This poor kid might as well be able to get him out of that crib for the time I’m here.

Because I couldn’t maneuver around objects very well while carrying him, I didn’t get to walk around the rest of the room. But apparently there was some other kids in that room the size of a three year old but were really 10 or 13. in cribs. The size of 3 yr olds. Their whole lives.

When it was time to go I had to put down the little boy and he started fussing again. The women came over and said she would take care of him.

So we all went and bought coffee and tea leaves and what we could to help the orphanage, but I was so sad at having to leave that little boy in that crib when all he wants to do is probably get out of it.

Most of this kids are abandoned at birth either where they are born or on the side of the road. We thought theses kids were awaiting adoption, but very few of them get adopted. They don’t have enough staff to give these kids what they need and the staff is untrained.

I’ll remember it. I wish I could do more for those kids.

So that was my first day in Nam. I did other things. Went to the Mekong Delta. Went to the Cu Chi tunnels. Got some bootleg DVDs. Oh and I shaved my head yesterday. I feel free! Hahaha!

I got all ur messages under comments section. At least i know a few people love me. The rest of u arent getting any pressies.

*rasberry*

dd