Not Their Typical Vietnamese

by Thu Huynh (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

As the inflight cabin wrapped up for final descent into Vietnam's southern capitol, I suddenly thought to ask the Vietnamese lady next to me if I had missed the customs forms. Her answer was a dubious no. The previous trip I made to Saigon (in 1997), clearing customs was annoying as my U.S. passport always reveals my birthplace to be Vietnam, identifying me as a Viet Kieu; interpreted as a visiting cash dispenser. My impression of the homely airport was ho-hum. A skinny customs official in a dull greyish-green uniform rummaged through my backpack, his leisure pace a hint for me to fish out some “coffee” money. He asked insignificant questions and I pretended to be a young Viet Kieu who failed to retain her native language. Outside, the humidity surrounded me and a chorus from an upbeat Vietnamese song marched me onward: “Sai Gon dep lam! Sai Gon oi, Sai Gon Oi! La la, la la la!” — a song extolling the beauty of Saigon, but I wondered if it was a bygone sentiment. To us Southerners who lived through the Vietnam War, Ho Chi Minh City would always be our endearing Saigon. This reference nostalgically connected me to its past and once I began to interact with this old relative, the familiarity was instant, drawn from a memory of my life here while still a little rascal. And like it never changed, small children in sandals were still playing in the boisterous streets unsupervised. One boy scurried over to a stand where cooked cassavas were being sold, prompting me to follow suit. I gave the teenage seller 10,000 dongs, 5,000 more than the boy, but no change was given. In my native tongue, I pointed out that I am Vietnamese and playfully added, “Next time, 5,000.” The earthiness of the cassava roused my dopamine and I craved for more soul-satisfying food! A man slurping his pho noodles caught my attention at a nondescript diner that was part of a residential house, a ubiquitous fashion of conducting small businesses in Vietnam. The owner, a diminutive woman, enthusiastically called for me to sit. I sat next to the man, who regarded me oddly before asking where I was living. So he knew... I relished that pho and paid 15,000 dongs like the man did, but the owner said 30,000. The Vietnamese in me wanted to righteously argue, but I rationalized not for 75¢ difference. To some people in America, she could be that sweet-little-Vietnamese-lady-who-does-my-nails. If only they knew... I knew I was not perceived as their common Vietnamese. It was not unusual for a Viet Kieu, especially from America, to be regarded as someone prosperous, for the U.S. dollar was highly valued. But beyond that, there was also a silent resentment or envy towards those who fled successfully, an attitude harbored especially by the afflicted generation of the diaspora period. On my return, I was frustrated as I could not find the copy of my customs form. The official insisted she needed that. Flustered, I dug out items in my pack and placed them on the table, including my government-issued work badge. That item startled her and remarkably, she cleared me. Onboard the plane, feeling vexed from this travel experience, I vented to my seatmate. I told him of the indignation, of how I WAS proud to be Vietnamese, of how I did not expect to find myself bribed and cheated! During my denunciation, I had a peripheral awareness of a diplomatic Asian man seated from across. He was pensive, seemingly listening in. I furtively hoped he was Vietnamese AND working for the government because this must change! Now twelve years later, I returned again and was surprised to find the Tan Son Nhat International Airport changed! Its convivial and aesthetic design was on par with its international contemporaries. The Vietnamese lady, having been with me all this time said, “Viet Nam very good now!” as we queued up to passport control. We laughed. Outside, a throng of awaiting locals inexplicably gave me pause, a moment when I realized that no customs official had bothered with me! Oh yeah, “Sai Gon dep lam! Sai Gon oi, Sai Gon oi! La la...!”