Chuc Mung nam moi! Minus all the dashes and umlauts, that
means
”
Happy New Year.
”
Chuc Mung nam moi! Minus all the dashes and umlauts, that means “Happy New Year.”
The woman who’s been doing my nails for the last year has been patiently teaching me Vietnamese. Most of my efforts are met with a pained smile and renewed lessons. Sometimes I’m so far off, I actually inspire giggles. But, a few times I’ve heard, “That very good!” Then it’s my turn to smile.
Like other Bay Area Vietnamese, Tam and her family will be celebrating Tet at midnight on Jan. 29. They’ll go to the temple, make their wishes known and celebrate for days. This is the year of the dog: “Noble and true, the dog will fight to mend all that is unjust. A loyal and faithful friend, dogs make any sacrifice for the sake of another. They will never abandon their post. A genuine listener and confidant, the dog is the keeper of all secrets.”
Sometimes while Tam performs her miracle working skills on my chipped nails, she tells me little vignettes about her past. The stories bring tears to my eyes and stay in my heart for days. One day I asked if I could write a column about her. The next week, she brought a picture of the American ship that rescued her and shyly agreed to let me turn on the tape recorder …
When the Vietnam war ended, Tam’s father was afraid his family would be imprisoned by the new regime and desperately wanted to get them out. Fortunately, he found spots for two family members on a fishing boat willing to take stowaways. He picked 13-year-old Tam and her 9-year-old brother, Cua.
Tam doesn’t know why her father picked them. They were children eight and nine in a family of 10. But, on the scheduled date, at midnight, Tam and Cua were secreted from their home with nothing but the clothes they wore.
They went to the boat separately so that if one of them got arrested, the other might still escape. They both made it to the little boat and were quickly hidden below the fishing platform.
The small boat left port and the children promptly got sick from the rolling ride. One of the younger fishermen brought them food and urged them to eat. He seemed genuinely concerned about Cua’s chances of survival.
The boat ran out of provisions after three days at sea. All – stowaways and fishermen alike – stood on deck and hoped that a friendly force would come to their rescue.
One did. An American ship spotted them, responded to their cries for help, gave them food and tended to their needs. Tam said they gave each of them a big red apple. They’d never seen an apple before, she laughed, it was so beautiful that no one wanted to eat it!
The Americans dropped them off in Singapore and the captain of the fishing vessel continued to care for Tam and Cua “even though he had 10 children of his own.” Five months after escaping Vietnam, the children were flown to Holland to live with a relative.
Tam said that the young fisherman called once while they were in Holland to see if Cua was doing alright. Little did she realize that when she came to visit America in 1991, she’d see that young man again. Only this time, Jimmy wasn’t concerned about Cua, he had fallen in love with Tam and she with him.
Tammy moved to America and married Jimmy in 1992. He paints houses and she paints nails six days a week, seven if they can. Their sons are encouraged to excel in education and participate in sports. Every Sunday, the boys are sent to the temple for three hours of instruction in Vietnamese culture and language.
I asked Tammy if she was glad she ended up here and her face lit up.
“The weather better here, not so hot. It cleaner here, Vietnam very dirty. And here, you have future. You have freedom and you have future.”
When I see Tammy next week, I’ll bring a traditional red envelope with a dollar or two inside to let her know I’m wishing her good luck in this, the year of the dog. I’ll tell her “Ca’m on (thank you)” for sharing her story and allowing me to share it with you. We’re better for having heard it.
