Happy Mid-Autumn Festival! There is the booming voice of a
young American dude on the phone filling up this café as I edit this entry.
One week down as a Thay, or teacher in Hanoi. Not only does
the spot require me to be a chameleon, I have to be a one-man stage show, an
author of children’s games, poems, songs and stories, and Raffi. Children as
old as 11 poke and climb on me. It’s hard to say if I’m not just an exotic
animal to them at this point. I’m not sure how much deep creative energy is
utilized – it is a very formulaic, ad hoc business, but it is a mechanism of
creation I’ve not utilized much I suppose. I’ve not been a musical ESL Teacher
before after all.
There’s a singular odor Hanoi exudes. It’s pervasive where ever
I dare tread, and it’s the smell of my sweat.
Last week a ceremony to kick off the new school year brought
parents and kids alike to my little place of work on the premises of the
Victory Hotel on Ho Tay. Perhaps as a reminder of my advanced 36 years, or of
the youth of elementary school children’s parents, or of the fact I still live
on the exact same planet, one father I conversed with complemented me on my given
name, telling me that it is the name of his favorite character in Grand theft
Auto. My own father introduced me to GTA about 20 years ago. I’m thinking this father
I spoke to is not the same one from 20 years past; but there’s something
remarkable about finding commonality so far from home. In places like the U.S.,
sometimes when we scrutinize our own culture, and admonish ourselves for eccentricities,
excesses, and abjections, regularly rightfully, we exoticize others through
idealization or simplification/essentialism. Indeed, children here have cognitive
and behavioral disabilities in my school, not because American social engineers
planted them hereabouts, but because the exact same types of human traits that normally
show up in Connecticut and Oregon also tend to pop up here and everywhere else
in the world. Same goes for blindness, sightedness, being a police officer, and
chronic exposure to GTA syndrome, which I presume is heightened deference to
people named Trevor. Lisa in Sweden informs me there is a Harry Potter
character named Trevor also -- I’m going to get around to investigating this
very soon.
On a related note, I recall that someone in the U.S., upon
hearing how I was going to go teach school children in Vietnam, told me of how kids
in the country really respect their elders, and teacher’s in particular. I’d
like to get some video footage of our 3rd grade class from any time
of day, and send it to him, begging him to account for his misinformation
campaign. In deed it is true to say Vietnam’s extent Confucian tradition
persists in its demand for reverence to elders, and celebration of learning and
educators. But traditions are traditions, contemporary or not, and school time
is traditionally a time of suffering for all parties when bucking broncos are
brought in from prairie pasture. Much of my goal then is mitigation of
suffering.
Sep 13, 2019
Just the Same
One
thing that invokes some faith in humanity is the fact that there are awful
people and dreadful behavior in plentitude everywhere you go. There are also
tall people, kindly people, fat people, people that refuse to pick up after
their dogs on the street, etc. The latter may just be American or Parisian
expats though – I’m sure the trend is getting around, along with throwing KFC
packaging on the ground for dogs to sniff and eat. People are people, although
I admit I am always slightly surprised at how dogs across the world bark in
pretty much the same dialect and accent (see someone in England who believes he
can tell the county home of a dog by his or her bark for a different opinion).
Another
thing that happens in this brand new ancient city, just as elsewhere, is that I can walk for miles
and miles (Kms and kms * 1.6), including trudging through puddles, rubble
piles, up and down dozens of flights of stairs, and on the noisiest of streets,
then encounter a befuddled Samaritan who springs into action upon seeing me
approach a set of five steps. Yes, we got that in the U.S. too. Just like in
the U.S., when I stop to greet English speakers with a “how’s it going” etc., the
response is usually something in the key of “can I help you find some place?”
An admitted obstacle remains my
very basic language skills. Many speak English somewhat in this part of town,
but I know that once I can speak Vietnamese fluently, I will know what directions
my fellow pedestrians are shouting to me on the street. If it is not something
like “careful! Careful! Careful! ok, ok!” then I’d be happy to stop and
investigate what they are selling.
Many internationals are here to teach English, whether it is
something they aspired to do before they were well into adulthood or not. Many
of the same people live much more comfortably here than they ever could in
their home countries despite making less money. Now I know that unless I take a
longer route home from the school each day, I will run into the same South
African couple that I stopped and chatted with two days ago, sitting at a bar/coffee
place across from the lake, fueling up on some beers before teaching their English,
to adults I presume.
“Hey! Anglophones! How’s it going!”
“Can we help you get to some place?”
The convo took off from there.
A propensity
I’ve encountered in even the earliest of English language learners in Vietnam
is their use of the departure phrase “see you again”. It’s unfamiliarity to me
must account for the fact I forget it is no more meaningless and undeniable a phrase
than “see you later”, or “see you next time”. But who is convincing Vietnamese folks
that this is what we Anglophones say when we give our goodbyes?
When I bad farewell to my new South African expat mates/specters,
the gentleman, who seemed to be in a sleeveless shirt, shook my hand, saying with
utmost assuredness to my face, “see you again.”
Unflinching, my retort was a swift “later bro!”
On my way home from the market last night I heard a familiarly
structured English line: “are you trying to get to some place in particular?”
It was an American accent. The oddest thing about this part
of town is the American accents. I never heard them in Vietnam in my two prior,
more touristy visits.
“My home” I said, “but that’s a ways away yet.”
“Oh, I thought I could help you find one of the restaurants …
ha ha… ok.”
I gave her a reassuring laugh, and said it was quite ok. But
she was more than a kilometer and a half off by then.
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