A boy, his mother and a room

It was a typical hot Saigon day and I casually arranged to visit the boy and his parents at home. I wanted to take photos for my records and talk to his parents about how well he is doing, how he comes to the art class brimming full of light and promise. How his picture will be exhibited in America- I wanted to make his parents feel proud of their son and be happy to hear some positive news. In my mind I had hoped this news would somehow brighten their day.

We walked up a rickety and treacherous narrow stairs to the loft room, their home. Nothing can prepare you. The room is tiny, indescribably small-the size of a broom cupboard. Thong sits proudly on the floor, we followed suit and sat on the remaining floor space to wait for his mother to come back. As I sat, it felt unstable, like it could collapse. I look around-the walls are shabby, falling apart, no window, corrugated iron, and one small fan-little or no possessions. Behind where Thong sat was 2 shabby, aging large teddy bears-the only sign of childhood. I tried not to look shocked at the utter destitution I was now observing. I wanted to put up a front for Thong to protect him of how I was feeling but I could not. In a way I feel like I failed him, took a bit of his dignity but I am simply not used to this.

We waited for his mother and when she came I was immediately struck by her overwhelming sadness. I tried to break the ice with her, telling her how happy we are with her son, how he is one of our best students and that she should be proud. For a second or less, she lightened but that soon passed. After some time, she crumpled, she sobbed and it was soon clear that she was in an impossibly desperate situation, now alone (her husband is in is 70's and is very sick) she picks up rubbish to sell and earns about $25 a month, which is almost all spent on rent.

My colleague tried to get to the bottom of why things have gotten so despairing for her. The more she spoke, the further her body stooped into a sort of shame as if this situation was any of her fault. Her head bowed and she wiped her tears with her raggedy shirt-I didn’t have a tissue to offer her. I wish I had a tissue. I kept telling her, none of this is your fault, nothing you have done is wrong-try to feel hope and we will do our best to help her.

That was on Friday and it has stayed with me. I am reminded about my own life, how blessed I am to have a family, amazing friends and no matter what I will always have support and love. For some people they have neither.

Ireland, my home

I love Ireland. I love the camaraderie, the banter the fresh air and endless open space landscapes to explore. I love the ease of being in a pub with music in the background. Always music. These are the things I love and much more.

Ireland is going through a rough time. I get it. Our bubble has been burst in the cruelest of ways and we are left to pick up the many many pieces. And now is our time, to show the world we are not going to stand for it. We are not going to listen to the endless waffling of our incompetent leaders-we are worth more than that. And yet, here we still are. I went home for 3 weeks and while it was just lovely being back and seeing everyone-the obsession of this situation was a bit unsettling. We talk and we talk and we talk. We love to talk. While Egypt was out on the streets, still we sat, talking. I want Ireland back. I want us to stop talking and start doing.

I live in Vietnam and I am surrounded by positive people-every where I go, smiles, hellos, upbeat energy. When I was home a couple of incidences of aggression left me reeling, out of sorts and sad that this has just become a sort of way of life. These incidents were minor enough but while I was witnessing them, I felt a sort of fear like anything could kick off. This is something I never encounter here. Me writing this is not proclaiming Vietnam as being better than Ireland-this country has it's fair share of problems and downfalls too, believe me. It's just interesting for me how different I feel here, how my mindset is more relaxed-like I'm not stressed out like I am at home. I think negativity breeds negativity and I think this is not the way forward. I would love more than anything for Ireland to shake off the negativity and try to focus on a positive solution. I heard my most philosophical of friends tell me there is no hope, like we are all destined now to just put up with it and so the cycle continues. Maybe it's easy for me to say all this being so far away, living here where people put up with far worse than what people at home are going through. This morning, I heard about one of our children who has a tiny room for a home and parents who can scarcely make a living. And yet this boy is one of the happiest, positive children I have had the pleasure of meeting here. To me it puts it all into perspective.

On a more positive note-my feelings for Ireland will never change, despite this dark cloud we are under. I will always love it there and I want to go back and live there in hope. There is always hope.

reflection on a year gone by

The warm air carries the Christmas jingles, the jangle bells and all that familiar sounding stuff. First Christmas away from home in years-away from the endless build up, the frenzy of shopping and those cold air smells. It feels odd, somehow-surreal being here not really aware of the time of year, just doing my day to day living here. Lately though, the children practice their beautifully pigeon English Christmas songs, swaying and smiling as they sing "oh tristmas tree oh tristmas tree". Lovely. Or the girls in the office downstairs decorating the Christmas tree, marveling at their work-for me the first glimpse of that Christmas feeling.

The year has brought an abundance of layers, mostly deeply gratifying-sometimes frustrating and moments that I will always cherish. Even today, while snowed under with reports and admin work, I leave my office for a breather and get hugged by a child. Those hugs always surprise me, always makes me feel appreciated and happy. Then I look beyond the hug and look at the child and what life they have here. I have some idea, the kind of lives they have, having seen first hand their homes. Imagine, the smallest room in your house. That was the last home visit I was on. A family of 4 crammed into a room that leaves you with no personal space, no space to call your own. This bedroom I write this in is probably bigger than most of those kids entire homes.

It is a sober reminder of the times we live in here-how people live so close to the bread line, how each day counts in terms of whatever they can do to feed their families. This is a developing city but in my eyes, it has a long way to go in terms of resources available and just support. I see vulnerable people every day in my job-mothers and their babies line up waiting for their medical check up's or medication, etc. Thanks to the work of CNCF-I believe it's on the right track and I think things are improving but it takes a lot of time...education is key to progress that will lead to these people's dignities and eventually they can carve their own ways in the world.

I hear all about the terrible situation at home and of course it makes me sad and so, so helpless. People must be terrified and very disenfranchised and just angry at how the country was let get into such a terrible mess. It is such a worrisome time and I hope we can get the country back on it's feet and give the people back some hope to hang on to.

I cannot capture this experience with words. I try to but I think I fail because it has given me a whole new perspective on life and how up to now I have been living it. Living in Vietnam is like been given a second chance, a real chance to grab life fully, take the good times with the bad and fully appreciate each day. At least I try to that and for the most part, I do and always no matter what-feel so lucky and privileged to know these humble, lovely people.

a short snippet

Saigon in the rain soaked craggy streets as the swerving traffic splashes by avoiding deep flooded crevices in the badly run down road. My friend precariously has her luggage on her knee, her helmet is askew on her head and she clings on for dear life. Her driver oblivious to his back seat passenger who bumps along, not knowing if the next one would see her colliding into the street. These are the times here. The edgy, dangerous yet somehow perfectly normal road behaviour. In the centre of this crazy downtown street they have ripped up the road- so behind the tatty, useless barriers there is what seems like a cliff below the road. It defies belief that for months on end the incessant disruption for all who live there seems never to phase these composed, accepting people.

The day spent in a dark, candle lit cafe to some soothing background jazz and the rain thundering down outside. Reminiscent of Ireland, except the flowing pints of the black stuff nowhere to be seen. At one point, my friend noted that a lot of people just sat and nobody spoke. But it seemed as though everyone was collectively listening to the music, absorbed and lost in their worlds.

And a world away, I am. I think of home often and what must people be doing at that precise time. Time extends out and stretches and brings sometimes yearning for that banter, the laughter the slagging that is entirely unique to Ireland. These are the things that I miss the most. The humour that instictively and collectively we Irish seem to connect to.

Must be a day for reminiscing. Guess several thousand miles away from home will do that but all is good.

On the outside looking in

It is a hard thing to truely capture the life here so that people can really understand, get a true grasp on. My work is one such thing. I go into work every day and something magical happens-its that simple. It can be that I am feeling lonely or missing home or just having one of those days and there is an absolute certainty that when I take a child or baby in my arms that those feelings dissipate. Or just where I live, when I walk down through the alleyway and the mopheads curve past me like they are meant to be in the narrow street. The people at the Pho place look at me now recognizing me-some stare blankly, others now start to smile. All of these elements make some sort of sense to how I am here. No doubt, it can be bloody hard work, like getting tangled in the language barrier is a daily occurence and while a good sense of humour gets you through it most of time-there are times I could scream blue murder! I am an outsider here and that takes some getting used to, or maybe I'll never get used to it. People are still as welcoming and lovely as ever but I wonder if I will ever feel any way intergrated and part of this life here. It seems impossible right now, but who knows I might find a way to make myself feel more at one with this beautifully alien life.

The noises, the smells, the heavily polluted air once held me in a trance, like some sort of stronghold. But now, I feel part of them or just used to them. I remember coming out of the airport when I first arrived and onto the streets and just gaping, eyes wild not really believing what I am seeing. I clearly remember a man and a snow white dog on a mophead-what a sight that was. And being left to try and find my way home after 2 days here, forget it. There was no way I was going to find anything-I was dizzy, amazed and scared shitless all at once.

Once more about work-I will try to set the scene. The children all gather at the gates of the centre all playing games, eating sweets, school bags in tow all in tight groups-crouched down, chatting-playing, laughing-always laughing.The street vendors are all busy making coffees or dishing out various rice noodles and other delights. People sit around on plastic chairs. I get dropped off by Viet my Xe Am driver-a small boney man from the Mekong Delta-he has a tough life fending for himself and his sick wife. He worked at the airport for years and is why his english is so good. We chat on the way about my weekend or his wife or sometimes about family or sometimes we don't chat at all. I will usually crouch down and say my few words of vietnamese to the kids outside, they will say their 2 words in english and off I will go. Or sometimes, this one little boy in particular will come over to me and give me a hug for absolutely no reason. How to start a day on the wrong foot after that..

Hellos to all my hard working, brilliant colleagues and off I go to start my day. I won't go into detail about the in's and outs of the admin side, but it is a necessary part to keep the wheels in motion. Emails, interviews, classes, schedules....all part of the job. But more, much more it is about giving these children a creative outlet that will take them away from their often difficult lives. Sometimes when I am editing a report and reading about these same smiling faces that I meet everyday-it is very hard to make these 2 pictures fit. One picture sees the hardships, the long hours, the substandard living-the other sees gifted, talented creative beings who put all their imagination into their art work, their dance class, their singing. It is a piece of magic that will honestly stay with me for the rest of my life.

neighbourhood watch

A soaring seering heat, sweat dripping, mind a fog yet somehow in the midst of this trying climate I have much reason to feel alive, happy and have a blanket of calm around me. It seems ironic to me that in the most chaotic place I have ever been to that people are unphased, almost serene. Even when out on the road in the middle of the honking madness, people aren't aggresive or perturbed they are just getting on with it. This city for all it's vibrancy has a harsh, uncompromising enviornment and breathing in the toxins, the polluted air is all part of living here. That said for this past month, I have taken a battering from this relentless weather and the body gradually fell under it's demise. But now I have turned a corner and am ready, fighting fit and ding ding round 2 of the match-me against the hot season.

Even though I say people are calm, which they are- I also see their quiet, silent suppressed anger and yes, they get on with it but they have no way to express or fight what raw deal is handed to them. I keep a close eye on news from home, and yeah things are really shit, but if one thing living here has given me is a reality check. We are ok, we have resources, we have access to education, we have comparitively speaking, a health system. Very often, these people do not. If you feel hard done by-fair enough, but imagine this: this is just one example. A man, 20's, emaciated, ribs visible-asleep outside your nice, modern home (mine). Just him on his mat. If that doesn't give me reason to be thankful than nothing will.

On a lighter note, it fascinates me here how unselfconscious people are when it comes to noise pollution-there are no restrictions here. I often wake up in the morning with the loudest most horrific sounding plastic pop music-never have I heard so much Kenny G or Enrico Iglesius before. Or sometimes, in the alley near to my place, I will hear some tone deaf kareoke singing, oblivious as to how utterly awful they are sounding-it can be hilarious or at times annoying depending on the mood. One time recently I went on a bike trip with a great bunch of friends and we stayed in this mainly Vietnamese resort by the beach. Was lovely and we had a great night. Except for one thing-the kareoke went on ALL night. Lying in that tent, it was loud as any festival have been to-although I would much rather listen to the thump thump techno than listen to horrendous renditions of Boys II Men for the umpteen time. Ah but in hindsight, it's funny.

So, now I wonder what the neighbours think of me playing Martin Hayes and Denis Cahill at full blast...

Day in the Saigon life

I write this directly under my godsent Aircon. It is my saviour these hot Saigon days. For the past 3 weeks the temperatures have soared to the high 30's and I have suffered but endured it. It seems to be particularly hot even to the hardy Vietnamese so I don't feel so bad.

Life here feels somewhat normalized and I feel part of it now as opposed to merely observing it. I am now taking Vietnamese classes, which are challenging to say the least. Words that sound the same but mean completley different things; tones that feel impossible to get the right pitch; and just the alien feeling in my mouth as I attempt to say the odd word here and there. We spent about 15 minutes once on just one word-me desperately trying to get pronounciation right. When I finally got it, I asked my teacher what it means-"strain" she said. Sounds about right, I joked.

I now have my own place and finally feeling more settled and at ease with my life here. I get a Xe am-motorbike taxi-to work every morning because even though I live close by it is simply too hot to walk. I arrive to the Sunshine school kids gathered around in their little groups. They play together, chat, jump over a giant elastic band (some reach quite impressive heights) and every morning without fail one of them will come over and hug me with a hello.

Some mornings I get a small baguette from the stall lady who is full of warmth and good humour. Or I might have a cafe sou da. Its just those first moments before I start my day that put me in good stead. There is little chance I can have a bad day with that sort of beginning. But then if I am feeling low or my day is not going to plan, I will nearly always go to the ground floor of the Social and Medical Centre. These babies all at once clock eyes on me, all smiles, all wanting to be held. I put myself among them and hug as many as is humanly possible and once I have had my baby fix, all is restored again. This may sound selfish and unfair that I breeze in, show some love and leave. But the level of care, love and attention they get daily really is remarakable. I'm sure it must be hard, particularly for the older kids on the second floor. They forge bonds with the volunteers, often becoming very close. And then the volunteers leave and the cycle continues. If I spend too much time thinking of this, it can make me feel very sad. But the reality for these kids is that they are in the best possible care and no question-a much better life than before.

Last night I went to the girls shelter to visit their dance class and just see how they are getting on. They are the happiest, most positive people you can count yourself lucky to meet. They danced, beamed their smiles, joked, said their few words in English and by the end we were all dancing hand in hand around a circle. Do I love my job? I think most definitely.