128 | NO ONE THERE
Some say
it is the biggest refugee camp
in Indonesia.
They say
there are tens of thousands of people there.
For me,
without Uncle and Nam,
there is nobody!
129 | THE NEW CAMP
There are rows and rows of big houses
that have been built with real wooden boards.
Each house is divided by
four long wooden beds.
Each bed can sleep twenty-five people.
People place plastic sheets
between them for privacy.
There are mint,
bitter melon,
and green vegetables
that are popular in our hometown
growing around the houses,
planted by the early comers
who are still waiting.
I have missed those vegetables.
I miss home.
There is continuously running water
from a refugee-constructed bamboo sluice
flowing from the creek
that eventually empties into a
small, man-made reservoir.
Now, I don’t need to climb up and down
between the thorny bushes
to get water.
There are kerosene and clay stoves
in a big public kitchen,
which only has a roof,
that people can take turns using.
Some people who can afford it
use their own kerosene stoves
because getting firewood is not easy.
Many people who cut firewood
for their own use
or sell it to the other refugees
are often lost in the remote jungle
and never return.
I am so thankful
that Uncle gave me the cash “just in case.”
I like the toilet the most.
It is built of wood, a solid house.
And it has water to wash away the waste,
even though it is still stinky.
There are doctors
and a place to mail letters
and receive letters.
I had never thought of using Uncle’s money
to send a letter to Uncle or to home
because I had never sent
or received
a letter before.
There is a place to exchange money
and a big TV screen outdoors.
But no free English lessons.
I miss the English lessons
Uncle gave us.
130 | MR. AND MRS. PHAM
Mr. and Mrs. Pham
do what they have promised Uncle.
They let us squeeze
into the same unit with them.
They let me use their kerosene stove
that they purchased
from a small shop run by refugees
to cook for Dee Dee and me.
I want to pay them for the kerosene,
but they say Uncle gave them some cash
in case we needed it.
I almost shed tears in front of them.
We do not eat together with them.
When Dee Dee and I eat outside the house,
I often wonder:
Are Uncle and Nam having their meal, too?
Are they still staying inside the shed
like Auntie did?
I am very frustrated.
How I wish I could talk to them.
How I wish I could see them.
131 | LIKE A VILLAGE
The campsite isn’t
as dark as the other camp was.
Many people have kerosene lanterns
or flashlights.
There are
coffee houses,
noodle shops,
and other small stores
that sell simple daily necessities,
operated by refugees
who have been here longer in this camp.
Dee Dee and I hunger
for a bowl of pho to share
with the money Uncle gave us.
I finally squash my desire,
thinking about what Uncle said—
that the money was for “just in case.”
So Dee Dee watches
other people devour the noodles,
with his saliva
almost dripping down his chin.
Many people have small portable radios.
so they aren’t isolated
from the outside world.
If someone puts his radio on top of the counter
when I cook or wash dishes,
I often perk up my ears
so I can listen in, too.
We are most appreciative of the
big movie screen outdoors
that is the highlight of our life in the camp.
In the evenings,
sometimes they play Taiwanese movies;
sometimes they play Hong Kong movies;
sometimes they play Vietnamese movies.
Despite the fact that there are no seats available,
and we have to stand up to watch the movies,
we don’t complain,
for this helps satisfy our thirst
for reminders of home.
Once, they even show us the
Olympic Games from 1976.
The screen doesn’t have any translation,
only English language.
It doesn’t matter.
We just watch the action
and let out a cry of disappointment
when an athlete loses
or cheer
when an athlete wins.
132 | UNITED WITH MY COUSIN
One evening,
after we have been living in the new camp
for about two months,
we run into Cousin Tam at the movies!
She has a hard time believing
we are still alive.
They thought that our boat had capsized
and we were all dead.
I tell Cousin Tam all about what happened to us,
especially about Uncle’s family.
She embraces both of us and says
she is going to take care of us.
Cousin Tam and her family left Vietnam
two months after we did
and were transferred to this camp three months ago.
She says my ma
almost had a nervous breakdown
after they assumed our boat had capsized.
It dawns on me that
I never thought of what my family’s reaction
would be
when they hadn’t heard from us.
I just didn’t think of it.
I only told them
once in a while, silently,
that we were safe.
So I immediately write a letter home.
Cousin Tam helps me mail the letter.
“Your daigo is okay,” she tells me.
“He was captured and put in jail,
but before I left home he was freed
when your ma bailed him out.”
That is what I have suspected for a long time.
I have never had a bad dream about him.
I wish I had a way to inform Uncle that
I finally have some of my family with me.
He will not be worried about us
if he hears this news.
133 | LIVING WITH COUSIN TAM
Cousin Tam, who is in her thirties,
thanks the Phams for keeping an eye on us.
And the Phams are happy that
we finally have our own relatives
to care for us.
We move into Cousin Tam’s living space.
The space isn’t as roomy as the Phams’.
We squeeze together
when we sleep.
Cousin Tam’s family does not complain,
and neither do we.
Cousin Tam has planted a variety of vegetables
around their house.
She cooks a big bowl of fresh lettuce
and yard long beans
just for Dee Dee and me.
We devour the vegetables with
nothing else.
They are the first fresh vegetables we have eaten
since we left home.
I wish I could share them with
Uncle and Nam.
134 | RESTLESS
Life in this big camp
is somewhat easier.
We don’t need to collect firewood.
Cousin Tam also uses a kerosene stove.
We don’t need to fetch water.
We have a lot of spare time to just do
nothing.
I get tired of watching someone
sell his goods.
I am bored of just strolling on the beach
with my cousin’s two girls,
who are six and eight.
And I still have a bad feeling
about the open sea.
The only things I do are help Cousin Tam cook,
wash clothes,
and tend the vegetable plants.
My mind is often occupied with thoughts
of Uncle and Nam.
My concerns can’t be eased.
At night,
not knowing what is happening with them
tortures me even more,
like half of me is melting away.
I can’t easily fall asleep.
All I can do is keep praying
that Uncle will not isolate himself
in their shed like Auntie did.
Dee Dee is restless, too.
Several times
he has gotten into fights with other kids
and ended up with a bloody nose.
Cousin Tam has restricted him
to staying in the house.
It drives him crazy.
He says he wants to run away.
Cousin Tam asks,
“Where are you going to run away to?
There is water on all sides!”
Dee Dee misses Nam
badly.
135 | ON MY BIRTHDAY
As before,
I just live day to day,
without knowing the day of the week
or the date of the month,
until Cousin Tam
suddenly gives me lai see money,
saying that today is March 7
and that I have turned twelve.
Nothing is special on my birthday.
It is just another day—full of unknowns.
Then I see Dee Dee,
who is playing around Cousin’s house,
suddenly run to someone
and embrace him.
I am puzzled
until Dee Dee lets out a cry.
It is Uncle!
He smiles at me and says,
“I finally found you!
Didn’t I say we would meet again?”
He and Nam were transferred to this big camp
about a month ago.
They have been trying to find out
if we were also located in this camp,
but they didn’t have a way of doing it,
until one day he read my name
on the announcement board,
saying I had a letter.
He was sure we were in the same camp.
He put more effort than ever
into looking for us.
Since there are so many people,
the officials just use the person’s name and
the numbers of the boat they were in
to distinguish each group.
I am glad Uncle saw my name.
I don’t even know the number of our boat.
So this is not just another day!
Nothing is more precious
than this reunion with Uncle and Nam—
my best birthday present ever!
136 | LETTER FROM BABA
The letter is from Baba in San Francisco.
He, too, is stunned to discover
we are still alive.
He says
he is trying his best
to get us to America.
In the letter is a check
for two hundred US dollars.
Uncle helps me exchange it
into Indonesian money.
I return the money Uncle gave me
for “just in case.”
To celebrate our reunion with Uncle and Nam,
the next day, I use Baba’s money
to invite them, Mr. and Mrs. Pham,
and Cousin Tam’s whole family
to eat pho, which we haven’t had for ages,
at a small, one-table-only noodle shop.
Uncle is very happy for us.
He says we will probably go to America
to be with Baba soon.
He says he’d hate to see Dee Dee and me be
unable to speak English
when we first get there,
so he will continue our English lessons.
This promise causes my eyes
to cloud with tears.
I thought he would
never resume teaching us again
because of the pain he has carried.
I don’t know what to say,
but stammer in a shaking voice, “Thank you.”
And it is the first night
I can easily fall asleep
since we parted from Uncle
three months ago.
137 | MY APPRECIATION
I don’t want Uncle to spend more of his gold
for us.
I voluntarily buy
five exercise books,
five pens,
chalks,
and a small piece of board as a blackboard
from the store in the camp.
Without Uncle’s knowledge,
I surprise him by
presenting him
with an English/Vietnamese dictionary
that I had a boat captain buy for me
to express
our appreciation.
He says it is exactly what he needs
and he will treasure it
forever.
138 | THE LESSONS CONTINUE
Uncle now has three old students plus
two of Cousin’s children.
As before,
we have class in the morning
in an area not far from our living space.
He teaches us the ABC letters
and some simple words.
It is much easier to understand now
than when he taught us in the past
because he can write the words down
clearly on the board
and we can actually write them
in our exercise books.
But sometimes
the lessons dredge up memories
of when Dao and Auntie
were with us.
I try to shake my head
to get rid of these images.
I try to tell myself that
no matter what I do,
no matter where I go,
Dao and Auntie can never
come back.
I guess Uncle
also has these sad moments, too,
as I notice that sometimes
he is very quiet.
It makes me want to hold his hands.
I hope someday,
despite the grief of his loss,
he will find the strength
to heal,
to move on.
I hope.
139 | UNCLE’S STUDENTS
In no time
Uncle’s students grow from five to ten.
The newcomers are Dee Dee’s friends
who
have fought with Dee Dee before.
Unlike the other tutors,
Uncle doesn’t charge a fee.
He humbly says his knowledge of English
isn’t very advanced.
All he asks from the new students is that
they provide their own pens and books.
After their parents find out
that he doesn’t have a wife with him,
they take turns cooking for him and Nam,
to show their appreciation,
while Cousin provides them with fresh vegetables.
140 | UNCLE HEALS HIMSELF BY HELPING OTHERS
Uncle is very busy.
He doesn’t have time to smoke.
When he’s not teaching,
I often see him looking up things in the dictionary
while sitting on a rock in front of his living space.
He says he needs to improve his own English,
as well.
He makes friends with the parents
who volunteer to bring him food,
as well as Cousin and her husband.
Uncle is no longer
staying inside his living space
as he did
right after Auntie passed away.
I guess his wounds are
healing
gradually
from him helping others.
Seeing his father moving out of
his darkest stage,
Nam laughs together with Dee Dee
and the other boys in the class.
Nothing is more of a treasure than
seeing Uncle as he was
before the tragedies.
141 | THE FAREWELL MEAL
The staff processes our case very quickly.
Not long after reading Baba’s letter,
Dee Dee and I have a physical exam.
After we have lived in the regular camp
for almost half a year,
we are told that
we will go to America.
The day before we are to leave,
I prepare a special meal
of pho,
just for Uncle and Nam.
We eat at their living space,
just the four of us,
like before.
But we are not that hungry.
Uncle says to me,
“Now the needle inside my heart
has finally been removed.