Other states, other lives, other souls

In chapter one, guest blogger Phil Deering told the story of a 2007 trek during which he encountered a one-room school in the highlands of the north of Vietnam. When he learned the school had been destroyed in a landslide, he decided to raise the money and ensure it would be used for a new school.

By early May of 2008, I had raised over $12,000. I knew from talking to my guide Thanh (see Chapter one), that a new two-room school with a bathroom and a kitchen would cost a bit less than $20K. I figured that with $12,000 in hand we could begin to make real plans. To raise the money, I made CDs that told the story of the destroyed school and the kids of the hill tribes of Vietnam. I sent the CDs out to everyone I knew who had children. The letter that went with the CD encouraged them to talk to their parents about the project (and giving $$$ to it 😊).

Even better, my next-door neighbor Burt Hara, who was the lead clarinet with the Minnesota Symphony Orchestra, offered to play a benefit concert. Since Burt had a big following among well-heeled classical music lovers, we made a bunch of money that way. In addition, another one of Thanh’s customers, a women from Texas named Elizabeth, got involved and raised over a thousand bucks.

I was back in Vietnam by the end of May. Elisabeth was there too. Before going, I’d studied up on what the internet (and friends of friends) described as best practices. So, I was really primed to get going. The idea was that the community would provide the land at no cost, and a good deal of volunteer labor, and that the Bac Ha School Project (my newly minted non-profit) would provide the money for materials and skilled construction.

Thanh had scheduled a meeting for us to meet with a Ms. Binh, the Bac Ha District Education Commissioner. She was the Communist Party of Vietnam official who would give us the go-ahead.

The meeting was in the evening. Elisabeth walked into her office wearing a tie and trying to project a calm, no-nonsense attitude. Per Vietnamese etiquette, it started with Ms. Binh pouring tea. After some pleasantries (Thanh was translating), Ms. Binh listened to our proposal.  She paused, looked at us for a while and said: “We don’t want to build a school where the old one was…There are too many landslides in that area.”

Big Lesson Number One – ask those you are planning
to help what they need before you decide for them!

Next, the meeting took an even more surprising (to me) turn. This party official said that they didn’t need money to build a school right now. Basically, she explained the government had a capital plan and she wasn’t interested in deviations.  But, she had a helpful suggestion: We could give her the money.  “Don’t worry”, she told us, “I’ll use it to buy recreational equipment for schools in the district”

It was easy to roll with the punch of not locating the school where we planned. But, this sounded fishy. We needed time to ask Thanh about suspicions of corruption. We told her that the donors expected the money to go to a school, so we needed to check before agreeing to buy athletic supplies. Ms. Binh understood.

As Thanh and I left, he pointed out her shiny black Toyota Land Cruiser, a model favored by upper level party officials. (Its price $40K or so was obscene where many people still live on less than $1.00 a day). “You were right not to agree to her plan. She would steal the money,” he said. “We’ll look for a way to get around her.”

Big Lesson Number Two – if you are bringing money to a
nation in the developing world, watch out for corruption!

We were deflated for a few days. Then Thanh located another community, Nam Det, with a shabby, drafty one room school. He thought the village elders could convince Ms. Binh to let us invest in their community. Re-energized, we set off for a visit. Of course the car got stuck in the spring mud 8 kilometers before Nam Det.

But soon enough one of the teachers from the school came along on a motorbike. Thanh jumped on the back and then returned from Nam Det with the moto. We squeezed on the back and slid and bumped through the mud to the school.

As you know, visits in SE Asia begin when the host pours tea. In some poor areas, our hosts had no tea, but they would dutifully heat water and we’d all sip politely from the tiny cups. It’s the thought, not the actual tea, that counts.

Here at Nam Det, the “cup of tea” got even more abstract. The teachers came out of the school room and welcomed us to their quarters. The got out the tea set, passed cups around, but there was no hot water, no tea at all! We all raised our cups, bowed in thanks and then, in the next seconds, Elisabeth and I glanced at one another in mild panic. Were we supposed pretend to drink?  Yes! Our hosts raised the empty cups to their lips and we did too. We held the cups carefully for the rest of the meeting. We didn’t want to spill the imaginary tea!

We were charmed by the kids and the teachers were friendly and so happy for outside visitors. We left with a renewed commitment. We will make this happen!

I spent two more weeks in Vietnam, mostly journeying into Ha Giang province.  (Pronounced Ha-zang. Go if you can!).  There were plenty of adventures, like spending three days in Dong Van, where there was no

electricity (something wrong with the hydro-power).

Finally, I returned to the Bac Ha region with three days to spare. Thanh had heard from the teachers. They were throwing a year-end party at the regional HQ and Thanh and I were invited!

I rode behind Thanh on the moto. We got there about noon. Teachers from all the surrounding villages were there. And they had P A R T Y on the brain.

(If you hang around with the folks of the far north, you’ll find they like their alcohol – brewed from the local corn and distilled at many a house.)

I was a fun attraction. As such, everyone wanted to offer me a toast. Of course I didn’t want to be rude, so I was matching everyone shot for shot. The alcohol is about 25% (think 50 proof). The shots are small but they add up!

A local Communist Party official watched with amusement for 8 or 10 shots. This man was a professional who attended a couple of events like this a month, no doubt. He called Thanh and me over. Through Thanh he offered tips. “Tell him”, he said, “to pace himself. He doesn’t have to drain the shot each time. Also, eat some of this pork soup. The fat absorbs some of the alcohol.”

I slowed down, but the party heated up. The laughing got louder. Songs broke out. Then with a lot of encouraging applause, one woman got up and made a show of locking the door to the room. “Holy shit,” I thought, “what’s going to happen next!” It turned out kids were sneaking in, trying to snatch a few illicit drinks themselves. It wasn’t that an orgy was going to break out – just teachers trying to keep the kids out of trouble.

Three hours later, I wobbled out into the afternoon sun. I managed to hold onto Thanh’s back as we puttered out of the village. As soon as we were out of sight, I demanded that Thanh stop. I staggered off the road, found some dry-ish grass and passed out. It was dark before I was sober enough for the ride back to Bac Ha.

Lesson Number Three: Don’t try to go shot-for-shot with the locals!