Teaching in Sapa

SAPA, VIETNAM — And so, if I have any “followers” left, here is an update. The last month of our stay in Vietnam has been spent in the old French hill station of Sapa. Built literally on a side of a mountain, Sapa is, in theory, surrounded by some of the world’s most famously beautiful terraces. I say in theory, because we were afforded just a few glimpses of them and by no means did we see the full extent of them. It turns out that between December and March thick fog descends and settles on Sapa. Visibility is reduced to the ten meters in front of you and the cold, damp air penetrates your clothing and bones. Of course, we knew none of this when we agreed to spend a month teaching English to a group of H’mong girls. So, what followed was a love-hate relationship: we grew to love teaching the girls that we spent every day with and hate the weather and the constant cold, that, with no heated buildings was impossible to escape ever.

We spent each day teaching from 8:30 – 11:00 and then 2:00 – 4:00. We ate white rice, tofu and tomato and egg or saag for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the school and in our free time we planned our lessons, played foozeball with the girls or huddled in front of our pricey (albeit necessary) heat lamps in our rooms.

A bit about the school (www.sapaochau.org). All of the girls (and a few boys started showing up towards the end of our stay) are H’mong and are from the villages that surround Sapa. No H’mong people really live in Sapa — a town that was built by the French, for the French. Instead, the main inhabitants of Sapa Town are the Viet-Kieu, Vietnam’s largest ethnic group. The relationship between the H’mong and Viet-Kieu is rather tenuous as all the town’s guesthouses, restaurants, tourist shops etc. are owned by the Viet-Kieu, not a single one by a H’mong. Instead, H’mong women and children roam the streets selling handicrafts out of their baskets to tourists. Many of the girls we taught used to (or still do from time to time) sell bags or other things they’ve made to tourists. H’mong children have few options for school. They can attend the schools in their villages, though none of them have English teachers, and English is really the only marketable skill they need. The only schools they can attend after primary schooling are Vietnamese schools, which are not particularly accessible, as most H’mong do not speak Vietnamese. Of course, there are other variables at play here too. Secondary school costs money, much more than most H’mong families hae access too. Many families do not allow their children to attend school and instead require that they stay and work at home, most often in the rice paddies. This is especially true for the first-born child, as they are bestowed with the most familial responsibility.

The school we worked at, Sapa O’Chau was just started about nine months ago by a H’mong woman named Shu. The program is so recent that in many ways it is hard to tell what her priorities are – she is interested in starting a H’mong run trekking business (currently zero exist, many treks are led by H’mong people but run through Vietnamese guesthouses etc) but also in establishing a school that relies on international volunteers to teach English. Currently two students attend secondary school in addition to school at Sapa O’Chau. Both students have international sponsors, Westerners that met the girls while they were trying to sell to them on the streets.

We taught twelve girls, aged 12 – 27. It was quite challenging, primarily because of the wide range of abilities, not only between girls, but between reading, writing and speaking as well. Some could speak very well (largely the result of talking to tourists on the streets) but not write at all. Some could read but barely speak. We tried our best to address all of their needs, which we were able to do because there were three of us. We played a lot of games, sang songs, did some worksheets and so on.

One weekend two of our students, Mai and Su, took us on a trek to their village where we spent one night. The few glimpses of the landscape that we were afforded were stunning — deep river valleys, bamboo forests and empty rice and indigo terraces. However, what did we see the most of you ask? Mud. The trails were incredibly muddy and we, unfortunately, for some unknown reason, were not encouraged to buy $2 mud boots. So, we slid around in our hiking boots. Much to the delight of Kade and I, we got to witness Jade and our new friend Ana fall countless times.

It was a sad departure from the girls. They cried, and gave us bracelets and as usual, I felt helpless. Helpless to really do anything meaningful – just another person who has come and gone. It’s an odd feeling really, especially because you tend to embark on these volunteer experiences with the intentions of really making a significant impact. But, you quickly realize that in order to do that you have to commit years, rather than weeks or months just in order to understand what’s going on and what needs to be done.

And now, we are back in Hanoi. It is in the 50s but feels quite warm. Living the dream. There is more to the story, though. The part that leaves a bad taste in our mouth. We had initially heard about this volunteering opportunity through a program that described itself online as being through UNESCO. It was to this program that we each deposited $200, only to learn later that it was a lie and that the man behind it all is fraudulent and scamming us all. We have been in touch with many former volunteers who have had similar experiences and are now all working as a group to get him fired or apprehended by the police. We’ll see. He has also stolen a lot of money from the woman running Sapa O’Chau. Live and learn I guess.

We are planning on celebrating Tet in Hanoi before venturing into Laos sometime early next week. We hear it’s going to be in the high 80s there. Yessssssssss!

Busin'

When traveling, we always make it from Point A to B. This I know. It’s more the ‘how’ that can be difficult to recall. As in, I know we got on a bus last night – and I think (but can’t be sure) that it is taking us to Hanoi. Then, it is through a Benedryl-induced fog that we try to decipher why we are stopped on the side of a dark road, our driver involved in some sort of heated dispute, or a transfer of goods, usually involving a plastic grocery bag full of fresh meat.

The bus rides are long. The bus rides are exhausting. The bus rides usually make me feel ill – largely because I spend the majority of my time gorging on some combination of baguettes, soft cheese, oranges, hard candies, coffees, sodas, and on occasion, Pho procured at a debatably disease-free “rest stop”. In addition to my ridiculous caloric intake, the buses rarely stop. And, by rarely, I mean, if we’re lucky, every four or five hours. Thus, it becomes a rare form of torture: the constant insatiable need to eat and the overwhelming need to pee (or worse). But, I must clarify. When I say the bus doesn’t stop, that is not what I mean at all. In fact, it stops quite frequently — long enough for the bus driver to engage in said arguments, or in said bartering, or, long enough for men to smoke or, in the case of our last bus ride, long enough for the driver to stop and size up a tobacco bong he appeared to be interested in buying. The difficulty is that while there are often prolonged announcements in the native language, nothing is ever relayed to us. Thus, we must attempt to make an uniformed guess regarding the potential duration of our stop. Do I have to time to pee, or will they leave without me?

All told though, I love bus rides in Asia. The love stems mainly from my recent introduction to sleeping buses. Debatably dangerous, the normal seats in these buses have been removed, and luxurious (albeit short) beds have been installed in their place. This allows the passenger to lie in luxury whilst taking in the scenery. Of course, luxury is a stretch. Especially considering, on our most recent ride from Sapa to Hanoi the TV on our bus (they ALL have TVs) featured what could most aptly be described as solo porn. Even with an iPod at full volume it can be impossible to cancel out the bass.

As tedious as the rides can be they afford a glimpse at the landscape that I find particularly appealing. Bus rides don’t take you to the tourist destinations. Instead, they zoom through the every day life of every day people and it is through a bus window that I have seen some of the most outrageous things I think I’ll ever see —babies perched in bike baskets being peddled through markets, a man dragging a snake attached to a stick, pomelos the size of your head, farmers wading through rice paddies, albino buffalo – you name it, we’ve seen it.

And so, while the flight from Hanoi to Vientiane, Laos would take one hour we of course have opted for the 24-36 hour bus ride. Because, why not?