rural schools and mud-floored huts, I look forward to apeaceful, uneventful hike up this hill of a mountain near Chau Doc andthe Cambodian border.
My driver and guide, Bay, strolls with methrough the tombs of Thoai Ngoc Hau, where colorful flowers grow wildbetween ancient stones. We climb higher where countless temples andpagodas pepper the trailside; small and seemingly make-shift buildingswith corrugated tin roofs, these tiny, modest structures reveal theirChinese influence in the characters framing the darkened doorways.Weary from hundreds of miles of driving, Bay returns to our hotel for awell-earned nap, giving me the freedom to climb this enchantingmountain on my own. Enjoying my solitude, I creep through an invitingyellow temple and poke my head into an incense-filled shrineroom.Turning around, I am startled by a wrinkled and storied face looking atme calmly. Motioning with his hands and speaking his best brokenEnglish, a brown-robed monk tells me of his difficult path to monasticlife, having spent three years in prison while serving during the war.Although past hardship is revealed in his aged face, there is anunmistakable gleam of peace in his eyes. We bow before I continue upthe mountain where dogs and chickens communally dart across the traillooking for morsels dropped by tourists but I am the only visitor.
Further up, I stumble upon a little girl diligently doing her homeworkalong the trail. Undisturbed by my presence, she continues her studiesas I look closely. I can't help her. I also can't help but notice herschool materials: a weathered book, a thin notebook and a small leatherbook bag. It reminds me of the bare bones conditions of the schools Ihad visited earlier during my journey through the delta, where studentssit four to a wooden bench and pencils are a rare commodity. Yet, likethe other students I observed, this little girl remains undaunted inher task, bare feet and all.
Carrying the precious image of thelittle girl's face up the mountain, I encounter harder faces at anoutdoor cafe near the top. A group of men, including an officer inolive drab khakis sporting red shoulder patches, are drinking andsmoking and carrying on. Matching those red shoulder patches, theofficer's glance seems particularly menacing as I sip a Coke and lookout on the vast horizon to Cambodia.
"Have a drink with us," hedemands in surprisingly well-spoken English. Avoiding the alcohol, Ijoin the group with my Coke and share my experiences of the MekongDelta. The officer's face lights up when I talk of my school visits.
"Come with me!" he commands, escorting me to a motorcycle while hisfriends nod and smile. My God! What did I say? We peel off to the topof the mountain as the officer tells me of a school he wants me to see.We stop at an army outpost at the top of the mountain where he runs inand out in a hurry, perhaps getting permission from a superior toperform his civic duty. As we twist and turn down the dirt road, Iclutch the red shoulder patches of the officer, trying not to thinkabout how much he has had to drink.
Containing my nerves, Iarrive safely on the other side of Sam Mountain at Truong Trung HocHigh School. We are greeted by the principal and vice-principal, bothof whom, to my pleasant surprise, are women. With other staff joiningus, including an English teacher who interprets for the principal, wesit and talk over lemonade as I learn of the enormous drop out rateamong Chau Doc students: 40% at the middle school level, another 20% atthe high school level, and finally only a handful actually going on touniversity. I also learn that teachers earn between 20 and 40 dollarsper month, not including any emergency funds they are required to payby the state--for example, in case of floods. Lastly, noticing a muralof a hammer and sickle on the wall, I ask, "Do you teach only Marxism?"
"Of course we teach Marxism," she explains through theinterpreter. "But we teach all philosophies." The soldier nods andsmiles.
Saved by the bell, school is out and uniformed studentscollect their bikes and start for home. Curious boys in red ties andgirls in graceful white ao dai dresses stop to smile and wave as Iquickly tour the stark library before being whisked away, back to myhotel--the officer was late for duty. How many of these students willgraduate from college? Will the little girl back by the trailside ofSam Mountain make it to middle school? The soldier--I never learned hisname, but he went through a transformation from an authority I wantedto avoid to an indispensable guide--delivers an informal salute andheads off, leaving me with many questions and an unforgettableexperience.
My uneventful hike up a hill had become a mountain ofinsight into the people of Chau Doc, and a fitting end to a magicallyeducational journey through the Mekong Delta.
See also these stories on the Mekong:
Life on the Mekong, Photography ~ Lou Dematteis, Text ~ Sarah Tilton (March/April 1995)
Mekong, A Journey on the Mother of Waters, Photography ~ Michael Yamashita (May/June 1997)
Traveling to Tra Vinh ~ F.R. Fritz Nordengren (May/June 1997)
(Source: www.thingsasian.com)