Exploited

Yesterday was by far the hardest day for me. We brought Carlos with us who will be with VPV for a year, and his role is to try and improve the projects volunteers are working on, improve the relationship between VPV and the volunteers, act as a kind of middle man.

We have been working on a mural on the front gates of the centre and already it’s looking great. As there was now five of us, plus the local volunteers I decide to go to my favourite classroom and spend the morning with my kids.

It starts of fairly standard; the kids are bored and restless. Previously I spoke of a girl of nine years old who throws herself on the ground and punches herself repeatedly in the throat and face. Her name is Tanh. And this morning she was in a state. I wasn’t able to calm her down on my own so I grab Amelie for some help. After about 20 mins we are still unable to calm her down or stop her from hurting herself. This little girl can really hit hard hey. My fingers feel bruised from stopping her head hitting the wall. Eventually she climbs onto my lap and still punching herself I pick her up and take her outside. We go for a walk down to the lake and she calms down.

She has things to look at, she is stimulated by and curious at the goings on of the city.

I sing to her and walk her around for over an hour. She is calm and she is even smiling. For three weeks I have watched this girl beat on herself and this is the first time I have seen her smile.

I take her back to class for lunch and she sits happily feeding herself with no complaint. I should mention here that feeding time is always difficult. Who can blame these kids, I would not want to eat rice and egg every day either.

While we were trying to calm her down we saw a child, another young girl of nine, who doesn’t eat, and is usually well behaved, mostly playing on her own, tied to a chair around the waist.

When I return with Tanh, the young girl who was tied to the chair is now lying on the ground. She has blood all over her fingers and mouth. She has chewed the inside of her mouth.

I grab the teachers attention and she gives me tissues to clean her up. Apparently this task is too menial for her. Eventually she gives me a proper wash cloth.

I can’t help but think at this point, what happens when we are not here? We are here for one month and we try to fill a gap, but then new volunteers start and they don’t know where to start, they don’t know how to handle these kids, it took me three weeks to work out all Tanh needed was a walk and some simple stimulation; birds, trees, lakes.  Will the next volunteer ignore the teacher when she says leave her to beat herself? Or when they laugh at you for trying to help, will they ignore this feeling of stupidity and do it anyway?

This month has been hard, but as I was reminded, I am only here for a month, and then I can go and travel and think about the kids as a distant memory. But these kids are there, day in day out, month in month out. In this small classroom with no access to the outside world, no access to imagination.

There are bars on the windows and they are closed with big wooden doors so there is no ray of sunshine, no outside world, just four recently painted off white walls and these teachers who really don’t care all that much. Of course they have toys but for the most part they are locked away in the cupboard. The teachers will drop some shitty old blocks on the ground, but there is no effort to engage with them, teach them group activities, singing etc.

I should be careful not to paint the wrong picture, the teachers do occasionally do lessons, and pull out some paper and pencils, but this should be a daily activity not once a fortnight.

After feeding the kids I walk outside and I am really upset. I am angry. What kind of person ties a small child to a chair? Who would let a nine year old girl repeatedly bash her head on a concrete wall?

The director is in a meeting with the assistant director and I ask to speak with them. I bring our local volunteer to translate and tell her about my morning. I try very hard to bite my tongue and be understanding of cultural differences, but my words are firm and my tears are present.

I tell her the teachers are treating these children like animals and if she is serious about making changes she needs to act.  She tells me if they give Tanh attention while she hurts herself she will only get worse. This is rubbish.

I explain that children with a mental disability already have a hard time communicating and are frustrated and this behaviour is not for attention, it is a result of being cooped up all day not expending their energy in a positive way. These children are literally imploding.

The director tells me she is having problems with the attitudes of the teachers and they are having a workshop next month to try and address this. She invites me to attend. The assistant director smiles at me and tells me she can see I care and she pleased about this. She invites me and the others to her house after lunch to speak with her daughter who has exceptional English and can translate well for us.

We speak to her about teaching the teachers English, teaching them methods of dealing with the children, providing articles on the disabilities of the children. It is one thing to put your hand up to help, but we explain to her we can’t do it without their help. When the directors aren’t around the teachers don’t want anything to do with us. We challenge them to do their jobs, challenge them to care and this is the last thing they want.

The directors explain a lot of these teachers are only doing this as a job, they are not educated, they do not have a passion for children, this much we worked out weeks ago.

Lunch time ends and we return to class. I have the local translator with me, and young Tanh is all smiles. Instead of pinching me she is stroking my hair, playing with my nose and looks like a happy, normal little girl. The teachers tell me via the translator to put her down. If I keep giving her attention she will be in the centre for two more years, that I am doing her more harm then good.

For three weeks I have seen her cry in the corner and beat herself up, not participating, not playing with the other children, sleeping all day, and today she smiles and is happy and I am doing her more harm then good?

I listen to the teachers bitch at the translator for about 20 minutes before I have had enough and I leave. I want to shake some sense into these women. I have seen how they treat their own children with care, how they get special attention, how they have special food, and yet giving these kids with high care needs attention is wrong?

What is wrong with these women?

The translator explains to me the teachers say they are tired, they are run down, they are hot, it is summer, they have been doing this for ten years. And while they didn’t say it, I am sure they are not paid very well.

This I can understand, these kids take energy and commitment and there is good reason I am not a teacher full time. I don’t think I could do this day in and day out for ten years.

However, I tell the translator, if I was a toilet cleaner and after ten years I decide that I have had enough of cleaning toilets so I start to rock up to work and stop cleaning the toilets, do you think I would still have a job?

Even as I write this I want to cry, I am frustrated, angry, lost. I think about what kind of care these children would have in Australia. They would have whole rooms dedicated to the autistic children, toys to stimulate them, exercises, teaching methods. Of course it goes without saying Vietnam is a developing country and I can’t expect the same but was it really that foolish of me to expect the teachers would care? I was told when I started that I will need to take initiative, the teachers would be busy and my role is to play with the children and it would be challenging. This is what they tell you so when you feel useless they have covered their own backsides.

I watch these teachers do little more then nothing on a daily basis. There are far more teachers in a room then required. We watched one teacher sleep all morning, another go shopping for her own child.

A few of you have asked if you can donate money, and the truth is, I don’t want to give money into this organisation. I don’t want to put anything material into it, when the real need is something money cannot buy.

The teachers did pay me a backward compliment and I really wish I could understand the language so I could understand the context better. They told the translator I was the most unique volunteer they had ever seen. They can see I really love the kids and I keep coming back with enthusiasm and energy. This actually makes me sad. Out of all the years they have seen many volunteers come and go, and there has been many, I am the first one that gives so much to the children? I really feel like I could and should be doing more, much more.

This comment and this thought only brings more questions then answers. Volunteering in Vietnam, are we making a difference? Are the right people being sent to the right projects? Or is this just an industry, am I being exploited just like the children of this country? Because this is how I feel. 

Perspective

Date: 18 July 2011, Weather: Cooler, cloudy, Soundtrack: Mark Farina, Dream Machine

This is my third attempt at this blog. I have been taking some time and writing a lot to get some perspective on this place.

Before I came here I took a lot of time to research Agent Orange, as that is what I believed would be the most confronting and the most challenging. I watched documentaries, spent a lot of time doing Google image searches and reading articles.

I took only a small amount of time researching VPV (Volunteers for Peace Vietnam, the NGO I am working for) and really thought the challenges of the house and of the country would be much easier then dealing with the confronting state of the children.

I did read that it would be challenging with the teachers and the accommodation would be basic, but I arrogantly thought, ah, I have roughed it before, I am sure I can handle this. How wrong was I.

I spent the first week, tired, hungry and disappointed and I was looking for someone to blame for the lack of my own ability to process my surroundings. Because of course, it couldn’t have been my fault. I wanted information and I wanted answers, in my mind, no one had told me what I would be in for. Wrong again. Now that I am here I have taken some more time to read closely the information available and it is all there. The only thing lacking was effort.

I guess the reality of the situation is as a Westerner, or more specifically an Australian, I am used to being taken care of, even when I don’t realise it. My perspective is that I am independent, I can take care of myself, that I am resourceful. Then you come here, and you are completely left on your own, there is no hand holding, there is no one to tell you how to adapt to the new challenges of a developing nation, no one to warn you about house politics, no one to tell you where anything is, and I found myself struggling.

I came here because I wanted to make a difference, I wanted my eyes to be opened, and I wanted to care for kids who are in a situation that is beyond the country’s ability to support. I definitely am getting what I asked for, it has just taken me two and a half weeks to realise it.

As mentioned earlier I spent a lot of time researching the affects of Agent Orange, I was trying to prepare myself for confronting deformities however the information I found is of course, the most shocking and the reality of the situation in most places is vastly different. It turns out working with the kids is the easiest part. Most of the kids are not severely disabled, it’s mostly mental. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still tough, and you want to adopt each and everyone of them, and give them the love and care they deserve, however the real challenges lies beneath the surface.

First of all there is a lack of education and overall interest from the teachers. In Vietnam, the attitude towards someone with a disability is quite shocking for a Westerner. Mostly they are treated as sub-human, like they are only a burden to the family / community, their behaviour is considered naughty and there is no understanding or empathy towards them.

It also appears to us that a lot of children are misdiagnosed with Autism, so they are all lumped together, and treated as if it was the one disability.

At this point in time, there is absolutely no infrastructure for disabled people, physical or mental. It starts with the attitude, and extends to the pavements, access to facilities and treatment available. The Government is hesitant to spend any money in this area. Slowly there are centres like the one I am working at popping up, but again, mostly the teachers / carers are uneducated.

For me it is extremely challenging to deal with this attitude. When I see a young girl bashing her head on the floor or punching herself in the throat, it is obvious I need to try and calm her down, at the very least, stop her from hurting herself. When this happened on Friday, the teachers yelled at me to stop, and eventually they laughed at my concern. Eventually she calmed down somewhat, and all it really took was stroking her hair.

On Friday I had a big win though. I was on my own, as Amelie was ill and Rachel was visiting another orphanage, and I was determined. I decided I was going to get out the paints, make a huge mess and create some smiles. The same teacher who yelled at me for helping the young girl, was completely against me painting with the kids. Apparently this was for the teachers’ son and not all the children. I refused to accept this and insisted on the paints, and asked to speak to the Director when she continued to refuse. After that it didn’t take long for the paint to appear. Well I can tell you, I made a huge mess and some new friends. By the end of it I was covered in paint, the kids were covered in paint and it was a good feeling. Even some of the teachers were smiling.

It was a really good wake up call for me. It’s the same mantra we have been hearing for years, you only get out what you put in. In Australia we apply this to sport, or our job, which is applicable, but it has taken a whole new meaning for me in this country.

At the orphanage down the road, I witnessed this young girl receive physical rehabilitation therapy so hopefully one day, walking will be easier for her, her muscles will develop better and her overall quality of life will improve. She was so determined, and so happy to try anything the physio asked her to do, and the whole time she was smiling. For her to walk normally is super ambitious and is going to take a huge amount of effort over a long period of time.

When I think of her smile and determination all I can think is how I must take a page from her book, so I am 100% dedicated and committed to these kids for the rest of my time here. It is after all about the kids, not about my level of comfort, not about the teachers, but making those beautiful kids smile.

My new home 'The Peace House'

Let me introduce you to my new home… Welcome to the Peace House!

Located in the middle of no-where, right around the corner from who the heck knows, next to old mates place, you will find COMA 6. COMA 6 is a steel factory, and Peace House used to be the quarters of some of the workers, although I am fairly certain they live in the fancy building across the driveway. Currently the back of COMA 6 is under construction 24 hours a day. 

We have three floors and a roof top, that’s pretty spesh.

We often run out of water, and well the power goes off pretty regularly. Now there is double the amount of people from when I started so we will see if the regularity increases. 

One half of the 15 bed dorm. The blue things hanging from the ceiling are mosquito nets, as we have to keep all the windows open as there is no air conditioning. 

The better of the four showers, actually you can't really see how grubby it is in this photo... oh well.. 

Where breakfast is served, also where King Rat likes to hang out. 

The other place Rat King likes to hang out, this is where the left overs from lunch are kept, in the refrigerated glass cabinet and then served again for dinner. Oh sorry, did I say refrigerated? My bad...

The delightful kitchen. 

Where we wash up with cold water. 

The food preparation table. 

Water storage facilities, aka hallway. 

Volunteer refrigeration options. They smell incredible when the power goes off for a few hours. I would love to bottle that shit and send it home. Fridge panther, the new improved sex panther smell. 

Third floor mould, been working on this one for at least two weeks.

Laundry / shower. 

Don't worry, you don't have to miss out, for a mere $570 p/month you can live here too, I am sure Rat King would love to show you around, but be careful Barbara the House Bat might get jealous. We are conveniently located close to the road, and anyone that has been to Vietnam you will know how much they love their horns. 

I am learning that there is a hierarchy of horns. Normal for a moped, some weird multi-horn for taxi's and air-horn for trucks! They are my favourite. 

Weight lifting, Vietnam style

Date: 5 July Weather: stupid hot, 39degrees? Soundtrack: Aukistra ;) 

I have been procrastinating for the last hour about writing this because I really want to do this part justice. 

Today we visited the centre for disabled children where we will be working. Let me start by describing it. From the outside it looks like a run down shed that your folks converted into a pool room, 50 years ago. 

There are three classes and the rooms are smaller then your bedroom. Much smaller. No windows, however there is air-conditioning, thank goodness. There is a small courtyard, no grass and little shade. 

One of the classes is for the severely disabled. Some can't even walk. They don't have mats or beds to lay on, they have a rug, on top of some hard tiles. It's completely heart breaking. There are about 4/5 severely disabled children and the other two classes have 10 - 20 kids each. From what I can see, mostly they have small physical disabilities but mostly learning, down syndrome, autism, etc. 

We only met the teachers and said a quick hello to the kids and tomorrow we will start full time. 

This afternoon however, we took a trip to the orphanage that is two kilometres from 'Peace House', the place where we live. It is comparatively beautiful to the small dilapidated shed that our project is at. Granted there are 120 children here, but it is big. Large rooms, a massive playground, grass, soccer nets, lots of space, the kinds of things kids need. 

These kids have a range of disabilities, birth defects from agent orange, to down syndrome and some others that I am not sure of. 

We enter the 'Friendship Village' and the first to meet us are the children. They are excited and are instantly wanting our affection. We get lead off by the hand to more children and they are all smiles. 

One small girl has green nail polish on her tiny nails and half of it is in her mouth, and she is adorable. 

We spend some time and eventually we see some staff but it is immediately apparent to us how under resourced they are. 

We met this boy, although very hard to tell his age, who has down syndrome and he grabs Keegan, the biggest of the group and drags him over to where he has a bar with two chunks of concrete attached to each end, and he starts lifting his weights up and over his head, photo attached. He then makes us each take turns. We take photo's of him and he is so proud of himself. Giving us a big thumbs up. It's incredible how these kids communicate with us. 

It was extremely sweet. So.. here comes the sad part: 

I walk inside to help a staff member carry food. She speaks no english and all I can say in my terrible vietnamese is "hello my name is stacey", and even worse "nice to meet you". 

This boy, lets say 12 yrs old is sitting on the floor and he grabs my hand. He tries to pull me with some strength I must say, to the ground. So I sit. And it breaks my heart. Here I had to really fight the tears. He can't speak, he doesn't respond to his name and he can't feed himself. 

The lady shows me how to feed him, and she really is force feeding him. I was taking my time and it made me very uncomfortable that she was forcing more food into his mouth before he had finished the last mouthful. It dawned on my walk home, that this carer does not have enough time to spend one hour feeding one child. There are so severely under resourced they simply cannot give the time required to each child. Often the other children are feeding each other. I do manage to get a smile out of Minh by tickling around his neck and stroking his head. He can't really smile with his mouth, but his eyes are distinctly smiling. 

One the walk home we were all fairly sombre, we were all very touched. For me I was instantly grounded. On the way to the orphanage, I was bitching at the trucks and their extremely loud horns and unnecessary use of them while they are a metre behind you, it seriously scares this crap out of you, and on the way home it just didn't matter. 

Its incredible how interactions can change our mood. Keegan is researching NGO's as part of his project and looking at their funding etc. He told me that it costs a mere $3000 to fund 'Friendship Village' for a whole year. 120 kids, $3000. I wonder what they could do with double that amount? 

The bowl of food that I was feeding to the 12 yr old boy, Minh, consisted of rice, chicken stock, half a prawn (that was his favourite), half a spring role and the smallest amount of chicken.

As a group we bought a soccer ball and were keen to play in the local village, after today I think we will be playing at the orphanage. The place is beautiful, and its amazing that these children have a place to go. The Government does not fund places like this. This has been set up by a Vietnam Veteran. 

Today I appreciated home, we have all of these things, and we don't just have them we expect them. 

Anyway, this is going to be a challenge but already it is rewarding. I am looking forward to learning off the other volunteers and hopefully we can make a some positive impact on this local community. 

Love, The happy wonderer x

The Zoo

Date 8 July Weather, stupid hot Soundtrack: John Butler


Ok day two of ‘The Zoo’. I call it the zoo because once you walk through those bars of death you are on your own with the animals, and I am telling you, they are wild.

Today was fun, and productive, which is a big relief because yesterday we were really unsure of how effective we were going to be.

I work with two amazing girls and we have decided that to be effective we are going to need to take a class together instead of separately. So we made plan…

We stopped by the local supermarket, Big C and bought a bunch of toys, balls, books, cars etc for the kids. We are looking for items that will be stimulating and teach the kids some motor skills, which have been completely neglected.

We enter the zoo with the balls I the morning and they are an instant hit. Let me just re-iterate how tiny the room is; we have four adults, as Keegan, this big American dude came with us, about 15 kids and four soccer balls… You may now refer to me as Stacey, the mayhem maker. I took it as a personal challenge to see who could tire whom out first.

I am pretty sure I won. :)

There was this one particular boy who is very timid, and wasn’t getting all that involved. He couldn’t (or wouldn’t) catch the ball when thrown to him.  So, I would take the ball and pass it to him, he would throw it in the opposite direction to me, I would take the ball and we would repeat this process, until finally, he worked out how to catch the ball. He would continue to throw it away from me, which is all part of the challenge I guess. The cool thing was, in one hour this boy went from timid, barely making eye contact, to smiling, laughing, throwing and catching the boy. We had a win. 

We may not be able to change the way the teachers handle the children or how uninvolved they are, but we can impact positively on these beautiful children and this makes my heart smile. 

Love, the happy wonderer xx