Special Feature

Travelers' Tales - Vietnam

by Marc Helgesen
October 2004

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On my last night, I went out specifically looking for them. It must have been obvious that I was searching because two people, a hooker and her pimp (I assume), asked what I was looking for. I explained and the pimp said he knew who I was talking about. He told me to wait. He jumped on his motorbike. A few minutes later, he showed up with the kids ­ four people on a bike is not at all rare. I tipped him. (If you go to Vietnam, bring lots of one-dollar bills for tips. A dollar is about 100 yen ­ almost nothing for us but a half-day's wages for a lot of Vietnamese. It helps.)

I was happy to see the kids. They knew I was Uncle Al's friend and were happy to see me. I said I'd take them to dinner. I asked Vee, the prostitute, if she wanted to join us. She shook her head and said she couldn't. She had to earn money. I asked her how much she got for one time. "Fifteen dollars." "How about if I give you fifteen dollars to not have sex? Then you can have dinner with us." She gave me a puzzled look. It was clear this was not a proposition she gets a lot. But then she smiled and said yes. And I thought, "18-years-old and her best offer is $15 to not turn a trick. Street life's got to be a killer.") I don't know what happened to the pimp. He sort of disappeared. But a bookseller ­ a sixteen-year-old who makes her living selling fake Lonely Planets to tourists ­ joined us. Her street name was Peanut, because she was small. Her English was pretty good. She made it much easier to understand the others. Peanut would like to go to school. She can't afford it. Her mom and dad are gone. She works to stay alive.

So there we sat, on plastic chairs on a street in Ho Chi Minh City, eating chicken and talking and laughing.

And I couldn't help thinking about all the kids, but especially Vinh. So nice. Trying so hard, for herself and the little ones. And trusting. She trusts Uncle Al. She trusts me. And someday, she's going to trust the wrong person. And then… you know what will happen. She'll be raped. When Vinh and the other little ones were off talking to the mama-san, I mentioned this worry to Peanut and Vee. They looked at me sadly. Their eyes told me they knew. It was true. And so wrong. And there was nothing any of us could do.

All of these kids, Vinh, Cho, Du, Vee, Peanut. What are the chances that any of them will even be alive in ten years? Poverty. Drugs. AIDS. You see street kids. You don't see many homeless in their 20's and 30's in Vietnam. I remembered my image of my friend and me on the banks of the Mekong, thinking "Life is good." Here I was, a few blocks from the Saigon River. For these kids, life sucks.

But we had a nice dinner. And then it was time to go. I kissed them on the forehead and gave each of them some money ­ I hope it will get them through a few days. And then I went back to my room, their young faces still smiling in the pictures in my mind. And then I cried.

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