October 30, 2009 Hanoi, Vietnam
My eyes peered through two holes cut out of a piece of paper. A colorful disguise painted on the other side. I growled and the kids yelled with a sort of excitement and wonder. We made some poor excuses for masks today with flimsy white paper, two eye holes and crayons. The kids loved it though. And it occupied the hour and a half dog-and-pony show for the morning. Trying to explain the concept of Halloween to mentally handicapped Vietnamese children was like, well, trying to explain the concept of Halloween to mentally handicapped Vietnamese children. I decided that masks were an easy substitute for my lack in language and teaching skills and it seemed to go over well with the kids.
On my way to class I bought some jelly shots to simulate trick-or-treating for the kids, but it was taken like any other treat. I didn't blame them. They seem very 'treat' deprived and huddle around anyone who breaks open a plastic bag.
I've become friends with one of the nurses, named Tu, at the school and today she offered me a ride home. Of course, in Vietnam a ride means a ride on the back of a motorbike. We walked out to the sea of motorbikes parked along side of each other. When she finally stopped at hers she said, "OK, you drive." I said I'd never driven one and she immediately replied, "That's OK. I'll teach you." So I learned to ride a motorbike in the Peace Village playground in Hanoi, Vietnam. She motioned me another practice round and then hopped on the back. I just thought, "Are you sure? In Hanoi traffic?" So there I went. Driving like the best Hanoi-an I could. Tu coached me through as I weaved through intersections and passed slower traffic. She showed me the horn and I found it as useful as everyone else. We must have had everyone in town looking at us; It's not everyday you see a White woman driving a Vietnamese woman around in Hanoi. We pretty much laughed our way home where she took the bike back to the Peace Village to finish her shift.
The next day, Tu came up to the fence outside my apartment. When I came out to get on the bike she said with a somber face, "I saw an accident when I left your house yesterday and two people died, so I'll drive." I obliged without question.
My eyes peered through two holes cut out of a piece of paper. A colorful disguise painted on the other side. I growled and the kids yelled with a sort of excitement and wonder. We made some poor excuses for masks today with flimsy white paper, two eye holes and crayons. The kids loved it though. And it occupied the hour and a half dog-and-pony show for the morning. Trying to explain the concept of Halloween to mentally handicapped Vietnamese children was like, well, trying to explain the concept of Halloween to mentally handicapped Vietnamese children. I decided that masks were an easy substitute for my lack in language and teaching skills and it seemed to go over well with the kids.
On my way to class I bought some jelly shots to simulate trick-or-treating for the kids, but it was taken like any other treat. I didn't blame them. They seem very 'treat' deprived and huddle around anyone who breaks open a plastic bag.
I've become friends with one of the nurses, named Tu, at the school and today she offered me a ride home. Of course, in Vietnam a ride means a ride on the back of a motorbike. We walked out to the sea of motorbikes parked along side of each other. When she finally stopped at hers she said, "OK, you drive." I said I'd never driven one and she immediately replied, "That's OK. I'll teach you." So I learned to ride a motorbike in the Peace Village playground in Hanoi, Vietnam. She motioned me another practice round and then hopped on the back. I just thought, "Are you sure? In Hanoi traffic?" So there I went. Driving like the best Hanoi-an I could. Tu coached me through as I weaved through intersections and passed slower traffic. She showed me the horn and I found it as useful as everyone else. We must have had everyone in town looking at us; It's not everyday you see a White woman driving a Vietnamese woman around in Hanoi. We pretty much laughed our way home where she took the bike back to the Peace Village to finish her shift.
The next day, Tu came up to the fence outside my apartment. When I came out to get on the bike she said with a somber face, "I saw an accident when I left your house yesterday and two people died, so I'll drive." I obliged without question.