Voices of the Past, Voice of the Future

The photo above was taken in a photography studio in Hayu Xai, Bokeo, Laos.

Life Before the Civil War

Daeng Saengkheune, born 1952, grew up in Luang Namtha, an important village in northern Laos. The Battle of Luang Namtha 10 years later would mark a significant change in the village and my mother’s life.

Her parents, Saeng and Saeng Saengkheune, shared the same first name. Surnames didn’t exist in the Lao culture until a 1943 French mandate. Lao folk would and still refer to themselves and others by nicknames. Daeng’s, who’s name translates to the color “red,” nickname is “Joy,” which means thin or skinny.

My mother lived in a two-story home with her parents and nine siblings — six girls and four boys. She was the sixth born child. Her father had their home constructed out of wood. He paid construction workers to do the work. The first floor was turned into a store, which was a common business practice. The family slept on the second floor, however no one had their own room because there were no walls. But everyone had their own bed.

Plumbing and electricity didn’t exist in Luang Namtha because there was no infrastructure. They had to use candles to illuminate the night, and when someone had to answer the call of nature, they went in the woods and used leaves.

My mother said that, as a child, she remembered one of her cousins had to answer the call of nature and a pig followed them into the woods. It must have been awkward having a pig watch.

Her father, she said, was a good business man. He would fly into the Laos capital, Vientiane, and stock up on supplies and merchandise for the store — dried foods, goods and alcohol. Her mother sewed and made clothing, which were sold in the store. Fiat money, the Lao Kip, had been introduced by the French, but for rural and remote villages bartering was common. So, when someone couldn’t pay for clothing, they bartered with rice or other goods.

The family was never poor because her father, she said, was very smart. The family, including the children, all helped with the store when they weren’t at school or studying.

France had commissioned schools and hospitals built around the country, so that the Lao could read and stay healthy. Public education was free, which was fortunate because most of the population was poor. Laos was and is mostly a subsistence agricultural society, farmers grew enough food to feed themselves and their families. So, any sort of robust market would exist only in larger villages or cities.

My mother said the walk to school took 25 minutes. Although the school was tuition-free, it didn’t provide any food when it was lunch time. So, students had to walk back home to eat, and when it was time, they walked back to school. This meant that my mother and her siblings had to make four trips — about an hour and 40 minutes of walking — to and from school five days a week.

But my mother loved school. She loved learning. Her favorite subject was geography, while her least favorite was history. Because Laos was a French colony at the time, the school taught students the French language along with reading and writing in Lao. She no longer remembers how to speak French.

Life was peaceful in Luang Namtha. She never saw a French official, any soldiers or heard any sounds of fighting until January 1962.

The Battle of Luang Namtha

The battle lasted from January 1962 to early May. It was the first major battle between the Royal Lao Army and the Pathet Lao. Although the communist army was outnumbered by the royal army, battle-hardened soldiers from the People’s Army of Vietnam were among the ranks. A few Vietnamese battalions surprised the royal army in May that forced a retreat. Except for two days in late December 1967, Luang Namtha remained under communist occupation for the rest of the civil war.

Daeng’s memory is fuzzy about this time in her life. Initially, she didn’t mention anything about the battle — only airplanes. But she did remember something about the battle. She said there were sounds of gunfire and cannon fire from the mountains nearby the village.

Her most vivid memory was in March. She and her youngest sister were bathing in the nearby river, which ran through the village, when a military plane flew over. They didn’t know what to do, she said, so they got out of the river and laid down, face up in the sand. The plane dived toward them.

“I thought I was going to die that day,” she said, but the dive bomber didn’t fire. They leapt up, held hands and ran into a grove for cover.

“I was shaking,” she said.

Once the bombers left, she and her sister rushed home where they found the rest of the family in a panic. The Saengkheunes and everyone in the village left to hide in the forest west of the village that same day. Although the forest was three miles west, the walk took a few hours because they had to walk through paddy fields, which were intricately designed. Trails zigged and zagged and curved. The villagers walked to the forest and their homes, back and forth, every night and before sunrise to stay out of the dive bombers' sights.

Fortunately, her grandparents, on her father’s side, lived in a house in the forest. The family stayed with them during the daytime. My mother said she learned how to farm and grow crops during this time.

The forest was where she also learned how to hide from the planes, which were flown by the Royal Lao Army.

The only defense the villagers had was hiding. One tactic was to dig holes where villagers jumped in to hide from shrapnel and ordinances dropped by the bombers. It wasn’t perfect but it was all they could do.

The dive bombers stopped flying over the village by early May. Then, the communists entered and occupied the village one week later.

Leaving Home

Life was oppressive under the occupation, my mother said. The soldiers constantly harassed her father. He, being a successful businessman with many connections, was a target for the communists' paranoia. They accused him of working with Americans, although they had no proof. Eventually, about one year into the occupation, her father had to leave the village and the family behind. Her father learned that the soldiers were going to arrest him. He escaped under the cover of darkness and made his way to Huay Xai, a village about 100 miles southwest of Luang Namtha.

The soldiers began harrassing the Saengkheunes after her father left, asking the family where Saeng went and if they were in contact with Americans. The family had to leave everything behind and meet up with Saeng in Huay Xai.

My mother doesn’t remember how long she and her family walked or understood how they survived the long journey. They had to cross mountains without any knowledge of the terrains, however there were people who lived in the mountains that guided the family. The mountain people lived in tiny villages, maybe less than 10 houses each.

The family successfully traversed the mountains by paying mountain villagers to guide them. Each guide led them west to the next village, where they would pay another guide and so on. Because the villages were small, there weren’t any houses where the family could sleep. So, they slept under the stars. My mother said the only food they had to eat came from the villagers they met. Every villager they met was nice, she said.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a royal army encampment and were flown to a small village filled with other refugees form the civil war. Her father somehow heard that the family was safe in that village and made his way there.

After six months in the village, the army relocated my mother and her family to Huay Xai.

Huay Xai and Vientiane

The northwestern town of Huay Xai, or Ban Houayxay (there are various English spellings), was and is on the east bank of the Mekong River, boarding Thailand. There were many displaced refugees, my mother said.

Somehow, her father scrounged up enough money to rent a one-story house for the family. He, being a businessman, turned part of the house into a pho restaurant.

My mother and her siblings would help with the restaurant before and after school — washing dishes, busing tables and washing vegetables. Everyone in the family chipped in. The restaurant was successful; enough so that her father used the profits to buy a plot of land and pay for the construction of a new two-story home. The home still stands today with a few upgrades.

They gave up the restaurant and started other businesses. Her eldest brother lived in another town by this time with his own family. One of her sisters had a couple of kids, and they lived in Huay Xai with the rest of the family. Her father made enough from the restaurant to buy a boat with a motor, which one of her brothers used to ferry passengers north on the Mekong River, and a truck, which another brother used the as a taxi. The one who worked as a taxi driver didn’t want to continue with school after finishing his primary education. He wanted to make money right away.

Her father’s business involved making a selling corn powder used in various foods. The powder is made from corncob. The cob is dried out and then made into a powder. He grew some on his own, but he also bought cobs from people who would throw them in the trash. He sold his powder around town and to companies across the river in Thailand.

By this time, my mother finished primary school. She wanted to continue learning, so she applied for and took exams to enter the nursing and teacher schools. She wanted to go to the nursing school because it was her dream as a small child.

“I wanted to help people when they get sick. When I see an old lady, who was sick, I feel a need to help,” she said.

But she went to the teacher school because it was the first exam she passed.

Laos' educational system was different at that time. After primary school was a sort of vocational school that prepared students for advanced courses at what would be considered a university. All public schools were tuition-free, including the university. If students got in, they were good to learn.

The teacher school was in Luang Prabang, the historic and former capital of Laos. This was the first time my mother lived away from home. She missed her family and cried for a month. During the summer break, she volunteered as a nurse at a local hospital. Even though she wasn’t going to school for nursing, she stilled wanted to learn.

She said she had a lot of fun in Luang Prabang. She and her 11 roommates would talk for hours. Her favorite pastimes were table tennis and playing on the girls basketball team.

After graduating from the teacher school, she enrolled in the university in Vientiane, the capital city. But she had reservations about Vientiane. She was afraid because of rumors about the capital. “They rape in there,” she said.

Vientiane, at the time, was a den of sin and corruption — there were casinos, brothels and government officials embezzled or sold on the black market aid meant for Lao peasantry. Opium and alcohol were common vices in certain parts of the city, but consumption escalated after American soldiers arrived. There was money to be made and carnal American appetites to satiate and exploit. The women dressed liberally — tight clothes, jeans, dresses that showed a little skin.

My mother was shocked by the way the women dressed and walked. Yes, the women even walked differently, but my mother couldn’t explain exactly how. My mother stood out in Vientiane. People could tell she was from a rural village, she said, because she dressed conservatively.

However, she didn't have to worry about the city. The university was just outside of Vientiane on the north side. She and the other students lived in the dorms, so they didn’t have to deal with the city unless they wanted to.

My mother, by this time, had a boyfriend, but he didn’t go to the university. Her sister-in-law introduced them in Luang Prabang. He was a business man, half Chinese and Thai. She was 16 when they met, and he was 21. They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend by any modern American standard, but it was a long-distance relationship. They wrote each other letters, she said.

By 1975, the Pathet Lao, also known by this time as the Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP), had taken most of the country. American forces left Vietnam in 1973, leaving Saigon open to the Vietnamese communists. With LPRP’s allies victorious and its opposition weakened, an LPRP takeover was inevitable. The “domino” that President Dwight D. Eisenhower predicted partly came true.

Pathet Lao’s propaganda arm blasted the airwaves calling for massive protests against the corrupt Royal Lao Government. There were two big protests in 1975: A May Day protest, which bolstered the communists’ confidence, and second big protest in November.

My mother took part in the November protest, but she didn’t know it was the Pathet Lao that called for it. She said a group representing workers and students organized everything, and that the protest was about ending government corruption and resisting the Pathet Lao.

The Kingdom of Laos surrendered to the Pathet Lao in December.

My mother graduated from the university six months later and moved back to Huay Xai to teach science in a vocational school. She taught for two years before making her escape.

Leaving Laos

Before everything, my mother wanted to travel after graduation. She wanted to visit other Asian countries and live life. But life had other plans.

She said life was dark under the LPRP. The streets of Huay Xai were no longer illuminated by lampposts, and she said there wasn't a future in Laos. “It was like a cemetery,” she said.

The LPRP were Leninists. They felt that to bring about communist state, in which the proletariat ruled democratically, it was necessary to use force and establish a “vanguard party” that used authoritarian methods. They outlawed private businesses. Only government stores distributed food. They gave out one pound of sugar a month, my mother said.

The regime also held “seminars,” which was a euphemism for a labor camp. The former King of Laos died while in a camp.

The LPRP took people they knew worked for the Royal Lao Government, aided American agents or suspected of sympathizing with Americans. A stay at one of the camps ranged from a few weeks to a couple of years.

The communist soldiers made a mess of the Huay Xai’s Capitol. They smashed toilets and mirrors, my mother said. Occasionally, women, including students, were coerced into a dance ceremony for the communist troops. The soldiers wore their formal attire, but they carried their rifles the entire time, she said, even while dancing.

My mother thought to herself, “why is my life like this?”

She made her escape just before the summer of 1978. One of her colleagues at the school asked my mother if she wanted to cross the Mekong River into Thailand.

“I told my dad, I told my mom, too. I said I’m going to go. I can’t live here anymore because it’s so dark. I didn’t see a future,” she said. “I had to escape.”

My mother has always been a straight arrow. She followed the rules and never did anything like sneak out of a dorm room. So, she didn't know what she was doing. She was scarred to cross the river. Her colleague and one of my mother’s students took care of everything. They obtained a small boat and casted off toward Thailand. My mother sat while her colleague and the student rowed.

Halfway across the Mekong River, a patrol spotted them and fired their rifles. Everyone on the boat laid down immediately and played dead. They let the river current take them across. No one was hurt.

They encountered a group of strangers as the boat neared the Thai shore. The strangers told them to hurry.

Refugee Camp

My mother lived in a refugee camp for about three months before she emigrated to the U.S., a much shorter stay than her relatives who left Laos five years earlier. The Hmong, an ethnic minority in Laos, have stayed the longest because of their involvement with the CIA. Many fear persecution from the current Laos government.

There were several camps in Thailand after 1975, each with its own aesthetic. The refugees lived in poor conditions but that didn’t stop some type of economic market from developing. Money made its way into the camps, sent by family members who already resettled somewhere. People could leave the camps with permission and for a singular purpose. Some were driven to cities where they bought food and goods, such as radios and clothes, and sold them in the camps.

My mother didn’t know how it all started or how it all worked. All she knew was that it existed. And because of this market, her relatives could rent a house that was built inside the camp. The original builders apparently rented out their house. Refugees were also allowed to work and earn money. My mother’s sister-in-law sold some type of medicine. Because of her relatives, my mother didn’t stay in the camp very long. They went through most of the vetting and paper work, so all they had to do was add her to their roster.

Although refugees could buy and sell food, not everyone could.

Refugees without families sending them money relied on rations, food and medical services provided by international refugee charities. There were whole families — adults, children and infants — in the camps, and not everyone had their own shelter. There were communal structures that protected against the hot summer sun, but not all of them had walls to keep out insects, including mosquitoes.

There were a few countries taking in Lao refugees, including Germany, France and the United States. My mother went to the U.S. simply because it was the first interview that came along. The interviewer said she could go because she was an in-law. He asked about her immediate family — names, how many siblings, nieces, nephews and where they all lived — in case some of them decided to leave Laos. The interviewer told her that when she arrived in the U.S., it was necessary for her eldest in-law to assume the role of her mother.

She was very lucky, she said.

One week after her interview, she and her relatives were taken to Bangkok. Like Vientiane, she heard horror stories about Bangkok. She was freighted. They were placed in a hostel for five days, awaiting their flight. People would just lay on the floor, she said.

They were told that they were going to live in Orange County, California.

Starting a New Life in Orange County

Representatives from the International Rescue Committee met my mother and her family at John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana in September 1977. One of the representatives was Hmong, who translated for the two white representatives.

During the flight, my mother and her relatives couldn’t keep the food down. Their bodies weren’t used to the kind of food served on the plane. They said they wanted to eat something that wouldn’t make them sick, so they were taken to an Asian restaurant. My mother thinks it might have been a Korean restaurant by the type of noodles used. After that, they were taken to their new home — an apartment complex next to Knott’s Berry Farm in Buena Park.

My mother, in only two weeks, learned enough English to get by. French and English were similar, she said, so learning was easy. But she couldn’t continue with classes because of economic constraints. Her brother-in-law, who oversaw the money given by the IRC, said they could no longer afford the daily ¢10 bus fare to the church where the class was held.

My mother wanted to continue with classes, but she understood that conserving money was necessary. So, she babysat her nieces and nephews while her relatives looked for work.

Eventually, my mother also had to find work. An IRC agent drove her around looking for jobs. One of these stops was at a photography studio. It had a position open for developing film in a dark room. The owner was Swedish, she said, and she was scared of him. He was a large man and she was a tiny woman with no power and limited English proficiency. She feared for her own safety.

She eventually found work with an optics manufacturer in Irvine, making precision lenses used in specialized measurement tools. Her starting wage was $3.75 an hour. The company had a lot of workers, especially Lao refugees, which to her was a sign of a stable job.

This was also where my mother met my father. He was already employed with the company. He drove everyone that could fit in his late 1970’s Toyota Celica, and he didn’t mind picking up someone out of the way. My mother, by this time, lived in Huntington Beach, which was in the opposite direction to Irvine from where my father lived in Garden Grove. He picked her up every day for work.

Their interactions were mostly in the carpool and at work, my mother said. All they did was work and go home. They liked each other, but they didn’t go out on dates — it wasn't a custom. They moved in together, within a year of meeting, to an apartment in Anaheim. They married in December 1979.