Once one gets past the screamed “Hellos!”, there is a quiet humor and ambition underlying the attitude of most Vietnamese. They always laugh. Women in colorful flower-adorned hats smile softly at my inability to say “seven”. Others hide crinkled eyes beneath their short brims. Sometimes the hats fall off. Women biking or motorcycling ahead of me swerve about in the road, chuckling on their way to retrieve their headgear.
Mr. and Mrs. Ngugom invited us into their home one evening. That day the wind blew harshly and dark skies promised rain. Mrs. Ngugom approached Nakia, who was asking about camping sites. She pointed at the sky, making a shivering motion. Nakia’s female status often causes people to view our group differently than they otherwise might. Men are impressed, women empathetic. This time we took advantage of our female connections to stay at the home of the Ngogom’s.
Adam, who almost drowned once trying to look at fish, soon had Mr. Ngugom trolling him about in the family fish pond. I finally explained to Mrs. Ngugom that I wanted to help wash dishes. She chuckled her carefree laugh. “Ah, help, help” she said correctly pronouncing the word I mispronounced, “fine, help!” She gave me a basin and a quick lesson and I was soon washing away.
Given our experiences of past Vietnamese homestays, we were nervous. How much would this cost? The couple seemed genuinely nice, but what would happen when we tried to leave?
Mr. Ngugom took me to register with the police. We went on his motorcycle, winding through dark forested trails I didn’t recognize. Coming around one corner he almost collided with another bike. “Hahaha,” he chuckled. I chuckled along.
The woman at the house we stopped at laughed when I showed her everyone’s passport. She asked if I was Peter, then gave me back all the passports. “Get up and go!” her gesture said. Allright! Too bad more registrations aren’t like this one.
That night we dined on freshly netted fish and, if I say so myself, extremely clean vegetables. In the morning when we tried to give the family some money, they wouldn’t take it.
Adam banged his head a smashing blow on the low-hanging eaves. Both Mr. and Mrs. Ngugom laughed big belly laughs. Usually I wouldn’t laugh, but their humor was infectious. I waited till I was facing away snortled into my beard. I guess when life is funny, you might as well admit it.
Great story, what kind of fish?? How did Adam catch them? Why aren’t you fishing? I always knew you had good manners to help your hosts. Thank you. – You’re a good man – I’m proud to be your mom. No riding motorcycles – my rule to all of you. Love, M