I don't think I'll forget the overnight local special bus complete with a scenic mud pushing game. The speed boat was somewhat interesting - a 6 hour ride was turned into an 8 hour mild run with people, fruit and meat (including a full deer) being dropped along the way on either side of the boarder. At one point my first speed boat driver decided the engine wasn't working well so he stoppe dthe boat on the Mekong and put the boat into shore. While we were taking a stretch break (since we were packed with no leg room) the driver took off from shore leaving us in the middle of nowhere on the Mekong. After 10 minutes he is back with a smile on his face. After being dropped in the Laos side across from Chiang Kong, an American and I race for the boarder/boat crossing before it closed. All was well for a night in Chiang Kong spent with a nice local family.
UVic International Seminar Participants
Photo: Philip Jull
2002: Viet Nam
The commune I was staying in was amazing. I can't get over how friendly the people there were to me. I could never manage to walk past anyone's house without being invited in for tea. I lived with a woman and her 10 month old baby. It was strange because I'm three years older than her and she was married with children. We were given bicycles to share between two of us but it was really old and constantly being repaired. The President of the People's committee in our commune was hilarious. He was always trying to find the Canadian girls Veitnamese hsbands. He was one of the few people in the commune with a karaoke machine so we would go over to his place. I have learned to do my laundry well by hand and shower using a bucket. My Vietnamese is still extremely bad so I end up doing most of my communicating through pointing and sharades-it's amazing how much information you can convey to someone that way!
Photo: Alison Woodruff
2001: Viet Nam
When I thought of International Development I saw poverty, disparity and sadness. Coming to Viet Nam I expected to find communities with no answers and no prospects for the future. When I arrived in Hanoi all of the faces on the street looked the same and change seemed as stagnant as the life of the woman selling bread outside the hotel each morning. By the time we had traveled the coast, arriving in Ho Chi Minh City and passing the same xe om drivers each day faces became familiar and personalities began to emerge. Like the "learning by doing" approach we saw in many of the projects we visited, development became a communication process for both sides to learn. Without this opportunity to share with others from a different culture and environment my learning would have been like looking in a mirror-I would not see anything new, just my own reflection. The little girl selling books on the street no longer a nameless victim of poverty but rather my friend who listens to my stories and trusts me with hers.
Photo: Anne Worthington
Ignoring the warnings of the constant onslaught of insects and the hard 90-degreed wooden seats I decided to tuff it out to Sapa. I was amongst a group that I presumed to be a family. A middle-aged man traveling with two women and a small girl. Through bits and pieces of my lack of Vietnamese and his ernest attempt at English it was decided that I was a Canadian but that I looked Vietnamese. I think this was a bit perplexing for them because I continued to get smiles and stares as the family all chatted. Well many a mosquito and black fly later, not to mention a rather numb backside, I was awoken to this man offering me a boiled egg and foil wrapped dipping salt as a midnight snack. One for his daughter and the other for me. He had bought them from someone selling them through the window of the train at one of the rest stops. It was such a kind and sweet gesture and as much of a cliche that it may seem, there really are actions that speak louder than words and go beyond any language barriers. A random selfless gesture from a near stranger.
Photo: Lara Quigley
2000: Nepal
From the moment I first arrived it was obvious that the camps were no Shangri-La. Large families, some with more than a dozen members, live in thatched mud huts the size of a suburban backyard shed. Few people have beds or mattresses. Most sleep on reed mats on the floor, offering little protection from the biting ants and bugs. My days were spent walking from hut to hut with a Bhutanese interpreter interviewing people and identifying those most in need of assistance. But though I was merely a volunteer on a UNHCR program, many of the refugees saw me as someone with a great deal of authority and hoped I would intercede on their behalf. It made me very uncomfortable as i had no more power than them to change their situation. Nonetheless, I was able to chronicle some of their concerns, particularly those of the youth. For the younger kids, Bhutan is a country they've never known, a faraway place that exists only in their parent's stories. But many of the older youth have memories of their homeland. The harsh reality and bleak prospects of teh refugee camps fuels their strong desire to return. I never grew accustomed to the shocking stories of the refugees.
Photo: Heather Fisher
2003: Benin
coming this summer....
Photo: Zoe Howe