"FATIMA"

It all happened when I was at a tender age of 13.  It was March 1975.  Dad said we needed to pack up in a few days and leave, the Vietcongs were coming!  He said we must keep it a secret. We would pretend to take a long vacation at the beach and escape from there. All just seemed so surreal.  We didn’t have much time to react. The commander in chief of the 10 person household said “leave”, so we’d just follow.  Kids don’t argue and talk back in Vietnam, we obey.

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Despite being in a war torn country with horrible war time news every single day, I was a happy, care-free teenager. Houses being bombed, families without shelter, villages being burned, death toll rising….all that and I somehow found a way to have a “normal” teenage life.  I treasured my best friend, played joyfully with the neighborhood children, and learned to be happy with whatever we had at the moment. Perhaps kids like us learn how to survive horror by creating a “safe bubble” to live in.  It was sweet 13.  

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Before leaving, I remember my family having to secretly burn a lot of documents. My farther worked for the French and the Americans, both would mean a death sentence if discovered by the Vietcongs.  We were leaving the house intact, except for the documents, in case the Vietcongs didn’t succeed in taking over and we’d need to come back to our home.  It seemed like a weird plan to a young girl my age. I felt sad leaving my best friend, the neighborhood kids, and my grandparents but was excited when I heard we might leave for either Australia or the US. I had only seen pictures of these places back then and considered them heavens!

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After staying standby at Long Hai beach for about a month, we were ordered to go to the beach at night to be picked up by our organizers. Time was getting tight. The Vietcongs kept taking over town after town and were close heading to the capital, Saigon, where we lived just a short month ago.  At the beach, there were several hundred of people waiting like us. Each group had a “secret plan” somewhere to take them off shore.   All seemed anxious, worried, but kept to themselves.  It’s a secret mission. Another night there and the crowd on the beach quadrupled. Our boat, organized by my brave Dad and others, came for us.  Everyone in our group was given a secret code, “Fatima”, to get on the boat. Without it, can’t get on… just like in a James Bond movie.  Our boat with 10 families in it took off.  I got sea sick and nearly passed out so I couldn’t recall anything about that day.  All I knew is when I became alert enough the following day, I heard a yelling out of “There’s an American ship that way, speed up! They will pick us up”.  Is this true? The word “American” meant “A Dream” for me. Sure enough, I saw a huge American ship getting closer and closer in sight.  Hope filled my chest.  My Dad, the boat commander in chief, communicated with the ship crew and with a strong yes, the crew agreed to take all of us onto their ship. Thank God my Dad spoke English! They tied our little boat to their ship and, with a crane, lowered a basket down to our boat so we could get in it. Only 7-10 people could get in a basket at a time. The crew then raised it up, let it land on their ship and opened it so we could get out.  We were not allowed to take any belongings with us.  As the children went first, I went in the basket with some of my siblings and other kids. I remember being worried of losing my parents but then I braved up for my siblings, saying “don’t worry about a thing, I am here”! 

The next 24 hours on the US ship was surreal.  Slowly, boats and boats approached the ship.  These people probably learned of this US ship picking Vietnamese refugees up, so they all came.  Our family of 10 was given a spot at the corner of the ship by the balcony.  Looking down, I could see about 10 boats, then 50, then about 100 in a matter of hours.  They looked like ants coming fast for the sugar cube.  Every boat sped up towards the ship with the hope of being picked up.  Things became chaotic. There was a lot of crying, yelling, and shoving on the boats.  Before the basket could be lowered onto a boat for people to get in, some started to jump onto it or hang on so tight it couldn’t even open.  The orderly basket process slowly failed to work.  The minute it hit the boat floor, there were already 100 people there waiting to throw themselves onto it.  If they couldn’t get on, life ended for them.   I witnessed something that remains in my heart for a long time. There was a lady hanging onto the basket from the outside, as she could not get inside the basket.  When the basket was raised, half way up, she either got too exhausted or passed out, she let go of the holding and fell into the ocean.  I screamed watching from the ship but my voice seemed lost amongst the chaos. She fell and took her dream into the ocean with her. All became blurry to me as I saw more and more people falling into the ocean similarly or in another way.  Slowly the ship became way overfilled with refugees on board.  It was getting dark. I assumed the crew couldn’t take any more refugees so they had to take off, leaving boats and boats full of people with their hands up waving for help. They cried and yelled hopelessly as the ship pulled away.  Their only life line was now gone. The sky darkened quickly.  Night came.  I was 13 turning 18, all in one day.  

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On our second day on the ship, the news came that the Vietcongs did take over Vietnam. The adults cried and cried. The kids just got very quiet.

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After another few days on the ship, our family was flown to refugee camps in Guam and then Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. There, for 3 months, we slept in hot tents, awaiting news on where each family would be going to.  Adults worried and worried. Kids were kids. We happily learned English, made new friends and tried to imagine our new life in America.  Heaven felt closer and closer day by day to me.

Our family was sponsored by a Catholic parish in a little tiny town by the name of Ferriday, Louisiana.  We got there in August 1975.  My Mom and Dad had a few hundred dollars to their names. Each kid has a few sets of clothes. None spoke English, except for my Dad.  One tiny rented house with 3 bedrooms for 10 people.  Yet, we knew that whatever the circumstances, we will overcome, as we have reached heaven, the Land of The Free.  We all were placed in school in a matter of days. I hardly understood anything the teacher said but I loved it.  I wanted to learn, to experience my new homeland with all of me.  I grew quickly and grew to love my heaven.  At times, I still think of the lady who fell from the basket and took her heaven with her into the ocean. I still think of the small boats full of people that night. What happened to them? Did they ever get picked up by another ship? Or did they vanish into the ocean? Did they, like thousands of others, get robbed, tortured, raped, and killed by pirates? Did all their dreams go with them into the ocean, too?  

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