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I.
OPINION
II. EDUCATION
by Douangdeuane Douangdara by Douangdeuane Douangdara by Douangdeuane Douangdara
by Montha Phavongxay by Check Kirivong by Douangchit Mounghane
by Anonymous by Von PhrakonKham by Check Kirivong by Douangdeuane Douangdara by Von PhrakonKham
by Douangdeuane Douangdara by Von PhrakonKham by Von PhrakonKham by Douangdeuane Douangdara by Sounantha Phoumarath
by Von PhrakonKham
by Douangchit Mounghane
by Montha Phavongxay by Douangchit Mounghane |
By Douangdeuane Douangdara
Sitting in front of the TV, watching the news of the war in Afghanistan and Iraq reminded me of the old war in our country Laos. Born in the country side and raised in the city, I experienced the effect of the war and the destruction of life. Given those circumstances, my heart-breaking experience does not compare with those living in the heavy war zone areas. In 1979, I left my motherland with a big a scar in my heart. I often hear stories of people who have survived the killing fields. My heart aches and cries inside as I wish I could change the past, and have the power to make this world a better place for all.
There was heavy fighting near the airport, just a couple miles from our home. The military artery stations were south of the village, and the sound of the machine gun and bombs shook the house and knocked our heads off the pillows at nights. Dad had dug a bunker behind the kitchen and we were warned to eat dinner early and finish our homework before the sound of the first gun fire. When the bombing was intense, we all would pile up in that little bunker with a flashlight in hand, cuddling tight, quiet, and praying.
When the sun rose the next morning, everyone went on their daily routine like nothing had happened. Mom and Dad went to work and my siblings and I attended school. The market was busy: full of people bargaining, selling, and trading as usual. I was amazed how calm people were after the long scary and sleepless night. At dinner that night, we learned how many were killed during the raid and how many prisoners-of-war were captured, and which towns were captured by the enemy troops. On one occasion, I remembered Mom telling me before she left for work, "If the fighting comes close to town, take your brothers and sisters and follow the big folks where ever they go." By the late afternoon, we heard rumors that the enemy troops were on the outskirts of the town and the sound of the gunfire got closer and louder. People murmured that there would be an attack when night fell. Mom and Dad were not home, and I was responsible for taking my siblings to safety. The youngest sibling was still in the crib; what a weighty task for an eight year old child! Later, my aunt came over and instructed me to pack and prepare my siblings for her call to escape. Confused and scared I packed everything from kok and sak (mortar and pestle) to a bag of rice. My aunt saw my big travel bag and was furious at my excessiveness. She responded that with all that stuff, I would not get far and would be killed before I could even leave the house.
One of my uncles was drafted before his eighteenth birthday. He left behind his aging Mom whom he was caring for by growing a rice farm in the country. I remembered Grandma saying how proud she was to see him in his military uniform; he looked very handsome dressed compared to his old worn out and smelly farm clothes. He used to come home during his leave and give us the bamboo toys he had made for us while away. I was always anxious for his return, so I could visit him and Grandma after school let out. For a while, no one heard news of him. My excitement to see him again was shattered when news traveled that he was missing and it was unclear how, when, and whether he was alive. Later we discovered that he was on a boat with his team riding down the Mekong River when they were suddenly attacked; he was knocked out of the boat and no one saw him again. On the other hand, there were rumors that one of his own troops murdered him, and the boat attack was just a cover up. It was so sad for me to discover that he would never come home again.
Mom died shortly before Grandma. Her death was such a horrible death and included my six-month unborn baby brother. Dad was away and Mom had worked hard, even during her pregnancy. She had fallen during work and began to hemorrhage. Instead of going to the hospital, she went home and ordered a drink of coconut juice. By nightfall, she was in severe pain and had lost a lot of blood. My aunt took her to the hospital while my cousins went out asking for blood donations. By this time, the country was in the black stage of transition from our kingdom of Laos to the communist regime. Most of the elite and educated either fled or escaped the country to avoid persecution in the prison camps, so finding skilled physicians and nurses would be a daunting task. Mom was left under the care of an unskilled nurse to perform surgery. My two cousins who left the house to seek blood donations were jailed for breaking the new curfew; people were not allowed in the streets after sunset and before sunrise. Mom's spirit left her just as much of her blood flowed out of her frail body. My aunt told me that Mom had mumbled my name until her last breath, asking that I care for my siblings.
Later, I learned from my cousin about Grandma's death. She was living by herself and was too old to move around without assistance. Before the war, relatives would regularly visit and take her food. However, during the midst of the heavy fighting, for an entire week, her family was unable to reach her. By the time they gained access and came down from the mountains to bring her food, her body had long expired; it was so thin and bony, and her skin was so dry that it stuck to the straw mat. What sufferings resulted directly and indirectly from this nonsense war.
Now I work as a hair dresser here in the United States. During my work, people tell me a lot of stories. One day, while I was giving a young Lao lady named Nang Bounlong a hair permanent, she chatted about her plans to visit with her long lost sister. Bounlong was born and lived in the northern part of Laos. Her family and the rest of the villagers seem like nomads constantly on the move. When the government troops won a battle, they would move the whole village to a safe area. Then the enemy troop would attack and capture the village, shuffling them to their base. As soon as the villagers could rebuild their shacks and grow crops, another fighting would break out and again they would be moved. They were constantly on the move and attempted to please who ever their master was at the time. The moving went on for so long and her family dwindled in numbers. She remembers having a younger sister, and the last thing she remembered about her homeland and family was the long night of heavy fighting. The following morning, she had awoken breathing the smoke of the burning homes and the smell of fresh blood. Next to her was a dead pig, when she opened her eyes she saw a dark cloud and the black chalky sticks that once supported houses. There was no one nearby alive, just dead bodies everywhere. She cried in abandonment and could not find sight of her parents or her baby sister.
Bounlong walked tirelessly and randomly down the strip of the mountain. Suddenly she heard a noise rise from behind a big tree and the voice of a man begging for help. She was just about to flee until the injured man displayed his bloody hands waving for help. She hesitated, but stepped forward to save the wounded soldier. Since she saved his life, he adopted her and brought her to America. Bounlong now has her own family and lives a better life, but the memories of playing with her sister continues to flash in her dreams. One day out-of-the blue, Bounlong received a call from California; someone knew a young lady who may possibly be her sister. That day she came in to style her hair; it was one of the most exciting days of her life. She was getting all pretty before her much anticipated trip to visit her baby sister. It was my pleasure to share a small part of her happiness and know that this "Children of War" story may end in reunion and joy.
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