ON SUNDAYS
On Sundays students who can afford to,
take English lessons to work
for parents who work
in English because English
is where the money is. But
she doesn’t teach English, Sundays
she walks two miles deeper
from the building, where she lives
with other teachers, to find
students weaving bamboo baskets
while watching younger siblings, then
walks between rice fields to
rice fields to find their parents.
And waits. At break or lunch
under a tree, she listens to them
say, the words don’t feed
the stomach. Yet she comes
so that by evening, when they arrive
home, they find her in the yard
drawing words on the dirt
while students work and watch
and say. Then they eat dinner.
Over rice and yam, boiled water
cress and salted radish, they find
other things that feed the stomach:
the height she’s gained with mud
sticking to her thongs; or, as the children
say it, their heads thrown back
in open-mouth laugh, the bamboo snapped
at her weaving; or the way “l”
is tall and skinny, and then “b”
is “l” with their father’s stomach. Soon
her students come to class
because the teacher is nice
and parents don’t want her
to walk so far on Sundays.
(Poem by Nhan Trinh)
Ah, yes. That’s the way it’s done: not with legislation, not by force, not with threats or ridicule, but with the simple appeal of someone who cares, bringing something of value.
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This poem was written by a Vietnamese friend who returned to Vietnam to teach English. He is a loving and caring man who would believe in bringing something of value to others who will never have the opportunities he has had. His family came to this country as boat people as so many others came. He was twelve years old, and obviously missed his homeland after he grew up, so he returned to be of help.
You, having lived in a 2nd world country in a ‘helping’ capacity, get it. I often wonder how many of us give a thought to serving our fellow man?
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Very lovely. I esp appreciate this funny observation, “the height she’s gained with mud/
sticking to her thongs.”.
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Having experienced the increase in height from mud on my thongs/shoes it does make it come home doesn’t it? I always feel like such a shallow person: he wore a jacket which I loved, and would have loved to borrow! He taught me to keep dipping my tea bag in the hot water to get the right color!
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The caring soul of the author shines through.
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