Round Two

The keyboard has been dusted and the mouse de-cobwebbed but my mind is still rusty from a lack of writing and an overwhelming, yet much-anticipated, return to Vietnam.  Sarah and I have been back for exactly a week, having touched down in the sauna that is Saigon for another crack at this spinning, whirling city existence. I wasn’t sure what to expect or what emotions would unwrap themselves from my intestines to coil themselves around my aorta and Hoover my eyeballs, but I’m definitely better prepared and to date the chemical balances have played their part, but can you ever be totally prepared for this place? It’s absolutely nuts, in the macadamia flavoured ice-cream laced with noisy pecans kind of way. It takes some time (nearly exactly a year) away to find some perspective as to how unique – and I use that word brazenly against the better wishes of that fierce invalid home from hot climates Switters – this country and city really is. Who designed this place, or did it just organically grow, like a life-force of it’s own into the chaotic coexistence of rushing people? If I were an anthropologist I’d have my a buffet plate full of this place.

I’ve probably had a dozen or more people ask me, puzzled at why we’ve left the ‘greener climes’ and prospects of Oz behind to back track, “Why did you come to Vietnam?” Sometimes I spluttered a reply that sounded, to me, more like an excuse, trying to justify the decision. Bollocks and brittle bones. None more of that. It’s a step forward in the direction we want to go and I can feel it in my marrow, in that shining ball we have inside us, that things just feel right. It’s the same feeling that I had when I asked Sarah to marry me. Every sinewy fibre says it feels right. For those of you who live in this clamorous, pecan ice-cream of a city, with its wealth of gastronomic goodies, ambition and potential, its accommodating locals and carefree lifestyle, just look around you and rephrase that question to: “What took you so bloody long?!”

That said, I am glad to be back to what feels like “home”, of which I guess I now have three. Having spent the last two months living a transient lifestyle out of a suitcase between Australia, South Africa and Oz again, I am relieved to have finally settled again. Next week we’ll unpack our new life on the dizzying heights of the 9^th floor in a larnie new apartment block, fully equipped with touch-pad security, a 25m pool, tennis courts and shiny (and as yet non-sweat stained) gym in a leafy and unexplored corner of District 7.

I’ll try and document, in pictures and words, this new experience. I vow to keep this rickety clunker of a computer mote-free and keep those devious devils of rust and lethargy at bay and blog it out to the end.

Take two.

Things to look forward in Oz No.1

I'm moving to, officially, the fattest country in the world. I'm looking forward to putting my investigative journalism skills to the test by uncovering some of the reasons behind this phenomenon. Hey, I've already started, look what I found: The Bogan Burger! If you don't know what a Bogan is - check out this site dedicated to their ilk (they're sort out like the Aussie version of karavaankinders or someone from Hobhouse or Boksburg). Anyways, the Bogan Burger is "a big Turkish bread roll stuffed with a steak, a chicken schnitzel, a potato cake, bacon, egg, cheese, onion, pineapple and beetroot and stands 13cm high". I'm getting more excited about moving every day. This is going to be great!

Leaving Lagos

Over the last two years in Vietnam I’ve been curiously following the fate of the Nigerian community in Vietnam and have had some contrasting emotions and reached divergent conclusions.

In general, Nigerians living in Vietnam have been ostracised by not only locals but other foreigners alike, due to nefarious behaviour a number of them are involved in. I know this is not a localised opinion, from South Africa to England where Nigerians are seen “almost the world over as potential criminals and potential fraudsters”, according the country’s own Minister of Information and Communication, Professor Dora Akunyili, in a BBC podcast “This Week in Africa”. For example, type in ‘Nigeria’ in Google and the tenth most popular pre-emptive search option is ‘Nigeria Scam’.

This view is such a pervasive and global one that the Nigerian government have initiated a national “rebranding campaign” to try and reverse the negative perceptions held by others of the country’s people, by various plans and means such as targeting internal problems first, like corruption and other financial crimes.

Prof Akunyili is known as a strong and defiant woman who has faced similar uphill battles like taking on massive drug cartels in her stint as Director General of NAFDAC. The plan faces a lot of opposition after the “Heart of Africa Project” of the previous regime didn’t have much impact and the opposition argue the money could rather be spent on more immediate problems. On the other hand, journalist Uche Nworah debates well in favour of the project in the Daily Triumph, pointing out Nigerians should not “let others define who they are and how they relate with one another”.

Whether it will be successful is still debatable, but I’ve experienced first hand the way Nigerians are treated in Vietnam. It’s the tale of two Chris’: Let’s call them Chris D and Chris O.

Both are from Nigeria (both of the Igbo tribe I believe) and were lured to Vietnam by career prospects – Chris D is a 22-year old football player and was looking to break into a league where he could get some experience on his CV and make enough to get by to possibly be offered a trial in England with a decent club, and thus be able to provide for his remaining family in Lagos.

Chris O came as a businessman, vague as his “business intentions” were, I think he came looking to purchase fabric or clothes wholesale and ship it back to Nigeria, either to family or business partners to be sold at a profit. The reason I assume this is because I’ve spent some time talking to some Nigerians on numerous nights over a beer down in the Pham Ngu Lao area trying to pick their brains about what they do, without coming over offensive, as I was just genuinely interested in what they were up to. It seems a lot of the Nigerians here, as far as I understand, are of the Igbo ethnic group, and are attempting the get into the import/export textiles game. It’s difficult as their initial capital is low and they have to wait many months after sending the goods, usually clothes like pallets of jeans and t-shirts, home for a return on their profits due to the shipping time, having to wait for the clothes to be sold in Nigeria and money sent back to Vietnam to purchase the next batch.

The pitfalls are numerous, however, and what often happens is that a well-meaning business venture turns into a life of crime. I have a few theories as to why this happens. It doesn’t help that some Nigerian schemers make a quick buck out of luring fellow countrymen to Vietnam under false business pretences and then run off with their cash. Boo on you.

Another problem is the work environment. For example, what many Nigerians (and other Africans, Latin Americans and Eastern Europeans) would do in England when faced with financial and job problems is take up menial, unskilled or low-skilled jobs, such as security or dishwashing. However, being a cheap developing country the unskilled labour market in Vietnam is saturated by Vietnamese who work for extremely basic salaries; there aren’t any labouring or street cleaning jobs available. Even new university graduates work for a monthly average of about $200. Even if some of these jobs were available, a lot of Vietnamese are quite xenophobic and racist regarding black people, as I’ve found out over numerous classroom discussions and explanations with and to my students. If not themselves, they relate stories to me of other Vietnamese who discriminate against blacks in HCM City in various ways such as drivers not allowing them on their buses or restaurant owners banning them from their restaurants.

Peer pressure may also play a role as there is a large Nigerian community, possibly even two or three around HCM City, who live in the same neighbourhood, share houses to cut costs and are usually “in business” together or help each other out in tough times. Both Chris D and Chris O lived in one such community with over 50 Nigerians in Thu Duc District. When faced with capital that had dried up, the lure of becoming part of a “gang” or nefarious enterprises probably had a much stronger attraction than giving up and returning to Nigeria empty-handed and a few thousand dollars lighter. A Nigerian friend who used to live in Vietnam (and went back to the UK because no-one would employ him) used to actively avoid any of his countrymen for this reason.

Most times in turns out that Vietnam is not the ‘promised land’ many of these Africans believe to be when they arrived. Whichever way things go, what often happens is that lack of a fluid income and real business opportunities, very little or no chance of menial work, and a thriving and welcoming “fraternity” of Nigerians can pressure many of them in Vietnam to turn to criminal intent, as happened with Chris O. Chris got involved in drug smuggling, with the help of a Vietnamese woman who was later caught on the Vietnam/China border near Lao Cai Province for trafficking. God only knows what happened to her, as heroin smuggling is punishable by death in both countries, but Chris O was forced to flee to neighbouring Cambodia and hasn’t been heard of since.

Chris D’s story is very different, and the reason I’m writing this story. He had been playing football with my team, the Saigon Raiders, for quite a while and is actually a very good player (when he decides to pass the ball once in a while), agile, strong, fit and skilful. Off the field he’s a soft-spoken guy, who’s crazy about the English Premiership and is very religious (his ring-tone is a ear-splitting Baptist “Haaaallelujah!” sermon). As I said, he came to Vietnam with the idea of breaking into a team, building up experience and maybe making it big in a Western country. Despite a lot of help from the team; being photographed, videotaped and having a Saigon Raiders ID card made (the only player to ever own one), he wasn’t able to get a trial anywhere decent, as he was just not good enough for the big time.

While the rest of us paid membership and guest fees to play, it was decided Chris D could play for free as it was obvious he had nearly no money. Things were moving along okayish until the police started raiding his neighbourhood, obviously suspecting to find a whole crackhouse stacked with guns, a bevy of whores and generally illegal impropriety. They rounded up all the Nigerians they could find, took away their passports as many of their visas had expired (it doesn’t help when you don’t have much cash or a valid employer who’ll pay for a visa extension and you have to pay more than double what other nationalities do). They put them in a detention centre which wasn’t more than a cement cell until they could organise some money to pay for a flight home.

In the first raid, Chris D managed to elude them but they managed to get hold of his passport and refused to give it back until he showed them a ticket out of the country. It seemed the Vietnamese newspapers, such as Thanh Nien, were also running a kind of vendetta against the Nigerians as every week there would be a story of Nigerians involved in criminal activities such as soliciting women and sexual harassment, illegal immigration, fraud, counterfeiting and assault.

The second time the police came for Chris D he got away too but he arrived for a football match obviously shaken up and exhausted as he had to sleep on the floor of an internet café in his neighbourhood to lay low for a while. By this time the Vietnamese government had issued a “blanket ban on Nigerians entering the country following a wave of anti-social and criminal activities reportedly being perpetrated by Nigerian immigrants”.

Thanks to Les, one of the Raiders’ longest-standing members, we put a kitty together to get Chris D out of the country. He estimated that he needed about $250 to get himself a ticket to Cambodia and to get set-up with accommodation there. We got about $230 together when Chris phoned Les saying they had finally caught him and he was being held at the detention centre. Les went over and took him some hot Western food, some cold drinks and gave him the money.

We’re not sure what happened after that or where the money went but Chris phoned Les to say that he had a flight back to Nigeria. The other day he phoned from Lagos to say he had arrived safely and was staying with some of his relatives in the city. He also wanted to find out whether we won our last football match and to thank all the Raiders for their support. Many of his countrymen aren’t as lucky and are still stuck in Vietnam, hiding or detained in the detention centre with no foreseeable solution.

I’m trying to avoid the stupid apple cliché but its true that a number of bad people really spoil it for others with good, honest intentions. Coupled with xenophobia and unique cultural, economic and social conditions, what seems like gold can really turn out to be a lump of coal sometimes.

How to get an Australian visa Saffa style

Yesterday I got a call from the kind folks at the Australian Consular General here in Ho Chi Rock City, informing me that my application for a spouse/partner visa has been approved. Now this is pretty killer for two reasons, one being it came much faster than expected and I don’t even need to go in for an interview with the immigration officer, and two, all the effort of months of paperwork, planning and effort finally came to fruition.

So, for those of you thinking of moving to the land of Vegemite and flies (not even to mention sulking cricketers) in similar fashion, here’s my "No-fail sure-fire visa guide for Saffas":

1) Use your good looks and bubbly personality to charm a beautiful Aussie lass. Erm…easier said than done, especially if you’re blessed with an alluring and totally seductive Souff Effrican accent.

*Mental pick-up line picture*: “Howzit maai cherry, smaak ‘n tjop and dop at maai porsie? Oh sorrry, I forgets you call them a baarbie.” Okay, that’s a bit extreme, in some cases and geographical regions of SA (read: everywhere south of the Vaal River).

2) The next step involves convincing her that the two of you should move in together. A dozen Long Island Ice Teas, duct tape and a big hessian bag should do the trick. When she wakes up, you’ll need one of those Men in Black memory-erasing neural neutralizer and Bruce’s your uncle (make sure you’ve got some strategically placed photos of the two of you together around your pad).

3) Now it’s time to convince her that your relationship has moved to the next level and you should move to that historical haven of thieves, murders and general up-to-no-goods (not Parow – the other one). If all else fails, produce a list of successful South African emigrants who have moved to Oz and promise you’ll be topping that list in the future.

4) Sharpen those scissors because it’s time for a little bit of bureaucratic tape snipping. Before you apply, you guys need a few things.

a) Certified copies of every bloody piece of paper that has your name on it. This includes passport, ID, bills, notices of eviction, ransom letters and any graffitied material with your tag on it (remember scratching your name into the underside of grandma’s coffee table in Standard 5?).

b) Proof that you’re not a complete idiot, vagrant or fugitive. Thus, copies of any qualifications you’ve earned/bought and criminal clearance checks from every country you’ve lived in for more than six months. If you’re not in possession of any of these and you’re living in South-East Asia as I am, a quick trip to Khao San Road in Bangkok, the world capital for all your nefarious shopping needs, will suffice. For a fistful of Baht you can pick up uni degrees (under- and postgraduate) and police clearance certificates to your black little heart’s content. While you’re at it, arm yourself with a International Driver’s License, Reuters Press Card and PADI Master Scuba Diver certification.

c) Confirmation that your relationship is “true and genuine” (thank god for that brain-numbing neutralizing earlier, huh). Write a few testimonies (in different styles and fonts) and bribe some randoms off the street to sign on the dotted line. Something like “I’ve known blablabla and blehblehbleh for three years and can attest to the fact that they are in a loving and authentic relationship” will do. Next, go to a photo studio with some nice backdrops like palm trees, a jungle and the New York Skyline and get some pics taken. Add some info like “This is us at the Great Wall of China in 2006” and “This is us at the Ruins of Zimbabwe 1998-2009” and make sure to wear different clothes or even cut your hair for the last few photo shoots so it looks like you’ve been together for a while. Photoshop in your families and you’re sorted.

d) Fill-in the application forms. You may want to prepare for this one. Ask your physical trainer for a number of wrist and finger strengthening exercises as you’re going to have to sign your name about 21 gazillion times. Alternatively, get one of these bad boys.

e) Ahhh, the medical (violation) check-up, including a full-body cavity search. Be prepared to be poked, prodded, pricked and provoked by a bevy of white-coated evil people. They check your mental state too, so if they ask you which rugby or football team you support do not under any circumstances, no matter how dear they are to you, say the Stormers or Newcastle United, as you’ll soon be wearing a white coat too, albeit a slightly tighter, less-snug version.

f) With a clean bill of health and all the paper work filled in, all that’s left is to line the pockets of the Man with about AUD$1500 for some more CCTV cameras and research into fire-resistant Eucalyptus trees (or exploratory studies into breeding out retarded pyromaniacs from the gene pool).

5) Okay, it’s out of your hands now so crack open a cold one, sit back and wait for the Officialdom to make their decision – it’ll happen surprisingly fast in comparison to what you’re used to back home. If they come to the conclusion that you’re not worthy to bless their hallowed shores , hide in Andries Bekker’s rugby boots on their next Super 14 trip Down Blunder.

And that, my dear friends, is how you do it Saffa Style.

*Disclaimer: This is all rubbish and I take absolutely no responsibility for any of it. There are proper channels and procedures in place when applying for an Australian visa which will ensure accountability and impartiality on behalf of both parties. I didn’t have to abduct and brainwash my girlfriend, for some indefinable reason I think she actually likes me. Oh, and Aussie cricketers aren’t too bad actually.

By the typing of my thumbs

Something wicked this way comes.

The bugle call

To linger or loiter, dilly-dally, drag, lag, postpone or prolong. Whether it’s waiting for a rainy day, idleness, or indolence. An excuse by any other name would smell as rancid as a lazy, sweaty butt-crack plying its shady trade on the couch as an undercover kartoffel.

Thus, let me embark (once more!) upon the road which I have trodden thus far – with lukewarm results and blisters of note. To blog! Oh, blesseth the soul of Mr Berners-Lee, he who hath brought us such glory and prosperous wealth of mind in an era which, at times, seemed floppy-disk weary and Commodore bleary. Mr Berners-Lee, who has forced the task upon me to continue the journey of star and sickle, alt-key and enter. Let us, in times of grave peril, hearken to the call so as to steady the heart and shake off the yoke of procrastination and further disengage souls from more important matters. Let’s go.

Hola!

Just a quick word in to break, to borrow the overused term, the hiatus (gotcha Brian!). Things have been progressing steadily. We moved into our new place this weekend and everything went pretty smoothly. The next issue is getting the internet and cable hooked-up, thus the photos of Cambodia, which should have been up nearly a month ago, will have to wait a few more weeks. Hopefully once everything is settled things will regain a semblance of normality (ie: regular, once-in-a-blue-moon-after-the-cow-jumped-over-it-and-hell's-frozen-over, kind of posts).

Chiars!

A new beginning, part 2: Old news

Troi Oi, Mr President!

25 May 2007

HCM CITY, VIETNAM – President of South Africa, Mr Thabo Mbeki, made a brief and disappointing visit to the southern city on Friday to speak at a business forum of expatriate South Africans and Vietnamese business delegates regarding improved trade between the two former-colonial nations.

Held at the Caravelle Hotel, the business delegation from South Africa consisted of a number of bored government officials, including the always-eloquent Minister of Foreign Affairs Nkosazana Dlamini Zuma, Deputy Minister of the Department of Trade and Industry Rob Davies and Minister of Education Naledi Pandor. A number of CEOs and directors from big South African companies, such as SAB Miller, Absa and Standard Bank, were also present.

Following an enthusiastic welcoming speech by the vice-chairman of the HCMC People’s Committee, Mr Nguyen Trung Tin, Davies led an informative presentation regarding South Africa’s increased trade role in Vietnam. Davies concluded that SA could supply mining technology, pharmaceuticals and chemical and agricultural products to Vietnam and that South Africa did not need the country's cheap labour because “we have our own, thank you” (okay, I made up that last part - journalistic freedom). In 2006, exports to the socialist republic were only $48 million – SA’s 68th biggest trade partner compared with Japan at $6000 million – and imports only $100 million.

The audience, which included two South African expatriates currently residing in the city and working in the education sector, waited anxiously for the promised speech by the president. The business forum was clearly treated as a stopover lacking in diplomatic clout, after official meetings in the capital Hanoi earlier the week, however, and it was evident that the president had no intention of preparing a speech of omniscient proportions for the event, much to the disappointment of the Vietnamese (and the expatriate) businesspeople present. In fact, he had no plan to prepare a speech at all and instead President Mbeki said he would just answer questions, of which most were from his own delegation.

The lack of communication, cooperation and clear goals between the two countries’ business sectors baffled Mbeki, who said “We have to look at the weakness of our organised business structures.” He was clearly surprised by his own delegation member, Mr Rob Davies’, statistics regarding trade between the two developing countries.

Perhaps the most emphatic point Mbeki made was concerning a question set by a Mr Lai Huu Phuong, of Ben Thanh Tourist, inquiring whether any South African tourism company had any plans to invest in Vietnam. Mbeki replied that one has to look at the [lack of cooperation in the tourism industry] from “a holistic point of view”.

“I have my doubts whether South African Airlines have any plans to fly to Vietnam,” he said.

Cam on, Mr President, xin cam on.

A new beginning, part 1: Jungle Beach

“Well imagine that,” you must be thinking. “He actually got off his lazy butt and decided to write something!”

So, as with most things that have become a tad confusing and outdated, one would do well to take it back the beginning, the root so to speak, and look at what it was then and what it has become. Thus, without trying to seem too arrogant, I want take this blog back to what it was when I, in a haze of dust and a revelry of real-life phantasm and delirium, stopped writing on it (barring the lame excuses and drawn out promises of updates). So thus, I introduce “Part 1” of the recount of my experiences to date.

That would take me back to the end of April, after a return from Mui Ne and Al Berg’s visit. I would like you now to imagine the soothing, trebling voice of a stage-hypnotist, softly caressing your senses, an oracular, oral massage of a message:

“Imagine a secluded beach resort, run by an eccentric Canadian, with nothing but beach and semi-private bungalows in sight…imagine being stroked to sleep by the narcotic breaking of waves onto the sand at night, drifting away under your mosquito net…imagine spending the days alternating between lying under a crude bamboo shelter on the beach with your partner, sheltered from the sweltering sun, occasionally venturing out from under the cover to cool off in the blue ocean, and lazing in a hammock, reading your book, drinking a beer, with nothing to worry about except running out of sunscreen or mosquito repellent,” and like the TV Bar chocolate advertisement of old – of the boys sheltering under the bus-stop in the pouring rain - the hypnotist utters the memorable line; “Imagine all of that…NOW!” and snaps his fingers and the audience let out a communal sigh and eyes roll back in their heads as if they’re fervent members of a religious cult.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is Jungle Beach Resort, 60 kilometres north of Nha Trang City on the south-east coast of Vietnam,” croons the tuxedo-clad hypnotist. Yet, suddenly he coughs and stutters. What could be the matter?

“But, all is not what it seems to be,” he rasps. “Beware, the lures of the so-called ‘trek to the waterfall’. It is not as glamorous as it seems. The road is treacherous and the journey arduous,” warns the man on stage, “and the end result will not be what you expected. Where, in your delusions of splendour you saw a shimmering sheet of water falling from the heights of a marble mountain only to splash, bubble and foam into a crystal-clear pool at the bottom, in reality you’ll be greeted by a trickle running down a mossy, sloped rock, ending in a dirty pool with a big irrigation pipe leading into it.”

“Heed this warning, too, of not overstaying your visit beyond the scope of the limited menu, which seems to be about five days, by which time dinners seem to repeat themselves.”

“But,” (the hypnotist is about the bring the audience out of their fantasy) “do not underestimate the healing power of a few days at Jungle Beach, which may cure even those most beset of evils such as city-sadness, city-sickness and covered-in-city-slickness.”

“Now awaken!” He snaps his fingers and you, the audience look around as if waking from a deep slumber, yet with a strange, strong urge to visit this oasis of calm, this fantasy beach, this castle-in-the-sky…