Stronger

The past weeks have been hard on the Blue Dragon team. Sorry for the silence, both on the blog and on Facebook, but it's difficult to 'get back to normal' while everyone is still grieving.

We haven't been sitting about listlessly, though. We still have more than 1300 kids in our care who need us for support, and many of them have also been affected by Nghia's death.

Over the years, Nghia had lent a hand to many other young disadvantaged people, and recently he was looking out for his older brothers and a group of boys who were unemployed. These kids are all devastated, and Blue Dragon has had to step up to help them through these weeks.

More than a month ago, I wrote about our sadness at one of the kids from our Shelter being detained to a Reform School for 2 years. We believe he has a case for being released, and are still working on that, although the signs are all bad so far.

A lot of effort is also going in to our search for a new centre. Some time during this year, Blue Dragon needs to move out of its current building, which means our drop-in centre, classrooms, lunch room, and office all need to relocate. This is a major undertaking, and finding a new building (or land) which can fit us all in is taking a long time. Much of my own time over the past 2 weeks has been out looking at buildings - I feel like I know enough to become a real estate agent now. But it's been draining, and I look forward to having some good news about our plans.

The strength of our kids and staff has kept Blue Dragon going through these tough times. Now, just as Nghia would want, we must all be strong for the kids who need us.

And a quick note of thanks once again to all who have been in contact with messages of support. These have been very much appreciated.

A death in the family

The news on Friday February 24 was a massive blow. One of our boys, 20 year old Nghia, was killed in a hit-and-run near his home in the countryside.

Nghia had been on his way home to collect some paperwork that he needed to open his second mobile phone shop in Hanoi. This is a young guy who had overcome major difficulties in life to become a real 'success story'. And here at Blue Dragon, he was greatly loved. The 100 or so people who packed into our drop-in centre the following Monday were a testament to that.

I was particularly close to Nghia; I was the person who first met him on the streets and helped him get back to his family. Over the years, we had a great friendship and could call on each other for anything. Right at the start of January, Nghia walked into our office wearing a jacket that was far too big for him. When I commented on what a nice jacket it was, he took it off and gave it to me. It fitted perfectly, so he insisted I keep it. Talk about "giving me the shirt off his back." That was typical Nghia. Everyone who knows him has a similar story.

Losing him so suddenly and so unexpectedly has been tough. Really tough. I still find myself wondering if maybe I'm confused; maybe it wasn't him after all. Maybe it's all just been a bad dream.

Through this past week, I have found myself deeply moved by the whole Blue Dragon family - the staff and kids alike. At times when I have had no solace to offer, no strength to share, I have felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see one of my team or one of our older kids, also with tears in their eyes, reaching out to support me. It's not supposed to be like this; I'm supposed to be the strong one leading Blue Dragon through a difficult time.

What a beautiful family I have, that they are strong for me when I am the weak one.

Over the weekend I had to move house, and found myself once again surrounded by my team, ready to pitch in without me even asking. People turned up to carry boxes and lift furniture - I have no idea what I would have done if they hadn't shown up. I don't even know who paid the truck that carried my stuff.

Against the backdrop of my own grief this past week, the extraordinary compassion of those around me has carried me through.

I know I need to be strong again, and I will. But I will never forget those who have helped me through. Thank you to all of you.

Terrible news

Yesterday in the early afternoon, our world lost one of its brightest stars.

Le Dinh Nghia (pictured in the grey jacket), an extraordinary young man from Thanh Hoa province, died in an apparent road accident. He was a few months short of his 21st birthday.

Nghia's funeral was held in his home town this morning, and at least 300 people were there. Everyone is just devastated.

I met Nghia on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City in 2006; I first wrote about him here. That photo of him shining shoes is a precious memory of my first encounter with Nghia. I knew immediately that he was somebody special. He was never a beneficiary of Blue Dragon; he was a friend and a little brother. He was a part of us.

Nghia brought sunshine and life. I have a vivid memory of hearing him one morning calling me with the words: "Mot ngay moi!" In English, he was saying: "It's a new day!" That was his bubbling, confident personality. I've never known anyone like him.

That same personality landed him in plenty of trouble over the years. He kept us busy bailing him out of a fight at school, or a run-in with the police... I had my own arguments with him from time to time. But he was so true to his name, which he once told me means: "Loyalty." No matter what conflict or argument he had with anyone, he was still their friend. Nghia would help anyone with anything - no matter the personal cost. I once asked him if he knew how to repair my CD player. He didn't, but he spent the next 3 months searching until he found someone who could. And then he refused to let me pay.

Nghia's sudden departure leaves a huge hole in many of us. So many people relied on him. After finishing some schooling, Nghia went on to study mobile phone repair, and he opened his own shop. Late last year we made this short film of Nghia for our website:

Nghia: In my own words

But there's so much he does not say in that short clip.

Like how he almost couldn't open a shop because he used all of his savings to help an older brother who was in trouble back in the countryside, so had to go into debt to start his business.

Or how he then grew the shop to employ 3 of his older brothers, and other friends who needed a job.

Or how he then started training other disadvantaged kids in mobile phone repair.

He doesn't say that he then went on to get a driver's licence and buy a taxi so he could work a second job at night; and that he paid for another brother to also get his licence so that they could work the taxi around the clock.

And he doesn't say that with all of that under his belt, he still wanted to do more, so he started studying to be a DJ.

Nghia had so many dreams, and they were never for him alone. All the money he earned was for his family; one of his brothers married just 2 weeks ago, and as far as I know Nghia paid for nearly everything.

He gave me one of my two dogs; a tiny pup I called Bear. I still have Bear, and I'm sure she senses that something is wrong.

Tonight I still find myself in disbelief that Nghia has gone. I cannot imagine a few days going by without seeing him at his shop, or sending him a text message, or having a quick drink with him at a cafe.

Nghia, you were a great person and you lived a good life. You left us far too soon, but we will do all we can to honour your beautiful memory.

Same problems, different solutions

Once upon a time - long, long, ago - I was a school teacher in Sydney. I taught in a pretty good school in a neighbourhood that is reputed to be rather rough.

One day, I was sitting in the school playground talking to the head of my department when an incident unfolded. A group of teens from another suburb had entered our school to attack one of the students, but were interrupted by a Science teacher (I'll call him "John"), who marched the kids out to the street to send them on their way. Something sparked a sudden fury in one of the boys, who leapt back over the fence, charged at John, and king-hit him. John was knocked to the ground, and later underwent serious facial surgery. I'm not sure that he ever fully recovered from the nerve damage.

The group then started running - they knew they were in trouble, and took off away from the school into an abandoned shopping centre. I happened to have a mobile with me (they weren't so common back then) and called emergency services, but the operator thought I was pranking her; she refused to take me seriously. So I set off down the street after the kids myself.

I may be quick off the mark, but I've never been very athletic. Fortunately for me, the school's Sports teachers joined in the pursuit, and they caught up to the group pretty quickly. (As an English teacher, I've never appreciated Sports teachers so much ever before!)

The police arrived, and it was all over. Back to school, and the bell rang straight away - and so I was off to my next class. A messenger promptly came to my classroom to read out a notice that was going throughout the school: Due to legal reasons, nobody is to talk about the incident that occurred at lunch today. My class, who happened to be a group of 'special needs' kids, thought that was the funniest thing they'd heard ever heard.

I went home that night knowing that I wouldn't be teaching much longer. The thought going through my head was: I can't believe that was how my day turned out.

It struck me this weekend, though, that plenty of my days turn out like that now, and I don't mind.

Admittedly it's been a while since I chased anyone down the street - about 4 years, I think. During that last incident, I cornered a guy who had assaulted a boy entering one of our shelters and called for the police to come get him. I didn't realise at the time that he was carrying a machete, or I might have thought twice about it.

With Blue Dragon now getting more involved in the rescue of young people who have been trafficked, the dangers go beyond kids with cutlery. And equally, our response has to be a little more sophisticated.

We recently met a bright and bubbly 12 year old girl, "Quy," who was living in a terrible situation. Her mother had left the family many years ago, so Quy had been raised by her father, who loved her very much. They lived together in a guest house, and when Quy's father died of an illness, the guest house owner simply took ownership of the girl.

Quy was put to work in the owner's business. If she didn't work hard enough, she was beaten. If the owner was in a bad mood, she was beaten. If she tried to run away - well, you get the picture.

Normally in Vietnamese culture, neighbours are unlikely to speak out against such abuse, seeing it more as a "domestic situation" that they shouldn't get involved in. But when our staff met Quy and started to investigate, one of the neighbours couldn't tell us all the details quickly enough. He was horrified by what was happening, and begged us to do something.

Such situations are highly sensitive for us. Blue Dragon has no right to take children away from their carers; we could easily be accused of trafficking or kidnapping ourselves. And in this case, Quy's new "foster mother" happened to be linked to a gang running illegal businesses all around town. Our interference would almost certainly lead to a retaliation: probably against my staff and almost certainly against Quy.

This was a case that needed quick action, but also great care. Back in Australia, such a case would be dealt with promptly by a black-and-white child protection system... but this isn't Australia. It's a different system, requiring a lot more innovation.

Our solution was to call on a very senior policeman we know to come with us for a "friendly chat" with the woman. Nothing official, just a conversation to express concern. And to inquire into the nature of the woman's businesses. She got the message, and Quy hasn't been mistreated since. Blue Dragon staff are now working on getting official ID papers for Quy so that she can come and live in our care.

Dealing with unreasonable violence like this back in Australia gave me cause for despair. The official message after the school attack said it all: Nobody may speak of this! In the following days, our school received a notice from the government chiding us for giving chase. And the punishment for the attackers? This was the real insult: a short term suspension from their school. It was only when pressure was put on the Minister for Education that a decision was made to follow up with charges, but the decision was made purely to prevent political embarrassment.

Here in Vietnam, I could see reason for despair every day, but instead I find great hope. Because just like with little Quy, I see that change is possible. I can do something today that makes a real, lasting change to her life. All it takes is a little bit of determination and some strategic thinking. Somehow this is more "real," because even though the social safety net leaves so much to be desired, it can be compensated for with real, human, action.

Last week, one of the young women Blue Dragon works with had a nasty break-up with her boyfriend. To get revenge, he rang my staff and delivered an ultimatum: we should immediately cease our support of her, or he would do something to cause her tremendous public humiliation.

After all we've seen and done in the past decade, this guy's threats were almost laughable. My staff responded with: "Seriously? Do you have any idea what the consequences would be for you if you tried something like that?" She went on to explain the work of our legal team, and that was the end of that.

There are still plenty of days when I go home shaking my head, but at least now I know that my presence is making some difference, no matter how small it may be.

Calling all Brisbanites!

A good friend of Blue Dragon, Robyn Ramsay, is launching her book on Monday 13 in Brisbane: Finding Duong, Finding Myself.

On a journey through this part of the world a few years ago, Robyn befriended a young man named Duong begging on the streets of Hanoi and set about helping him make a change... but instead Duong met a tragic ending. That's all I'll say here - go along, meet Robyn, and buy the book!

Trumped!

After posting on Thursday that I am to receive a medal, one of our students sent me this photograph on Friday:


He's on a scholarship to an international school, and he won THREE medals at a sports day last week.

I think I've been trumped!

A medal!

So there we have it. Now someone's gone and given me a medal.

It's Australia Day today, and I've been appointed as a Member of the Order of Australia for my work with street kids and victims of trafficking. This is an award from Australia's Governor General, and yes I will actually be receiving a medal like this one:


This is great recognition for the work that my whole team of staff and volunteers has put in over the years; and it's definitely an award to be shared with the Blue Dragon kids. It can go right alongside their football trophies and school certificates.

For everyone who has lent a hand, donated their hard-earned money, and sent us encouraging words over the years: Thank you. You can be proud of this, too.

I do have a confession to make, though. When the Governor General visited Vietnam last year, I was invited to her reception but didn't attend: instead I went for pizza with one of the street kids. Well, it was his birthday, and he'd never had anyone celebrate that before. (I'm assuming the GG isn't actually going to read this - and anyway, the medal's on its way, right?).

What it's all about

Today is the last day of the Lunar calendar. Throughout Vietnam, millions of families are finishing off their preparations and returning to their ancestral homes to spend the coming days together.

As a foreigner who has lived in Vietnam for almost 10 years, I enjoy watching the traditions and festivities, although I will never really be part of them. The great joy for me is having time to catch up with kids who I haven't seen for a while, hearing how their lives are going, and sharing in their joys and sorrows.

Two weeks ago I was in Hue, in central Vietnam, to celebrate Tet (Lunar New Year) with the kids we've rescued out of garment factories in Ho Chi Minh City and returned home. About 80 children and teens were there, all from villages around the coast which are targeted by child traffickers looking for cheap labourers to sell to the factories.

While I was making a short speech to the kids, one of the teen boys stood up to interrupt. He had something he wanted to say.

This was a boy named "G", about 16 or 17 years old (but without a birth certificate, age is just a guess). I met G back in 2008 - he's the boy featured in the first photo on this blog entry. G has never been trafficked, but his family was being approached by the traffickers and, frankly, it was hard for them to refuse. G and his younger brother lived with their mother in a tin shack which had recently been blown away by a typhoon. Neither of the sons had been to school; neither could read or write a word.

When you live like that, it's very easy to accept the "help" of a kindly stranger who comes offering a chance of training and employment. But of course, the "help" means 18 hours per day in a garment factory, learning nothing and earning a few cents per day.

So we built G's family a new house, and they went from living in this:


... to living in this:

That was a good start, but definitely not enough. G and his brother were too old to start in First Grade at school, so we found a teacher to come to their home and teach them basic literacy and numeracy. Later, when we opened a community centre in their village, they were able to join in many more classes and activities.

And later still, we started a small project in their village teaching families how to raise fish in the local lake to earn a better income. G's mother joined the project, and 2 years on she knows all about feeding the fish, preventing disease, finding buyers for her product, and so on. It's all very technical, but with this knowledge she's able to earn enough money that she and her sons do not have to go hungry any more.

With G getting a little older, he's thinking about the future. Although he doesn't know exactly what he wants to do, he's enrolled in a preparation program for a hospitality course. This means he now lives in Hue city, about 45 minutes from his home, and studies English every day. Just a few years ago he was illiterate; now he's learning English!

So there we were at our Tet party, and G stood up to speak. I was shocked that he had the confidence to do so; this is something completely new. The children were just as surprised as I.

G spoke for only a minute, but what he said was beautiful. He wanted to say thanks for all the help he has received, and to express his hope for the future.

Such a small thing, but for G to stand up and speak like this was a momentous act of bravery. Later, he came to me privately to say thanks again.

And this is what it's all about. For all of the difficulties, the setbacks, the failures, and the regrets, G's own personal success - which is his very own success, and not something he needs to thank anyone for - is a reminder of all of the good in our world.

There is hope.

The most beautiful night of the year

Friday night was the annual Tet Awards celebration for Blue Dragon's kids in Hanoi. And what a night it was.

The Hilton Hanoi donated its ballroom for the event, and about 400 kids came to join in our once-a-year party.

Much of the day was spent setting up...


... and the stage was set by 6pm!


Then the kids started turning up, and everyone wanted their photo taken...


We kicked off with a speech by one of Blue Dragon's older guys, who now studies in New Zealand and was back in Hanoi for the new year:


Speeches over, it was time for some singing and dancing!


Everyone had a great time...


...and, just as importantly, each of the kids was recognised for their progress and achievements throughout the past year:


We finished up with a closing speech, and yes that's me in an ao dai:


Then came the food, which seemed to disappear very quickly!

A beautiful night, to celebrate the lives of 400 beautiful people.