FRIENDLY LADIES OF THE HIGHLANDS

A traditional 'rong' house towers over a Bahnar neighborhood in Kon Tum

It’s a sunny day here in Kon Tum in Vietnam's highlands, so I decide to take a hike about town. Reaching the edge of town I enter a highland community, and find a neighborhood very different from the Vietnamese. Most homes I see are less affluent than the usual brick houses in Kon Tum. These homes are wooden, and built on stilts. A tall rong house in the center rises high above the humble residences surrounding it. The highlanders have a saying about rong houses. “The higher the roof, the stronger the village.”

Some children in uniforms chatter away as they make their way home from school on the crumbling road I'm taking. A highland woman shuffles along slowly, with a handmade basket backpack hanging over her shoulders. Despite the sunlight, women don’t wearing conical hats for shade like the Vietnamese do. Most of their heads are wrapped in scarves. Curious children peer out at me from stilt house windows. Everyone here is darker skinned, and their facial

Bahnar woman with traditional backpack

features are different then the coastal folk. I can’t help but think that they resemble indigenous people I once saw in Guatemala. These people aren’t ethnic Vietnamese at all.

“Hello!” I hear from a long haired local lady, as I walk by a house doorway. I return the greeting, and I’m surprised to hear that the young woman speaks English fairly well.

I introduce myself, and ask. “What kind of people live here?”

“This Bahnar people”, she answers. Another of the larger ethnic groups, the Bahnar are thought to be the original inhabitants of the highlands.

“My name Luu,” she says, and then she introduces her approaching confidant, “My friend Ba.” I’m not surprised that I’ve met these ladies so easily, Kon Tum has the reputation of being the friendliest town in the highlands. There are many Bahnar in town, and they are not as shy as the Vietnamese.

The pair invite me into the humble home, which belongs to Ba’s family. I learn Ba will be enter university soon. Luu’s house is in a village an hour away, and she’s studying to be a teacher.
With no furniture in the room we sit on the floor, and Ba offers me juice. As I look around, I notice some pictures on the wall. An old black and white photo of a young soldier with a US made helmet stands out.

“He my father,” Ba says. “He with American Army.” I’m not surprised that she said he was with the Americans, rather than with the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN). Most Bahnar militia were trained by American Green Berets, and fought with them side by side. Her father passed away a few years ago.

Beautiful old wooden church of the Bahnar Catholic community

Back during the war, their families didn’t live in town, they lived out in villages. Luu described to me how her mother hid from fighting when the North Vietnamese Army arrived. “My mother, when (the North) Vietnamese come, they go down”, and then she pantomimes that they went down into tunnels. “Then they go away, they come (back) out.”
 
A US Army veteran I know, Phillip, had resupplied Bahnar outposts by helicopter. “They were good fighters,” he had told me. Among the American’s, the Bahnars had a reputation as being more brave than the ARVN. Thousands of Bahnars were killed during that long war of attrition. 

Luu said that many years after the war ended, Bahnar soldiers were offered permanent residency by the US government. Some veterans in her village left, and are now in America. But others lack money for the expensive paperwork, and remain.
 
Ba says some GI’s married Bahnar women, and took them to the US. She said, “Bahnar very much like American. American very much like Bahnar.”

I wonder how much of that has to do with religion. Although the Bahnar were historically animists, many were converted to Catholicism by the French. Few Montagnards (hill tribe people) are Buddhist, further setting them apart from the Vietnamese. Not far from this neighborhood is a magnificent old wooden Catholic church, where Luu and Ba attend services. With it’s dark wood and gold painted trim, it looks like its straight out of medieval Europe.

Another friendly Bahnar walks in the front door, and he shakes my hand. It’s Ba’s brother. I ask Luu how many siblings she has.

“Have eight brothers and sisters,” she replies.

“Wow!” I exclaim, “that’s a big family.”

Curious Bahnar children watch me as I pass by their home

Then Luu asks me, “You like to go see my village?”

I would love to accept her hospitality and go, except for two problems. For one, I have to hit the road in a couple of hours to continue my journey. But the other reason is that foreigners are not allowed in certain hill tribe villages without official permission, or a government guide. I might get away with it, but I don’t want Luu or her village to get into any trouble after I’m gone.

Instead of driving to her village, we opt for a walk in the nearby countryside. Leaving the Bahnar neighborhood, we're soon walking in farmer's fields. It’s a hot afternoon, and the two ladies cover their heads with coats to protect them from the blazing sun. Motioning to a cornfield Luu says, “This my family field.” They also grow rice, and manioc. Like most Bahnar, they don’t work in the city, most highlanders still work traditional agriculture.

Walking further, we reach the banks of the Dakbla River. They’d like to cross and show me the other side, but there’s no bridge. 

“Want to go swimming?” Dang asks. They mean swim across the river with their clothes on. Since the river is deep and I’m carrying a cell phone and camera, I decline. So we head back to town.

Like most Bahnar women, both Luu and Ba are quite short, and they can’t get over how tall I am. With my long legs, I have to slow down my walking pace for them to keep up. Since highlanders are generally shorter than the already short Vietnamese, I must seem like a giant to them.

“Oo, you very handsome!" Luu says to me, and her and Ba giggle.

Luu asks if I’m married, and when I say I’m single, Luu says, “You marry me!” Then she giggles again, and flashes a lovely smile. This is my first marriage proposal in Vietnam. Of course there are many women in Vietnam who would gladly marry an American as a ticket out of poverty. But I’ve only just met Luu today, she’s just kidding… or is she?

Scenic scene of Bahnar farmland outside Kon Tum, with the Dakbla River beyond.

It’s getting late. It’s time for me to leave Kon Tum, and I find myself lingering. Unlike when I was in Saigon or at the beaches, these two sweet young ladies didn’t try to sell me anything, didn’t ask me for money, in fact they didn’t ask for anything at all. They invited me into their home, gave me some juice, and showed me around their community. These are friendly highland folk, who have showed me some much appreciated hospitality.

As I depart, Luu waves to me and says, “See you again. Miss you!”

I was so touched, I really wish I could see them again.

CAFÉ LIFE ON KON TUM'S RIVER FRONT

Scenic view looking south from highland town of Kon Tum, with Dakbla River at right

I’m relaxing in a sidewalk café called Thu Ha Coffee, along the Dakbla River in the Highlands. It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon in the town of Kon Tum, and traffic on the nearby bridge south to Pleiku is light. On the road in front of me, two cows slowly pull a cart, while a farmer taps them along with a stick. The floodplain across the river is covered with a patchwork of farming fields.

The city has built a lovely river walk, and I’m surprised to see this kind of development so deep in the highlands. The walkway has designer fencing, steps leading down to the river, and plenty of landscaping. Saigon’s river walk isn’t this picturesque. Even new street lamps are of French design. The Vietnamese may have fought the French for decades, but they still like their decor.

In Vietnam, cafés such as this are another legacy of the French, and are extremely popular from one end of the country to the other. There are even a couple of nationwide chains, and they’re more popular than bars or discos for meeting friends, especially among groups of women. In Vietnam's conservative culture, good girls don’t go to bars, but they do go to cafes. You can see them crowded into cafés in any city, gathering after work or university classes. They chat the afternoon away, while sipping their iced coffees. 

I gaze at the lovely view of the distant mountains that cover most of the horizon. It’s a mostly sunny day, except for the smoky haze in the air. It’s that time of year when farmers outside town are clearing more farmland, leaving the familiar odor of burning brush.

An ox pulls its load along the river road in Kon Tum

There are more remaining forests left here than there are around Pleiku, but even this deep in the highlands the numbers are dropping. This was once a heavily forested area, but year by year the ancient forests have been shrinking.  In the war years air dropped defoliants were killing trees, but that was decades ago. The massive deforestation seen in the highlands these days is also man made. The population growth and migration of ethnic Vietnamese from other provinces has caused a major increase in land cleared for farming. There are also complaints of corruption connected to illegal logging.

As I finish my cold green tea, I notice an older American speaking with a local Vietnamese having coffee at another table. Wondering what the westerner is doing in town, I approach to find out.

“We’re with a charity, we support an orphanage here,” he informs me. “In our group there are some veterans, their families, and we have four doctors. They’re out at the orphanage now."

Charity groups such as this have helped to bring a lot of support for humanitarian work back into Vietnam. He excuses himself, returning to his serious discussion with his local staffer. He has a lot of orphanage business to take care of before they leave tomorrow. I wish them well, and depart the café. 

After walking a few blocks, I find myself in another café, an internet café. Even in this remote highland town, close to the Cambodian border, they still have internet. In this country where free speech is limited and press is still tightly controlled, access to the world wide web is mostly, but not entirely, unrestricted. The Vietnamese government does block a small percentage of websites. These include a select number of sites oriented to news, gambling, pornography, and those run by human rights organizations. But the vast majority of the internet is accessible in Vietnam.

Yes, that's really a child riding a steer, on the Kon Tum river front

I sit down to do email, and as expected, the connection is slow. But I’m not complaining, a half hour only costs the equivalent of 60 cents. I look around the internet café, and every single customer is under 18. There are boys playing computer games, while teenage girls do online chat. I’m pleased to see that there are not only ethnic Vietnamese here, but also teens from the highland minorities. These youngsters may be only playing games today, but they are all computer literate, and who knows where that will lead. Some of these kids are studying English, and at internet cafés here, and across Vietnam, thousands of them are chatting live with foreigners in faraway lands, including other American teenagers.

In a country where the government still goes to great lengths to control information, access to the world wide web may one day change. But the effects of this technology are already being felt. Compared to previous generations, these children are becoming far more aware of the outside world. It makes me wonder, what effect will this have on the future of Vietnam?

Who knows?