Women of Bến Tre

Down in the Mekong delta, between the two serpentine branches of the Tiền Giang River lies the province of Bến Tre. This region is filled with sun-drenched rice patties, towering coconut trees, and sediment-filled brown creeks that feed into the fertile farmland. Although this province is situated in the heart of the south, it was the area where the first shots of the Vietnam war was fired, or the Đồng khởi.

Scarred with the horrors of the war, this area of the Vietnamese countryside holds many resilient people. Of the most resilient are the elderly women of Bến Tre. I had the great honor of talking to and hearing stories from these women as they came to be seen by our medical mission. Many of these women were well into their 80s, and even 90s. However upon talking to them, we found that most of these women lived either alone or with just a few children. Most of their husbands have died in the war or have left them, and most of their children have left to the city to find better jobs. Despite that, these women still press on and thrive.

Their teeth are gone, their smiles have faded, their skin is wrinkled, and their hair is silver–yet their determination still remains high. Their will to live is incredible. Many of these women are old enough to have even live through the war for Vietnam’s independence from France. Many chapters of their lives have been stained with bloodshed, and drenched with tears. I am sure that they have lost many loved ones during both wars. The more I hear their stories, the more my heart is moved. In a country where the average life expectancy is 74 years, this group of women have overcome many obstacles to outlive this statistic.

Maybe my heartstrings resonate with this particular group of people because my grandmother was also a woman of Bến Tre. Grandma was the pillar of our family when we immigrated to the states in 1990. She passed away in 1994 in Fremont, California at the old age of 84. My fondest memory of my Grandma was her early morning exercises that she consistently woke up early for. She lived a selfless life all the way to the end. Because of her faithful prayers, my family have also overcome many obstacles of the war.

When I look into the crowd of our patients, I can imagine Grandma sitting in the crowd waiting patiently to be seen. She would probably be very tired from walking a long distance, but there would be no words of complaint on her lips, just like her peers. That is because they know that there are much worse things to complain for. I thank God for the elderly women of Bến Tre, and I hope that I can carry on that spirit–the spirit of resilience.

Dầu Xanh, the Asian Cure-all

Dầu Xanh: In all its glory!

If you grew up in a Vietnamese or Chinese family like I did, your mother or grandma might have rubbed this ointment on your bruises or scrapes when you got hurt. This elixir has been hailed as the Asian panacea to all the diseases in the book. Got a cut? Rub this on it. Got muscle pain? Rub this on it. Have a cold? Rub this on it and scrape your skin with a soup spoon (if you don’t know what this procedure is, you’re better off not knowing). What I’m talking about is the Eagle Brand Medicated Oil, or more commonly known as dầu xanh.

As a child, I had this stuff slathered all over me frequently. As you can imagine, the average elementary boy like myself had quite a lot of scrapes and falls from jumping around and doing other monkey-like business. So you can imagine that my mother’s bottle of dầu xanh was always on hand. I knew when she would get it too. She would first look at my scrape, then ask me why I was such a noob, then she would reach for her bottle. The sharp menthol fragrance would fill the room, and tickle my nose. Although the feeling of this stuff stung like no other when applied, I found comfort in my mother dressing my wounds.

Now that i’m all grown up and living on my own, I have to dress my own wounds. Usually, my ointments come in the form of antibiotic creams like Neosporin. I mean, a big pre-med like myself can’t be caught with a hocus pocus bottle of Asian herbal stuff right? Now that I am a big “scientist” and all, everything from my childhood seemed so silly. There was many times I would think back during my biology lectures and say “Aha! Mother was wrong about that!” and find a sliver of satisfaction. But even with all that knowledge, I still felt that something was missing every time I dressed my own wounds.

That feeling of my mother gently dabbing my scrape. The smell of that menthol in the air. The hug that I received afterwards. Though that moment in life was long gone, it has made quite an impression on my being. Though I know now that the oil probably didn’t do much for me medically, it did provided me healing on a whole other level. Many fond memories that I have had with that menthol-scented bottle.

Tonight I am spending the night at my parents house. While I was brushing my teeth, I spied in the corner of my eye that little green bottle. I took it in my hand, twisted the cap, and took a whiff.

“Man, this stuff IS the Asian cure-all.”