The Global Fund For Children

No Fish in the Saigon River

• By Hoa Duong Piyaka on June 8th, 2010
• Category: Blog, East and Southeast Asia

Tay Ninh, Vietnam – My minivan is crawling along while the “caller” leans out the window, shouting to folks standing near the street. His eyes dart back and forth along the curbside, scanning for anyone with bags, boxes, or a flash in their eyes hinting that they might need a ride to Tay Ninh Province, approximately 100 kilometers northwest of Ho Chi Minh City.

In two hours, the driver drops me off on a street corner in Tay Ninh, the provincial capital of Tay Ninh Province, sitting roughly 15 miles from the Cambodian city of Svay Rieng. The people here exhibit a palpable mixture of Khmer and Vietnamese culture, language, and appearance. Here I meet two Catholic Vietnamese volunteers—one is running a local preschool for approximately 30 children under the age of 5, and the other is providing English and music classes for children, leading the services at a nearby church, and evolving into a community social worker. With them, I journey into the community to meet the families of the people they each serve so I can better understand their challenges.

Our first stop is the Saigon River. We park our SUV in the dirt path beside the river and shuffle through the 95-degree sun to a three-walled home on wooden stilts.

“We don’t have a fourth wall because we don’t own anything of value,” the parents explain as we gather on the floor raised above the river water. “We all sleep here together,” they tell us, motioning to six children nearby, “but when it rains, everything gets wet.” I look to where the man is pointing and see gaps in the beams jutting above one wall, which is entirely plastered with images of the Virgin Mary. A huge poster of Jesus is stuck to another wall, along with one enormous candle on a small shelf. Aside from the posters, there is not much in the room. I take in my surroundings and notice a wooden outhouse nearby and, in the distance, a semi-private wooden booth fashioned up on stilts; this sort of structure has a hole cut out of the bottom to allow human waste to drop into the river water in which this family fishes for their livelihood.

I snap back to attention. The man of the house is trying to coax some water out of a plastic jug for us to drink. There are only a few drops left, but he graciously pours them for us as his children watch keenly. They range in age from 5 to 16; they are shy but admit they enjoy English classes at the church. They describe their days: they wake up early and assist the family with fishing duties before getting dressed (in clothing provided by the church) and riding their bicycles (also provided by the church) to school. They have big dreams after they complete their studies. One little girl hopes to be a singer, while another wants to be a schoolteacher. Of the lot, only the 6-year-old boy says he wants to be a fisherman like his father.

If the boy does grow up to be like his father, he will wake up at 4:00 AM; work brutally long hours in the blazing sun, without protection; and earn, on a very good day, three to four dollars to try to feed his large family. Many fishing families like this one live on the riverbanks, but lately they’ve seen a marked decrease in their catch due to pollution and untreated waste from surrounding flour, cassava, and rubber factories.

Some of the parents have been successful in finding other wage-labor jobs on nearby rice, corn, or cassava farms, but the majority have not been able to transition from fishing. Wage laboring on farms is seasonal and dependent on appropriate weather, and therefore unstable. This lack of steady earning is affecting local children’s access to education. Without enough income, families are unable to afford school fees and materials, and some are asking their children to assist with family housework or with paid work outside the home. In addition, some children and youth are choosing to migrate to Ho Chi Minh City to earn money to send back to their families.