Sometimes I am not sure why I am in Viet Nam; other times, however, it is perfectly clear: I have come to Viet Nam for a long, painful lesson in humility.Last night after supper, Co Van asked me to peel and cut a mango. As I revel in any small task that makes me feel useful--makes me, moreover, feel like myself again--I immediately obeyed.
After staring blankly at the array of knives in the drawer, seeing none that appeared suitable for my task, I gladly accepted the peeler that Chi Hai handed me. Whether Vietnamese peelers are sub-par or whether the skin of a mango--which is quite thick and strangely rubbery--is simply more difficult than some, I don't know. What I do know is that the skin of that particular mango was loath to part with the fruit in any more than fingernail-sized chunks at a time. However, I persevered, hoping that no one would notice how long it was taking me to perform this task. No such luck. After both Co Van and Chi Hai showed me how to do it properly and everyone else had noticed and laughed, I still could not get the hang of it. Finally, Co Van finished peeling and handed the now-naked mango back to me. Ok, I thought, just cut it, surely you can do that much. What a prime example of speaking too soon! Next thing I knew, I was experiencing surprisingly acute pain in my left pointer finger, which was bleeding rather profusely, and Nga was running for a band-aid.
The thing that drove me crazy (!) was this: I have cut a mango before. In fact, last summer I cut a whole bunch of them--very successfully--for a fruit tray that I served at a small party that my parents had on their ranch. That was only one of the many domestic tasks that I performed quite excellently that day. But people here don't know that.
At home, I am capable of taking care of myself: I can do my own laundry, cook for myself, and cut a cake--or even a mango. Here, I spend my time longing to be useful and to prove myself, and then even the smallest tasks elude my skill and leave me feeling quite inept. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am an intelligent and capable adult; if I don't, I feel like I have regressed back to childhood.
And while I suppose a good dose of humility is not an inherently bad thing--I think I'm supposed to say that it is good for me, and maybe it is--I can't quite bring myself to believe it all the time. The fact is that in in some ways I am just a child here; I can't speak Vietnamese as well as a five-year-old, afterall. But instead of recognizing and accepting this fact--being humble, in other words--I start boiling inside and want to scream at my host family and the country, "I am good at some things!!"
But now I have this band-aid around my finger that serves as a constant reminder of...something. I'm not exactly sure what.
For while it is imortant to accept our weaknesses humbly, I believe that it is also important to recognize our strengths. And even though I fail often, I am good at some things, even if mango-peeling is not always among them. That being said, the point of being good at things is not who knows I am good at them, but what I do with those skills. And also that, no matter how skilled any of us is, we really can't do everything on our own. We all rely on others--even if those of us stubbornly independent types hate to admit it.
Because I love mangos, but I also love my fingers. Clearly, I need a little help.
Thursday, we left early early early to head to a mountain outside Hanoi for an (overnight) MCC workshop. We, the ten or so MCC Vietnam people, met about forty people from our partner organizations. The workshop consisted of a hotel without heat; meetings focused on the topic of the environmental situation in Vietnam; a Vietnamese style "hike" (ie--on a paved trail, arm-in-arm with a Vietnamese woman, slow, and with lots of breaks) up to a pagoda; and of course some singing. It was nice to get a better idea of what MCC does and plans to do in the future, and to meet the people it works with!
The ice cream shop on the road between the lakes.
On the 15th of August (according to the Chinese Lunar Calendar) Vietnamese celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival or, as my family calls it, "Moon Day." This is not, as my (real) dad jokingly asked me, a day when people go around mooning each other. It is a holiday that is mostly for children, although adults also participate. The main fesivities, as far as I can tell, involve wearing masks and glowing horns, eating "moon cakes" (possibly the worst dessert I have ever tried), watching circuses, buying toys, and looking at the moon. Although its origins are completely different, this holiday reminds me a lot of what Halloween has evolved into in the States, minus the ghosts. 
We caused quite a commotion when we left the restaurant--all the servers waved us off, saying, "See you later!" and watched us walk down the street.
...Following the symphony, we got ice cream from the best place in Ha Noi. We had heard previously that this was the best place, and this rumor was confirmed when we got there and could hardly enter the shop for all the people and motos milling around outside. The rumor was re-confirmed when we ate the kem. Note in the picture: below the ice cream shop sign hangs a garland that says, "Merry Christmas." There are random Christmas decorations all over the place. Apparently the actual holiday is also quite a big deal, in the secular, commercial sense, of course. I wonder if they leave their decorations up all year, then get new ones at Christmastime? Or if they see how many years one garland will last? This particular one sported quite a few cobwebs...
...On Saturday, we visited a village on the outskirts of Ha Noi that is known for its ceramics. Actually, there appears to be nothing there but ceramics. I was overwhelmed, as I often am here, by the sheer volume of stuff...
...But I did find a tea-set I would like to get at some point....
...And then I found another one...
...and another one...
...I have started a collection of pictures that demonstrate my giantish stature, but at the ceramic village I found one that actually proves the opposite!...
...We rode the bus to the village and back--always good for some excitement. Like Ali being told off by either the conductor or ticket collector for talking (you're technically not allowed to talk on the bus, although the conductor lays on the horn for pretty much the whole ride), or almost falling over every time it stops suddenly, or being asked by the man behind you if he can be your boyfriend....
Well, I started work today, and while that is something that I really should and really will tell you about sometime, and was actually intending to tell you about this time, I'm not going to..yet. Because I have been distracted by my very eventful ride home from work, and thought that, while work was great and everything, this ride home was far more humorous.
The above picture is of the kind gentlemen who helped me fix my bike (the first time) along with their really enormous pipe. They generously offered me some of whatever they were smoking, but I graciously declined. I felt especially good about this decision when I heard the horrendous cough of one of the men after he took a hit.
