Vietnamese Boat People Refugee Camp
When I talked about visiting Indonesia, most people thought of it as a vacation destination. I decided to see both sides of the Riau Islands Province of Indonesia. I boarded a ferry boat from Singapore Habour and headed to Batam, Indonesia. It was about a 35 minutes ferry ride to Batam. I stayed at the Turi Beach Resort for one night. It was just as most people imagined. It was a beautiful beach front resort with 2 pools. One of the pool included a swim up bar. I walked out to the pier and enjoy the sunset and the warm tropical air. The next morning, I woke up early to enjoy the beautiful sunrise in anticipation of the my day. I walked out to the pier to take more pictures and spend a little quiet time to reflect on my time there. I didn’t know what to expect of my day.
I checked out of the hotel as the taxi driver waited for us to go to Galang. Galang was about a 2 hour drive South of Batam. We had negotiated a rate of 500,000.00 Rupiah to drive us around for the day. That converted to about $55 USD. The driver spoke very little English and I did not speak the native language at all. We began our journey to what is known as Camp Vietnam to the locals.
I thought to myself how ironic it was that I came back to this island on a boat just as I did the first time 28 years ago. The first time was as a “boat people” on little fishing boat packed with people not knowing what lay ahead. We drifted on the ocean for what may have been days or even weeks, but I don’t recall how long it was exactly. We all hoped to be rescued, but there were dangers of being caught by the Navy or even worst by Thai pirates. I was one of the few lucky people that made it out on the first attempt without any tragic incidents. We were eventually rescued by an Indonesian shipping vessel and brought to an oil derrick. After that we were brought to our first Refugee Camp in Kuku, Indonesia. This was my first stop and eventually landed on Galang I and Galang II before heading off to the promise land of America.
In preparation for my trip, I researched about the refugee camps. The stories I read were far different from my own experience. I wondered if I was so lucky to have avoided all of the tragedies or if my mind blocked out all of these things. I just remembered being with my family and going to English classes. I remembered helping my parents pick up rations and fetching water from the well. My mom had a vegetable garden behind our living quarters. It was a small barrack with a wooden raised area for sleeping that we shared with other families in the same building. It was nothing more than a shack. I was lucky to have my entire family with me and we all made the journey together. I remembered eating fish freshly caught from the ocean. Since we were on the boat, the superstition was to not flip the fish over. I also remembered late one night, we were allowed to out of the cargo area to be on the deck. It was a clear night and my dad taught me about the constellations. He pointed out Orion’s Belt. We were rescued a few days after that.
My journey was far different from countless lives that were less fortunate. I read of stories about people being raped and killed at sea by Thai pirates. As I walked through the cemetery on Galang, I wondered about the stories of all these people. I saw hundreds of unmarked graves along with graves of children and women. I read a story about Dai Nhan Tinh. She was raped in the forest by 7 other refugees. She survived the journey at sea only the be brutally taken advantage by people searching for freedom just like herself. How could someone do that to another person. She later committed suicide. The Humanity Statue was erected in her honor. She was not the only person that took her own life on the island. I was lucky that my parents gave me the sheltered childhood I needed or maybe I was lucky enough to not remember any of this. My family was granted asylum to immigrate to the US with the help of my aunts and uncles already living in the Bay Area.
I had hope to see more of the refugee camp. I was only able to see the Buddhist temple, Catholic Church, and museum. The museum was located at the site of the former UNHCR offices. My first stop was Quan Am Tu. I was overcame with emotions as I handed my offering to the monk. He didn’t speak any English or Vietnamese. Somehow I was able to communicate to him that I was Vietnamese and I was once a refugee at this very camp. He took me to the side and showed me some pictures and told me stories, but I couldn’t understand anything. The taxi driver tried to translate, but he knew very little English himself. I kept it together and lit some incense. I prayed for all lost souls and the workers/volunteers at the camp. After that, I made my way through the rest of the camp. Sadly, I didn’t remember much of the camp. Maybe a lot of it looked different because the trees and forest have grown back. Nature has a wonderful way of recovering just like the human spirit. I hope all the boat people are able to find peace and rebound.
