From 'Nam to Vietnam

My father was 23 years old on September 8, 1966 when he arrived in Vietnam to fight a war that would affect him for the rest of his life. As a 23-year-old photojournalist I carried my father's past in my soul as I traveled back to a country that caused him many tears.

Before my departure on October 13, 1995 my mind was haunted by a childhood full of war story nightmares that created an enormous amount of fear and doubt. I was a child of a Vietnam veteran, who grew up thanking God for letting my father live and never having to face the terrors of death he experienced.

Now, I was traveling in search of peace and harmony with an open heart and an honest mind. I questioned how the Vietnamese people would treat an American after 30 years. I hoped I would be welcomed as an American because of the removal of the trade embargo last year.

Arriving at Tan Son Nhat Airport, Ho Chi Minh City, Saigon sent chills down my spine as I experienced deja vu walking down the same runway my father had landed his Fix-Wing airplane 20 times a day. I made my way to the terminal and noticed the deteriorated airplane hangers and beat-up rusty fighter planes taken over by green weeds. Nothing had changed since the time of war, which became a pattern for events.

After customs, I was bombarded with a flock of grinning faces and welcoming arms. From the beginning, my experiences with the Vietnamese people were never rude or hurtful, they treated me with admiring respect.

I stayed at the Guest House on the University of Ho Chi Minh City campus at the student rate of $20 a night. I took a Vietnamese language course in the mornings to help with communication. I made many friends over conversations of ice coffee and broken English talking about communism and the Vietnam War. "My understanding of the Vietnam War is that it was the same as the war between North and South Korea. It was a war between the North and South parts of Vietnam. I just don't understand why the Americans had to come and get involved," said Truong Minh Trung, 20.

I realized Vietnamese people of my generation are still affected by the war and have many unanswered questions.

Every street in the city is covered with begging children living in poverty and struggling to find a place to sleep at night, it hurt my eyes to see a such a high mortality rate.

"There was so much poverty in Vietnam when I was there and I would compare the Vietnamese children to the children here in America," said my father, Robert W. Cordua."Though the children had so little compared to here in the US, they were still very happy."

Black markets cover everything from Sony radios to warm tongue of beef. The most popular marketplace was the Ben Than Market, built by the French.

"I saw boxes of sapphires at a black market in Saigon and because I was so young and didn't understand their value, I probably would have bought the whole box if I knew what they were worth," said Cordua.

After learning of my father's experience with the black market, I explored its winding stalls and hidden treasures. I purchased a sapphire to replace the one my mother dreamed of receiving after my father's return home.

During a long week of traveling the city on the back of a Honda motorbike, eating rice and barbecued pork off the dirty curbs, I realized what life meant to me. I relived the days when my father was fighting a war, walking the same streets, and watching the same people who live from day to day struggling with survival. As the plane flew over the city and I got one last look, I understood what it meant to be an American and to be free.

[ Prism Online November 1995 Homepage ]

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