Small Bamboo (16 page)

Dad didn’t know where Fremantle was but he pretended the distance wasn’t a problem. It was actually about 13 kilometres south of Graylands. ‘My friend and I are ready to work,’ he said enthusiastically.

So the teacher organised the work, and Dad went home and studied a map to find out how to get to Fremantle. The next week he and his friend Sang arrived at an older-style home, where they were greeted by a middle-aged man. For the next five days they worked from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.—clearing the house gutters, painting and performing other maintenance tasks—and earned the $100, which was big money for them in those days.

A couple of days later, Dad and his mates were ready to head east. Dad was the main driver in the Kingswood, with five mates squeezed in, while another group of five friends were in a Toyota Corolla. It was the middle of winter. Once they were out of the city, they couldn’t believe how much open space there was. It was nothing like the Vietnamese landscape.

Dad drove cautiously, taking in everything but wary of having an accident or running into a kangaroo. He even stopped at every petrol station they passed to top up, only a dollar’s worth of fuel at a time. Dad laughs when he recalls this part of the story, describing the bunch of silly Vietnamese men, squeezed into a Kingswood and paying just $1 for petrol.

It took them more than three days to drive to Adelaide, and then a few days later they arrived in Melbourne, where all the men had relatives or friends they wanted to visit. Uncle Five, Aunt Five and their children; Aunt Sixteen; Uncle Tinh and Uncle Ut were still living in a migrant hostel in Maribyrnong in the city’s north-west. They could hardly believe their eyes when Dad walked through the hostel gates and found them.

‘Brother!’

‘Tai!’

It was only a few months since they had left Vietnam but it seemed a lifetime ago. Once among his family, Dad felt immediately at home. He was pleased they all looked well, and that Uncle Five was already making plans for the future, hoping to get the family out of the hostel in the next few months. The hostel was similar to Graylands but a little bigger; there were more refugees in Melbourne than in Perth. The benefits were the same, so Uncle Five and his family also received payments from the government. He was working the odd job here and there, similar to what Dad did at that home in Fremantle, and was saving money to buy a house. Dad spent the whole day and night at the hostel—there was so much to talk about. Then the next morning he sadly hugged his family goodbye, and the two cars set off for Sydney.

They were getting close to Canberra and Dad had just driven the Kingswood under an overpass, with the Corolla following, when he suddenly heard an almighty screech. The Corolla had stopped dead in the middle of the road. Dad pulled over, jumped out of his car in a panic and ran over to his mates. The Corolla’s windscreen was shattered and there was a big hole in the middle.

‘What happened?! Are you all okay?’ Dad asked his friends as he helped them out of the car. They were shaken but thankfully unhurt.

‘I think a rock fell onto the car from the overpass,’ the driver of the Corolla said. ‘I didn’t see it. It was just a loud bang and the windscreen cracked.’

Dad could see that he was in shock and tried to get him to relax. ‘I don’t want to drive anymore,’ his friend said.

It was decided that one of the others would drive the Kingswood while Dad drove the Corolla. They all wanted to keep going. They didn’t want the trip to end there and Dad didn’t want to leave the other group stranded, so they took their chances with the windscreen. It was a slow trip through Canberra. When it started to rain, the water and freezing air that blasted in through the hole in the windscreen was unrelenting, and they all shook with the cold. And the whole time Dad kept looking at the windscreen, hoping it wouldn’t crack even more or, worse, shatter completely. He now says they were pretty stupid to keep driving with the car in that state.

These days it’s about a three-hour drive from Canberra to Sydney but it took Dad and his friends double that time because of the state of the cars. They did eventually reach Sydney, where they found a mechanic to fix the cracked windscreen. Then they drove around the city. When the group first left Perth, they thought they were fairly organised and it would be relatively easy to explore these big cities, but they were wrong. It was enjoyable, but also quite stressful. It was a huge culture shock for them all. Sydney was much busier and faster moving than Perth. Dad said there were people everywhere. They looked up in awe at the tall modern buildings. They drove around in circles, just taking in the amazing sight of the biggest Western city that any of them had ever seen.

Kings Cross was an eye-opening experience. They drove down Darlinghurst Road, staring at the neon signs inviting them into strip clubs. There were people sitting out the front of cafés, smoking and drinking. There were women dressed in short, tight dresses and high heels just loitering on the sidewalk. Dad and his friends knew what kind of women they were. They didn’t get out of their cars. Dad said they were quite scared and overwhelmed. They drove back to the city where they found a cheap motel to stay the night.

The next day they headed to Brisbane for a quick visit. They didn’t want to spend too much time there, as they were quite exhausted by this stage. For them Brisbane wasn’t all that dissimilar to Perth. It was quite a relief after exploring two huge and busy cities. After a quick drive through the city, they decided to head home. Again, Dad was the main driver but by now he was more comfortable on the roads and drove a little faster. They had a smooth run to Adelaide and then it was finally homewards to Perth.

It was the middle of the night, Dad was driving and his friends were asleep. The road was long and straight, pitch-black, except for the Kingswood’s headlights. Then,
crash!
Dad slammed his foot on the brakes, desperately trying to regain control of the car. It felt like forever before the Kingswood came to a stop. His friends just sat there, in shock.

‘What the hell was that?’ Sang asked.

‘We’ve hit something,’ Dad said, still breathless and dazed himself. ‘I think it was a kangaroo.’

After making sure that his passengers were okay, Dad got out of the car and saw a large dead kangaroo lying on the side of the road a few metres away. They inspected the car—the radiator was gone and the front bumper was bent inward. They were going nowhere.

The group in the Corolla searched their entire car for anything they could use to tow the Kingswood but without success. The ten men just sat on the side of the road and waited for hours. Luckily for them, at about 2 a.m., a truck came roaring down the road. The driver pulled over on the side of the road next to them. He jumped down from the cab and said, ‘So what’s happened here, fellas?’

Dad pointed to the dead kangaroo and explained how he’d run into it.

‘Yeah, it’s definitely done some damage,’ the truck driver said, looking over the car. ‘Should be able to be fixed though.’

‘Please, can you help us?’ Dad asked.

The truck driver generously offered to tow the car to a petrol station about three hours away—Dad reckons he must have been thinking ‘those poor buggers’. They gratefully helped him chain the crumpled Kingswood to the truck, then Dad and his four friends piled into the cab. They reached the service station at about 6.30 a.m. and fortunately the mechanics were able to repair the damage and get the car back on the road—all for just $75!

For Dad it was a memorable trip. He says it’s been the only opportunity he’s had to explore country Australia. At every petrol station or country town the people were friendly and helpful; they never encountered any tension or animosity. Driving along those long stretches of road and taking in the scenery was his favourite part of the trip, an adventure he says he’ll never forget.

11
ENTERING THE REAL WORLD

Mum seemed a lot better when Dad returned from his three-week road trip around Australia. There was a constant influx of new refugees at the hostel, and eventually most of Mum and Dad’s group left for Sydney and Melbourne, where they thought it would be easier to find jobs in factories and farms. But my parents were very comfortable in laid-back Perth. They weren’t worried about their future. I guess it is part of the Vietnamese psyche. My parents are very resilient people and can take a battering if they need to. For Mum and Dad, leaving Vietnam was their main aim and now they were able to live a life they had once only dreamed of. Everything was going well at Graylands and Mum and Dad were settling into their new life. They had arrived with the intention to take each day as it comes. They appreciated every day in their new country and their new home. Their only concern was for their relatives in Melbourne and the United States and also back in Vietnam.

Anyone who knows my dad knows he loves a chat with anyone who encourages him. At the hostel, he enjoyed spending time with the staff in the kitchen and getting to know them. Some were Australians and others were from East Timor. There was one lady who worked in the kitchen and also conducted the head count in the dining room when the refugees came in for a meal. Dad said she was an older lady, a very happy woman. He said she could be his mum. She looked after everything in the dining room. Dad always joked around with her about how he wanted to work in the kitchen and how much fun it would be. ‘You think you can get me a job?’ he’d ask and laugh.

But one day she said, ‘Actually, the head chef does need another person. I’ll go and ask him straight away.’

She disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with the head chef, a German. He pointed at Dad. ‘This man?’

The woman nodded and smiled at Dad encouragingly.

‘I need a kitchenhand and a dishwasher,’ the chef said. ‘Follow me.’ He led Dad into the kitchen and explained what the job involved. It was mostly washing large cooking pots and cleaning. ‘We’ll pay you $100 a week. Five days of work. You start tomorrow.’ The head chef shook my father’s hand.

Dad thought, ‘Wow, that was quick!’ He couldn’t believe the amount he was being paid. The Social Security payment was only $50 a fortnight. And while he was grateful to the Australian government for all it was providing, Dad had always planned to earn his own living, as he’d always done, so he was excited about having a job. He ran back to their unit to tell Mum, who was equally happy for him. As she was still learning English at this time she was unable to work.

Dad, however, already had a good command of English and was only having lessons to improve it. Now he was able to tell his teacher that he wouldn’t be attending classes anymore.

‘Miss, Miss! I have a job,’ he said.

‘Congratulations, Tai. That’s great news. Where are you working?’ she asked.

‘I’ll be working in the kitchen here,’ Dad explained. ‘My first job will be as a dishwasher.’

‘Good on you!’ The teacher explained that she would inform the Education Department. ‘Congratulations again, Tai. We will miss you in class though,’ she added.

‘Thank you for all of your help, Miss.’

Dad shook her hand. My parents say all their teachers were patient, warm and welcoming, and always made time to help them. Not only did they learn English from them, but also lessons in everyday life. Sometimes Mum and Dad would sit with their teachers during a break in class and learn about Western food and Australian culture. Mum and Dad will be forever grateful for their teachers’ kindness.

The next day Dad arrived at work early; he couldn’t wait to get started. He was proud that he was able to get a job so quickly and excited by the challenge. It didn’t take long for him to show that he was a quick learner and a hard worker.

Dad had some funny moments with his co-workers. One morning, he was preparing the kitchen for breakfast when one of the chefs yelled out, ‘Tony! Hey, Tony!’

Dad didn’t look up. He just kept going on with his work.

‘Tony!’

This time Dad looked around. There was no one else in the kitchen except the chef.

‘Yeah, you. Tony.’ The chef pointed at Dad.

‘My name is Tai.’

‘No, mate. I’m giving you the name Tony. It’s easier to say. Besides, it suits you,’ the chef said and gave him a wink.

Dad laughed. His name wasn’t hard to pronounce but he didn’t mind being called Tony. He thought it was hilarious that he’d been given a brand new name, just like that! He would be Tony the dishwasher and kitchenhand. After that even the head chef and other staff started calling him Tony, and the name stuck for years.

After Dad had been working in the kitchen for a few weeks, some of his friends, young couples in their twenties, came to him and Mum with a proposition. They had flown on the same flight to Perth from Malaysia.

‘We thought maybe it’s time for us to move out of the hostel,’ one of them said. ‘We could all get a house together. What do you think?’

‘Where would the house be?’ Dad asked.

‘We’ve found a four-bedroom house close to the city. There will be eight of us sharing it.’

Mum and Dad talked it over. They didn’t mind living in the hostel but discussed other options, including getting a home of their own; however, they couldn’t afford anything at that stage. They thought that since their friends had already found a home, all they needed to do was to move in, especially as they got along extremely well with the other couples. Keen to live in a proper house and have a bit more room, they decided it was time to take the next step of their new life.