Xin chào Việt Nam, Hallo Suid-Afrika

From xin chào to hallo – building a RAFT between two worlds

More or less 1100 days – of which merely 100 were spent in South Africa. Not only the country of my skull (dankie, Antjie!) – but indeed the beloved country I cried and cried about when I first arrived here in Ha Noi.

As I shared in my previous post: I did not prepare myself emotionally for that first transition. This time, I wanted to face reality full on.

This time, I am returning home as a TCK – a Third Culture Kid, as defined by David Pollock. The term describes cross-cultural kids who have lived a significant part of their developmental years in a culture different from that of their parents. And although I am a big old auntie of fifty, I developed significantly here, from a peri- to a menopausal woman (more about that in time to come!). For three years, I lived as a foreigner, looking and thinking differently from the Vietnamese. Now, returning home, I feel more like an adopted child: still looking the same, but thinking just slightly differently than the people I left behind.

To honour the difficult transition I experienced arriving here, and to be intentional about the one ahead of me, I decided to follow Pollock’s RAFT model – introduced to me by my dear friend and counselling colleague, Linda Bloemberg. This model has helped numerous children at Concordia International School Ha Noi navigate transitions to and from international schools. The metaphor is beautiful: we build a raft as a bridge from where we were to where we are going.

R is for Reconciliation.

This means attending to the relationships that were damaged while I was here in Viet Nam – but also those from before, and especially the one with myself. As I shared previously, I arrived here as a raw product: ashamed of myself and the mistakes I had made. The overwhelming love I received from my family and the slow process of reconnecting with my Creator became the pathway that led me toward self-insight and forgiveness. But it wasn’t always easy.

I remember a screaming match between my daughter Carla and me on a speedboat from the island of Koh Lipe to Pak Bara Pier in Thailand. We were on holiday – sitting at the very front of the boat, in stormy weather, both of us close to vomiting. I can only imagine what kind of entertainment we provided for the other passengers. I still make mistakes. I often ask myself why I am so frail, so basic – such a human – when all I want to do and be is kind. But part of being a spiritual being on this earthschool is that the curriculum will be hard and the exams challenging.

A is for Affirmation.

This means telling people the role they played – and thanking them for enriching your life.

I made beautiful friendships with people from all over the world. My Japanese friend Mayumi and her South African husband François, became like a little sister and brother to me. We connected over World Cup Rugby and dancing on tables, and they are family now. Every Monday, a handful of us went for Coffee Coffee Coffee – exploring the quaint little coffee shops of Tay Ho and the Old Quarter.

Did you know that Viet Nam is the second largest producer and exporter of coffee in the world, after Brazil? A five-hour coffee marathon leads to a caffeine high, a sleepless night, and what I can only describe as a coffee hangover. Be warned.

And then I became best friends with Kiwi Karla – yes, a New Zealander, the sworn rugby rival of every South African – and she isn’t even a rugby fan! We had sleepovers, Vietnamese style: daytime pyjamas and collagen face masks that made us look like Freddy Krueger. And then there was the evening I insisted on travelling home in a taxi with a hundred balloons, which promptly covered our faces and bodies, and deposited me unceremoniously onto the pavement when we arrived. Nothing glamorous about any of that. Everything glorious.

It was Carla who introduced me to Karla. I remember her phoning me, breathless with excitement: “Mom, I found you a friend!” I wanted to say – I can make my own friends, thank you very much. But I was so happy she did. Karla became one of my best friends and one of my greatest adventure companions.

I also became close to Carla’s band members – talented musicians who set the Ha Noi stage alight and showed me just how alive and vibrant this city’s music scene truly is. Carla is still recording with them across two opposite ends of the world. And I cheered many a Saturday from the sidelines watching my son Carl play rugby for the Ha Noi Dragons – a feisty group of mostly South African expats who made this city feel, in moments, like home.

Most of all, I am grateful for Concordia International School Ha Noi and the students I worked with. Their work ethic and dedication are a life philosophy rooted in the teachings of the Chinese philosopher Confucius (551-479 BCE), whose ideas shaped East Asian civilisation. He said: “The mechanic who wishes to do his work well must first sharpen his tools.” I watched my students live this daily, and thrive because of it. I return home with sharper tools than I have ever carried.

I know more than ever that I have a purpose: to help young people find theirs. Career is one spoke in the wheel – but we will keep rolling until every spoke is in sync, and we have direction.

F is for Farewell.

I made it my priority to say goodbye properly – to have the parties, mark the moments, and celebrate the connections. From a traditional South African braai to fancy cocktails at Angelina’s in the legendary Metropole Hotel, I said farewell to friends and colleagues. I also travelled to distant parts of Viet Nam one last time, absorbing its majestic landscapes and extraordinary diversity.

Did you know that Viet Nam has 54 distinct ethnic groups, each with their own language and cultural customs? The Viet group is the majority, living in the major cities and lowlands. But it is the minority groups – like the Hmong people of Mu Cang Chai and Sa Pa – who won my heart completely, through their kindness, their generosity, and the quiet dignity of their way of life.

The Vietnamese people are among the most forgiving and compassionate I have ever encountered. I am in awe of how they have embraced their past and chosen forgiveness over bitterness. It softened something in me – in the way I see others, and in the way I see myself.

T is for Think Destination.

For many expats and TCK children, the destination is a new country and a new adventure. For me, it is home.

I am returning to the country of my birth. To my people. To my heart and soul.

Have you ever watched an African sunrise? Have you buried your feet in warm soil and felt the sun burn down on your skin? That is what it means to be fully alive. You cannot say you have experienced the fullness of what life has to offer if you have never been to Africa – the cradle of humankind, the root of our beginning as a species.

I am excited. And I am afraid.

The Afrikaans poet N.P. van Wyk Louw wrote:

Ek haat en ek het lief: ek weet nie hoe nie.

O my land, o my land: jy is ek.

Ek ken jou en ek haat jou soos ek mý haat.

Ek het jou lief soos ek my soms lief durf hê.

Loosely translated: I hate and I love: I do not know how. O my country, o my country: you are me. I know you and I hate you as I hate myself. I love you as I sometimes dare to love myself.

Louw was a complicated man – an intellectual from the 1930s to 60s whose political associations were troubled and troubling. But he understood the complexity of being Afrikaans in South Africa in a way few others did. I have never identified as Afrikaner in the traditional sense. Apartheid cast a dark cloud over all of us who grew up in those years, and I have carried a sense of white guilt for much of my life.

Returning now – having lived amongst people from across the globe, having added an Eastern perspective to the Western and African realities I grew up with – I am more sensitive than ever to our differences, and to the empathy we owe each other. Nelson Mandela said: “Our diversity in the world is the strength for our future together.” That inspires me.

I grew up in the Rainbow Nation – a term coined by the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu – shaped by twelve official languages and a tapestry of cultures. Three years in the East have deepened that foundation further than I could have imagined.

I am afraid that my changed perspective might unsettle the people closest to me. But Brené Brown dares me to be brave. And Joseph Campbell reminds me that the cave I fear to enter holds the treasure I seek.

Perhaps the answer lies in the African soil. In the warmth and smiles of what many call the friendliest country on earth.

I am ready to live in the spirit of Ubuntu.

And to shout from the rooftops, once again – Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. God bless Africa.

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