I am a hair color addict. I aware of my problem and I love it. I mean there are no drugs or hazardous things involved with my habit so really it is harmless. By doing such a simple thing as changing hair a shade lighter or darker can have an immediate effect on the way you feel and it is always fun for a quick fix of spontaneity.
The stretch at sea had been getting to me…my roots had all grown out from my last dye job. Since I had finished with a long day of art shopping I made a snap decision to step into a Vietnamese salon and make a drastic change. There was no research involved so although I had passed many nicer looking salons around Saigon, I chose the most hole-in-the-wall place with a great view of the busy life outside. Upon entering the salon I noticed the lack of paint on the walls, the mirrors hung with no surrounding decoration and the chairs that were way passed their years. It was perfect. I asked the ladies to color my hair and within minutes I was seated waiting while my color was concocted.
Entering off the streets came my colorist. I would say he was about 24 with red-tinted hair and no English vocabulary. I forgot to mention the fact that there was no music in the salon and although there were about 4 girls working there (or at least sitting reading magazines) none of them were speaking to each other. I am pretty sure that I could hear a pin drop if I felt so inclined to try. So the transformation began. It was the most bizarre way of dying hair that I had ever experienced. He would put color in after color and when I though I was finally finished with it all I came to the surprise that that was just the base and the highlights still had to be done. Understand that I had been sitting in silence for about an hour and a half with 4 girls whispering about me and the sounds of the streets keeping a muted soundtrack of motorbikes zooming around.
Once the base color was done the experience became much more interesting. With the appearance of 5 new customers and the switch of stylists the salon suddenly became a bustle of noises. Through out the next hour and a half I had 6 different women working on my hair- coloring, shampooing and then drying and straightening. My original colorist stepped out of the salon to partake in a game of chess outside with a random shoe shiner. Outside there was a little girl attempting to jump rope but accidentally lifting her leg so high that she appeared as though she was training for hurdles and ended up stepping on the rope each try. With the new customers came new conversation. I was able to meet a girl from Oregon who teaches English in Thailand. This was a perfect encounter for me since I have been researching my endless possibilities for TEFL and ESL programs. Then I met some travelers from England. Although their accents were more fascinating then their personalities it was still a welcome entertainment.
By the time it was all finished I came out looking incredibly Asian…you know, when their light hair color is obviously not natural. But I love it- for now. At least until May when I reach home and get to change it again!
Shopping in the Vietnamese markets is full on sensory overload. In my multiple trips to these busy centers I barely bought a thing since I was so overwhelmed. The clothes, fabrics, sunglasses and shoes together closed in on me making me feel incredibly claustrophobic. Now I know that his is prime bargaining territory where many find their best deals on fake Gucci bags and Polo shirts, but that’s not my style so I didn’t bother. The thing that amused me most was the reaction of the women to my presence. I could not tell if it was because they could tell I was part Asian or if they just thought I was pretty, but I have never felt more flattered. These women would point at me as I approached their stalls, whispering to one another. Surprisingly, before they started to heckle me about cheap prices and good deals they would tell me that I was so beautiful and stroke my face. It was bizarre…they reached out for me from a distance waiting for me to get close…I swear it is the new hair color.
I have never been a babysitter. I don’t deal with whining kids well and I am a completely impatient person. With this being so, I am shocked at how I am feeling now, two days after parting Vietnam and the Tam Binh Orphanage that I visited.
With my class about HIV and AIDS, we visited the orphanage to take a group of kids out for a day of fun to an amusement park. Upon arrival we were greeted by 25 little children, running and screaming, so excited for us to be there. Immediately a small girl between the age of 3 and 4 came up to me, arms extended, ready to be held. I was unaware at the time, but soon enough I found that I would not be putting her down for the rest of the afternoon.
Her name was Nhe. She wore a pink and green Hello Kitty dress and her hair was in perfect pigtails. She had a sly grin on her face that turned into a toothy smile as soon as she got what she wanted. Before we departed for the park all of us students played with the kids, handing out stickers that soon covered any free space of skin on the children and playing catch with their new blow up toys. Nhe did not want to take part in the games; she preferred to stay in my arms and make me take her to wherever she pointed picking up stickers for her along the way. I must tell you that I am not very strong, so every 2 minutes I had to transfer her from one hip to the other as she would get very upset if I tried to put her down.
After viewing the facilities of the orphanage we all sat on the bus waiting for the kids to come and join us. Each child now donned a neon yellow hat to make them a uniform group and for us to keep track of them easily. Nhe ran over to my empty seat immediately with the biggest smile on her face. I had to lift her tiny frame on to the seat next to me and situate her body so that she would not fall off in the five-minute journey to the park.
Throughout our day at the park we went on rides with the kids, took them through the most disturbing haunted house, had lunch with them and then finished the adventure off with an even more disturbing showing from performing monkeys and the most bizarre and sad zoo that I have ever seen. Even though for our culture it was creepy to say the least and not my idea of fun, the kids along with the other Vietnamese people loved it all. But this story is not about the park, it is about the child.
I am only 20 years old and am in no way ready to have a child. Even though I joke about it often and my mother and I already have dresses saved for my future daughter I am still a reasonable and smart person who knows to wait until I am stable and responsible. Although my mom gives me tips on how to take care of kids every time she sees and inadequate mother (not keeping a hat on her child in the winter or obviously not supporting their heads correctly) I still have not had to put her advice to good use. During my visit I found that I had this unexplainable connection with Nhe that didn’t require any work rather I just knew how to take care of her.
I could not understand her verbal language but that did not mean that I couldn’t understand her. Even though she spoke Vietnamese and I spoke English I always knew what she wanted, when she needed water, when she had to be spoon fed when she would not eat. Fellow students commented on our strange connection and how it seemed as though we were mother and daughter. She did not want attention or help from anyone else except for me and I did not worry about anyone else but her. As soon as I left her with two other girls while I went to buy more water she immediately became upset and started to cry until she was released and allowed to accompany me.
I truly cannot express the way I feel about my time with her, as the relationship was so foreign to me. She cried as she was taken from my arms at the end of the day and I was deeply saddened not knowing what is to become of her. Although the orphanage was very clean and seemed to have a great staff it is just not enough knowing that these kids don’t have parents to love them and care for them constantly. In addition to growing up in an orphanage, Nhe and the other children were all growing up being HIV positive. Although times are changing they still live in a country where stigma about the disease frightens many. They don’t get to go to public school and are basically being raised separate from the community.
The kids don’t understand why they have to take pills daily or why they only get to leave the orphanage on special occasions. They are being raised with a false impression of the world not knowing how the average daily life functions and the interaction outside the gates of their little guarded community. I want to help. I just need to find a way and wait for stigma to dissipate.
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