Ma and Zu
We walk the road out of town and stop along the way to buy supplies for lunch, which Zu will be preparing for us at her house. She buys greens and tofu and tomatoes along with instant noodles and some sweet treats for her kids. Moments later we leave the road and head up a steep and very muddy hillside where the path is a boggy mess. Though she’s only wearing her plastic open backed sandals, Zu walks like she’s got on good hiking boots, and smilingly warns us that the way up will be a bit slippery. She lends a strong hand when I’m slipping backwards through the mud, and eventually we reach the top of the hillside and the walk is somewhat more level and the path significantly dryer.
Along the way we pass through other villages, see schools—even the kindergarten Zu says she’ll eventually be sending her children—, and she shows us the small plots of indigo plants that the Hmong women use to dye their traditional clothing, the tea plantations, and explains what’s being planted, and how the people tell their free-wandering water buffalo apart(they’re like children, all different, she maintains). Her English is nothing short of amazing, and she clearly loves these mountains where she lives. She shares that she is 24, has been married for 8 years and has a little boy of 3 and a half, and an 18 month old daughter whom she is already teaching some basic English, to prepare her for when she begins to join her mother at the market. She tells us about her family, how women move to their husband’s village upon marriage, about her siblings, the impending wedding of a younger sister. She is one of 14 children, and despite all the obstacles we perceive through our Western eyes, she is a tireless worker, is undaunted by challenges and has a truly enterprising spirit.
After about 3 hours we arrive at her home, a simple wooden hut. Ju, Zu’s toddler daughter’s face lights up as we scramble down the path to the house. She is swept up by her mother, and we all disappear into the small inside of the hut, after Zu shows us that she’s taught her daughter how to “high five”. Although electricity now has reached the village—it’s been about a year now, according to Zu—, there is no visible light. There are no windows, and two rudimentary doors, one at the front, and another narrow one at the back, next to the water tank, where the washing up, laundry and personal washing is done. In a small alcove there is a fire pit, and at the opposite end of the hut are the kitchen supplies: a plastic basin for washing up, a small rack with bowls and chopsticks, a couple of pans, a kettle and a few containers with basics like salt and chili peppers. Zu’s husband—whose name we never did get—and Zu set about unpacking, and chatter together while the children, neighbor’s children, and a couple of nephews all play outside. Little Ju toddles after her mother, playing with a juice box and sitting right at the edge of the fire. Meal preparation goes into full swing. The couple move seamlessly through the tasks, cooking eggs—giving the shells to Ju to play with—, cutting and frying the tofu and tomatoes, preparing the noodles and stir-frying the cabbage. Her husband had the rice ready prior to our arrival. When she’s away for the day, he takes care of the kids and does all the cooking at midday.
As everything comes together, we turn the table right side up, and four stools are set up. We dig into what is one of the tastiest meals we’ve had on the trip, and Zu and her husband eat with gusto. Little Ju is given a bowl that she paws at, while the remaining kids are given a large bowl which is set up on the seat of the motorcycle right outside the door. Over more chitchat about where their rice paddy is, and preparations for tomorrow’s wedding, we finish our meal and do our small part to help clear up, mostly by keeping little Ju entertained. To our horror, Zu sits her outside at a small cutting board with a large knife, and merrily continues on with the clearing up. We then spend some time looking over Zu’s handiwork—the stuff she usually peddles at the market, and she shows us the new sets of clothes that she has just made for the recently begun new year. We marvel at her stamina, especially since it looks very much like she’s expecting a third child.
On the way back, she stops to show us the distant church she maintains she goes to every day—yes, she’s Catholic—, and to admire the peaceful views from the area near her village. We’ll walk back to the main road, and then she will hop a ride with her husband who’ll have Ju strapped to his back, back to Sapa. They’ve arranged for a couple of motorbike taxis back into town for us as well, so after a big hug Zu actually gives me one of her four bracelets—for your daughter, she says—we take a souvenir photo—and after a heart-stopping ride through the mountains on the back of our respective motorbikes—we’re back.
A special day.
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