Share your journals

[Reporter]

"Where are you?" the witch asked as she broke into the two Ntxawm's families thatch. "Granny is here for the feast as you have invited."

There was no response, no sound from anywhere or anyone.  But soon she heard nervous, shaking noises from behind the family kiln. She walked over to the area and saw a big toe sticking out from an tipped over wok.

[Reporter]

Ntxawm Yau trembled as she was listening to the mauling sound from the kiln area.

Then "Oh, Granny," she begged as the witch tore up the mouth of the sack for Ntxawm Yau.  "You already ate my older sister. You are full now. You can wait."

"I can have more, and I want more," the witch said.

"Oh, then, Granny, don't eat me. I can take you to my parents and you can have more than us two."

The witch's eyes glittered with delight. "Very well," she said with blood falling off her lips. "Where are they? How shall we get to them?"

Ntxawm Yau got out of the sack and led the witch outside. 

[Reporter]

"We plant two trees," Ntxawm proposed. "You plant bonxai and I plant pine. When they grow, we are raised up and we see my parents."

The witch agreed.


Trees planted, the two sat on their respective tree tops.

"Pine, the more you age,
 The taller you get;
Bonxai, the older you are,
The shorter you become."

"What did you say?" asked the witch.

The magical words raised the pine far up into the sky.

[Reporter]

The witch tried to climb up the pine-like tree and keeps trying to recall Ntxawm's name.  "Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau," she said as she glued herself to the tree. Then she slipped back down to the bush and forgot Ntxawm's name.

After thinking through for a long time, she recalled it again. "Ntxawm Yau, Ntxawm Yau, Ntxaum Yau," she kept repeating as she attrempted to climb the tree again.

The witch fell back down to the bush and forgot the name again.

[Reporter]

My family is Protestant.  Yes, I'd heard that Catholic Hmongs still keep their xwm kaab (is that what they're called?), still hu plig, saib yaig and such.  I don't quite know what their reasons are but I'm certain that what you stated plays a roll in their religious activities.  And I don't quite know why others converted - I've been told that many converted b/c they don't have the funds to tua qab, tua npua to hu plig and ua neeb so they converted for that particular reason - but my grandparents' decision to convert was to be saved by our Lord and Savior. 

...And thanks for writing the folktale story...

Xwm kaab is permitted in Catholic families. So are many other Hmong traditions. Yves Bertrais told his followers that Catholicism wanted to preserve other culture's traditions but just wants them to also believe in God.  Before Yves Bertrais died, he requested to have a Hmong funeral. He got one in France.

Many people have become Protestants because they no longer wanted to have anything to do with Hmong stuff. Christianity is easier, they felt. All you do is believe and worship Jesus/God once a week or so.  Originally, donations at churches were voluntary. It's still like that in many American-run churches. But many Hmong churches insist on a 10% donation of each believer's paycheck. I don't know how you save more money there than buying animals to perform Hmong traditions only when needed. So, your family does not run the chicken over the bride's head at the groom's door on that first encounter? Nor wear Hmong clothes at weddings? Etc.?

The Lord saves those who save themselves.

[Reporter]

Ntxawm Yau tried to help the witch.

"Granny, you must first put grease on the tree before you can climb it," she advised.

The witch went into the house and brought out a wok of grease. She sprinkled the grease all around the tree. She now climbed it. But she kept falling off back onto the ground. Finally, the witch got angrier and went back inside the house for an axe.

After a few chops, Ntxawm Yau advised the witch again. "Oh, no, that's not the way to use our axe," she said. "You must pound it on the rock a few times before it will chop off the tree more easily."

The dull axe turned out completely useless, and the witch got even angrier. "I will eat you up when I get you," she threatened.

[Reporter]

"Granny, I told you: spare me and get my entire family; kill me and that's all you get to eat."

The witch walked off and ran back from a distance to shake down the tree. Each bump almost made Ntxawm lose hold of her branches. "Look up, granny," she called down to the witch. "I have something for you."

Ntxawm sprinkled down some fine, grounded hot peppers onto the witch's eyes.

[Reporter]

Granny ran towards the gulley to wash her eyes off by the stream there.

Meanwhile, Ntxawm's tree grew a bit taller into the clouds.

[Reporter]

Hoy Khan, Laos--They called it that. But we have also come to know it as Banana Village.

Locals loved bananas. So did maternal grandpa.  An open-air market just on the rim of some hills held booths full of every kind from the wild, cat-shit bananas to domesticated plaintains and even the larger purplish, big-seeded sour bananas and the rounder, smaller egg-shaped bananas so loved by all.  

Our group arrived on a song theo driven by the local Tasseng's oldest son one afternoon on the dirt road.  Our three families wanted to move out swiftly so that no one could trace us here. The Commies had taken over our former town. Grandpa's rare, expensive mansion, too. That was the reason he had summoned two of the local authorities to help us migrate out here for other plans.  The Commies had accused Grandpa of hosting secret spies behind the rocky mountains. They gave him only two choices: bring them out or be arrested. But Grandpa chose a third choice: leaving his town and mansion.

Yet grandpa insisted that we not move another foot step outside Banana Village. "Here has so many bananas, where else do you want to run to?" he questioned.

Less than a month later, the Chaofas sent a note on a red piece of paper to the controlling Commie base just up the hill from the banana vendors. "Tomorrow," the note said in Laotian. "We are coming to have banana breakfast with you."

Chia Doua Yang, the main Commie leader in town, discussed the cursive handwritten note with his comrades and the local tasseng.  "That's no threat," he said. "Can't be true. If they are serious about having banana breakfast, they wouldn't be telling us ahead of time. Just ignore it. No need to lose our sleep over it," he insisted.

By 6 a.m., Chia Doua came out in a green Commie military suit to the side of the dirt road on a horse. We were all looking away. He and his horse joined us.  Despite his assurance to his soldiers and the locals that the threat was nothing to fear, he had vacated the base the night before. This morning the base and the banana booths were in flame with dark smokes up in the air in the distance. Boom! Boom! Boom! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Like marathon  popcorns popping inside a heated pot.  Chia Doua's face was just as dark as the thick smoke.

The ammos ceased within an hour of exploding. Turned out, the only thing the battle achieved was burning down the local's banana thatches and vendors--the entire banana market arena.  What used to look like mushrooms of varying heights became a totally bald spot full of ash rubble and melt down wine glasses and tin cans. 

Grandpa continued to just plant bananas now since the smokes would clear up soon. Dad and the other two heads of their families lost patience. We abandoned Grandpa to the locals and the banana fields.

[Reporter]

May 5, 1999, Vientiene, Laos--The Mekong River is just down some walking distance from here. But one needs not fish there for walking catfish.

That's not because they are sold here. It's because the southern puddle of this Early Morning Market actually had a live one living there.

Of course, by now, it's too late for anyone to catch it. The last one or, perhaps the only giant catfish the size of a typical land domesticated cat, was netted out of this puddle just this afternoon.  However the netter first had the idea to net there or why people had never netted there before today is questionable. I could not speak Laotian to the netter, so I did not ask him about it. Nor did any of the bystanders--I didn't ask, they didn't ask, they didn't tell.  

And how did a catfish get raised there without an owner? The puddle belongs to no one. There is no law against going into it or even dumping trash into it.  So, obviously, either a baby or an egg must have fallen off of the nearby fish vendors and secretly grew up in the puddle. It would not have had any problem getting foods there, since all trashes empty into the puddle.

With a simple one cast, the netter stretched the bait-cast net, covering the entire dirty-looking brown pond.  In only shorts and completely topless under this tropical heat, he jumped in. His feet were swallowed down by the mud but he managed to pull them off as he made his way across the pond around the edges of the net.  His hands feeling as he bent down towards the water--now and then raising his head again as he moved to another spot.  

Suddenly, the netter's arms shook and his head was almost tossed out of its place like a tail wagging a dog.

Bystanders surrounding the puddle cheered in unison!!  "Whoa!!"

One didn't need to know Laotian to understand that expression.

"Yai," said the netter.

"Bo?" someone asked.

Those mean "big" and "really?"--in that order.

Manipulating around the net, the netter slowly brought the fish onto the surface under the net. The fish was now clear in view!

Another cheer!

Cat-sized, slippery and slimy looking much like a typical American bullhead but darker in pigmentation and larger whiskers.

Then the netter removed the fish from the net, lifted it, and walked up the side of the puddle. He tossed it onto the drier ground up here.  

More cheers, of course!

The catfish struggled back and forth on its belly like a baby nagging and rolling on the ground for candies, probably forgetting to walk or even run. After all, this one has got no legs.

The netter returned to the mud to pull out his net.

[Reporter]

KM52, Laos--No, we didn't take any banana with us on the evening we escaped Hoy Khan. People elsewhere would know where we originated from if we did.

And that plan worked. Six months later, we made it here--KM52. No one knew where we had come from.

Then Grandpa tracked us down. He looked just as dark as Chia Doua's face on that battling morning.  He, too, had abandoned the banana fields. So did Chia Doua Yang. He said there were too many banana breakfasts at Hoy Khan that Chia Doua's troops could no longer survive there. The bananas were running out--like no longer abundant, that is--not literally fleeing the village like we. Grandpa and Chia Doua's families had moved to the Nam Ngawm Dam and lived quite happily there with fewer bananas.  Now he wanted to move to KM52 with us.  We had only a few banana trees. But that was ok to Grandpa.

[Reporter]

Paris, France--Aug. 16, 2011--Yes, it's just a dream. I'm not there. Read lots about it, including La Sorbonne and La Seine and La Tour Eiffel. Many other La's, even some La fille and La femme.  But just reading.

Once there though, I don't see things being any different from New York's crowded subways or Philadelphia's jammed streets.  Just that the language is French.  Cars vrooming and honking probably aren't any different.

[Reporter]

Nantes, France--Aug. 17, 2011--How could I be here if I wasn't even in Paris yet?

[Reporter]

There are many reasons as to why many Hmongs converted to Christianity (both back then and now). I think that for the most part, many converted b/c Christianity freed them from having to butcher chickens, pigs, cows, and the likes for jingle belling (ua neeb) reasons, as a lot of people lacked the fund for those activities back in the days. 

Nonetheless, I disagreed that Hmong converted to Protestant b/c they "no longer wanted to have anything to do with Hmong stuff". Sure, perhaps some are but then you have to know the difference between a mere church go-er and a true Christian. We got rid of the kev cai dlaab qhuas (anything that pertains to spiritual ceremonies such as lwm qab, hu plig, ua neeb, and the likes) but we do not get rid of being a Hmong (naav khaub dluag Moob, has lug Moob, clan marriages and such). And no, coj dlaab is not part of being a Hmong – coj dlaab is a religious/spiritual practice, not a culture practice.

I don't deny the fact that a lot of churches, especially Hmong churches, are overly aggressive about the 10% tithe (yes, even I get annoyed about that – not just you). And since the aggressiveness comes from the pastor's sermons, a lot of folks think that the pastor is pocketing those funds. But let me be cleared about one thing: I can't speak for all churches or pastors, but I have attended both big and small Hmong churches and I can tell you that they are NOT rich. When the bills come, you want to pull out your hair. I mean, what can you do when your expenses are more than your revenues? Of course, you will go to your only source of income – your congregation. I know of many cases where the treasurer had to choose between paying for a bill that will incur late fees or the pastor's monthly salary. Of course, they choose the former, leaving the pastor with empty-handed until the following week.

Nonetheless, giving to the Lord IS and always WILL BE a voluntary issue.

As for American churches, just an FYI, some churches have direct deposits set-up for their 10% tithes so it's not just that Hmong churches are greedy (yes, some probably are). There is a need for those funds and Hmong churches just have a bad way of reiterating it.

Hm...? Say more.

[Reporter]

About....?

About American churches collecting tithes and about how many times a pastor has actually let go of his claims to his salaries 'til the following week, etc.  I have gone to American churches before (Well, just to the Catholic churches) and they only passed a bowl around; giving is voluntary. That's usually not 10% of one's income.

Also, say more on whether Jesus originally made tithes a part of someone's membership in a church. Or are tithes are recent man-made due to a tougher economy to operate God's services?