Mai Houa Vue , 53

In Laos, 1970’s: “As the war reached its peak in 1974, we moved from Long Chieng to Thailand for safety. My husband Vang was a highly respected pilot. Everyone knew his name and association with General Vang Pao. As his status grew, so did his ego. I found myself frequently alone with my children while he attended parties, New Years and other celebrations with his group of comrades without me.

I became just an asset he owned. Now that he had me, he no longer wanted me.

Since I am a Hmong woman, my words were worthless. Even if I was well educated, a brainless Hmong man’s words would be valued over mine.

Vang changed from the humble, caring person who once guarded my life with his, into a self-absorbed, power-driven, egocentric man. He used his rank and power to get anything he wanted. In our seventh year of marriage, he brought home a second wife. He did not ask if he could or how I felt about it. He just told me he was bringing another wife home.

My heart hurt so much. It hurt as though someone I loved had just died in front of me, over and over. That heartache was with me every day. There was no intimacy, no trust, no hope, no bond, no more love. My body and heart became frozen in time. Yet, the pain grew deeper as Vang decided two wives weren’t enough. He brought home a third wife.

The other wives and I got along if I played as though I was deaf and blind. That’s how I protected myself from the agonizing pain of ultimate betrayal. He loved the other wives as though I didn’t exist. He loved their family as though I didn’t have one.

I felt like a caged bird looking at the door, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself so I could sneak out and be free.

My heart grew harder and stronger as the days passed. I decided I wasn’t going to accept this life. I wanted the love my parents had shown and given to me to be felt by my own children. Instead they lived with cold, distant love, if any, from their father. I didn’t want this kind of life for my children and decided to go to the United States, so they could be educated and not suffer.

My future and love for my children gave me the courage to ask for a divorce in 1980, while still in Thailand. He surprisingly granted me the divorce but with a contingency. He told my children and me that we were no longer a part of the family.

I arrived in St. Paul, Minnesota, in 1980, with my six children. We started our fatherless lives there and then settled in Fresno, California. We lived on welfare as I found seasonal jobs picking strawberries and tomatoes and weeding fields for extra income. We didn’t have much, but we had each other.
The people I was close to who knew of my history understood why I divorced Vang. Others, who heard of me as Ms. Ex-Vang, thought I must be the dumb Hmong woman who divorced such a sovereign leader. I must be a horrible person for letting go of such a reputable man. No Hmong man would approach me with Vang alive. They were afraid of stepping over his intangible powers. I thought I was free of his grasp, but his name still reigned over me like a storm cloud.

After many years, many failed relationships, many lonely years and countless rough turns, I never stopped dreaming of love. I’m that free bird that is out of the cage and able to wander endlessly from horizon to horizon. I know in my heart that love exists even for a humble, mature Hmong woman like me. At age 53, I finally found that love that I once dreamed of all my life. True love exists. I’m living proof!”

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Excerpt from Mai Houa's story, written and photographed by Kou Vang.