Mai Vue , 39

In Laos, 1960-70’s: “My mother passed away when I was very young, leaving behind my two older brothers, a younger sister and me. My father became very depressed and isolated. It was hard for him to deal with the shock of her sudden death and then taking care of four children on his own. To deal with his depression, he abandoned us for a year and left us in my grandmother’s care.

We had many pigs and chickens to raise and feed; there was always work to do. My siblings and I worked all day constantly to keep up with the demands. My grandmother was very old and couldn’t physically help us. She just kept an eye on us to make sure we stayed out of trouble.

All that hard labor at such a young age, being around animals all the time, suffering malnourishment, and constantly being in the sun contributed to my stunted growth and old look. I was ill most of the time, suffering from painful migraines and body aches. When my father returned a year later, the communists came to take over our village. They had already captured and killed many of our relatives. Fearing for our lives, we went into the jungles to escape.
We lived with and followed large groups of Hmong who also had one goal in mind — survival. It was like traveling in a herd, moving to wherever we could be safe from danger.

My grandmother passed during this time. I was very sad and heartbroken since she had raised us from when we were little and truly loved us. With her gone, there was no one to love us. My father was distant and unaffectionate. He could never replace the maternal figure that
we so desperately needed.

In the jungles there was no difference between day and night. There was no time to rest or stop. And there was absolutely no stability. Every day was a new challenge. We ran through the thick, unpaved forest, up and down hills to remote valleys that we didn’t even know existed. We had to survive without any rice or meat and instead we ate whatever we could find – leaves, roots, potatoes, bananas, bamboo shoots and corn and grain from abandoned fields. We drank droplets of water from the morning dew and chewed leaves for moisture. It was a demoralizing time in my life. Everyone in my family died except my older brother and I, orphans left to fend for ourselves. My passion for survival came from my anger and sorrow for all the Hmong the communists had already murdered.

We made it to the Thai border and crossed the Mekong with inner tubes bought from soldiers who sold them for a very steep price. I didn’t know how to swim and was holding on for dear life to the inner tube as my cousin, our lead swimmer, pulled and dragged us across. When we reached the other side, I almost died from hyperthermia and starvation. My body was so exhausted. I had no energy left in me.

In Thailand, we stayed with a cousin who regarded us as a nuisance and made us work and do chores, but we received nothing in return. We weren’t respected because we were orphans and they felt they could take advantage of our situation. I fell ill and was hospitalized for one month. My spirit was plagued by the loneliness and struggle of life.”

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