Nguyen Ngoc Thanh

I left Vietnam via Ba Ria, Vung Tau on November 1, 1982. Vung Tau is a beach resort with Can Gio estuary nearby. Of course it was a clandestine trip. Being caught meant prison time. Our boat was a coastal fishing boat, not ocean worthy. It carried 60 people, including children and women. There were two former infantry officers of the South VN army. Both were just released from the reeducation camps. They never controlled a boat before. But they were assigned the task of co-captain.

The day before was a Sunday. I was having lunch with my grandmother, father, and siblings. A cousin came over to inform me that my aunty had arranged two seats on a boat about to leave Vietnam. My aunty wanted to send her two sons. At the last minutes, she probably was too scared to lose both of them in the worst case scenario. So aunty wanted to substitute one of her sons with me. I was very surprised by the rare opportunity to realize my dream. However, I knew that my family could not afford three ounces of gold to pay for the trip. My cousin (the one who was supposed to take the trip) explained that I did not have to pay upfront. Only when I arrived safely at the refugee camp, then my brother in America would pay $3000 (about ten ounces of gold) to the family of trip organizer. My older brother escaped 2 years earlier and resettled in California at the time.

My four younger siblings did not want me to go. After 1975, our lives were turned upside down. Within the past three years, we suffered three deaths in the family, our mother and two brothers, due to illnesses. I suddenly became the head of the household. The escaping trip was always dangerous. There were rumors about people died at sea or were killed by Thai pirates, not to mention jail term if getting caught by local police. My siblings were afraid to lose me. My heart was really torn. But I was unemployed, hopeless, and living without any prospect of a bright future. No matter how risky, I needed to take a chance for a better life. I just had to wipe my tears and leave, hoping for the best, yet knowing it could be the last goodbye. I left home with a heavy heart.

I met up with the guide and took a bus from Sai Gon to Ba Ria. By nightfall, I was arranged to hide in a hut with a few more passengers at the riverbank where fishing boats were docking. Around 4 AM we were led to board a small wooden fishing boat.

The river trip from Ba Ria to Vung Tau was long and full of fears. We were flagged down at several police checking points. The boat owner offered bribe money and gifts at every stop. By 6 AM we were out at sea. At this time I saw more people emerged from 5 other fishing boats. They got on my boat. Cans of water, diesel oil, and several big baskets of cucumbers, food, and rice were transferred to the boat I was on. Later I learned that there were six boats registered as a collective fishing fleet. Passengers and supplies were hidden among those boats. Once the boats were out to the open sea, people and supplies were congregated in one boat. The other five boats would continue their fishing trip. Our boat would take off for our risky journey.

November is a month known for the stormy season. All we had was a small personal military land compass and a set of instructions from those who left before us and successfully reached the shores of Malaysia. The instructions were like from Vung Tau go 180 degrees east for 10 hours, then change to 160 degrees northeast to avoid the Gulf of Thailand. This area was where Thai fishermen attacked, robbed, raped, kidnapped women, and often destroyed boats, let people drown to erase evidence.

Day 1 was calm and peaceful. We were out of reach from Vietnamese coast guards. Everyone was relieved and hopeful. Day 2 we encountered light storms. Day 3 was horrible. The rain was very hard. The wind blew strongly. The waves were as high as a three storied building. The small engine stopped and restarted many times. The boat was tossed up and down violently.

On day 1, I was assigned to the engine compartment, scooping up water that leaked in. Day 2, since I knew how to steer the boat, I asked and was allowed to control the boat while the captain rested. When the storm hit on day 3, I was steering the boat, cutting perpendicular to the huge waves to keep the boat from being capsized. By night time, the storm gradually died down. The ocean became so calm and quiet that it felt like nothing had happened during the day. Our boat was slowly moving forward at 160 degrees.

In the darkness, I suddenly spotted a tiny dot of light. It looked like a tip of a burned incense stick in the dark skyline. I informed the two co-captains and asked if we should aim our boat in that direction. The boat owner and the co-captains agreed with my suggestion. I changed the boat’s direction, heading straight to the lighted dot of hope.

Few hours later, the dot now became bigger and appeared to be flickering. As we got closer and closer, we saw a big oil platform. There were several steel towers. The tiny light dot that I saw earlier was the flame from burning natural gas, released from the oil wells at the top of the towers on the platform. We looked at the oil platform for workers but could not find anyone. As we scanned the surrounding, we saw a big ship docking nearby. The boat owner shot up a flare. Moment later some sailors appeared on deck, pointing at our boat. We called out to them and said we were Vietnamese refugees.

After a long wait, the sailors dropped down a rope ladder. By this time our boat was right at the side of the ship. The boat owner, the co-captains, a man who used to be an interpreter for the US troop, and I climbed up the ladder. The captain of ship told us that the ship belonged to a Japanese company and was doing oil drilling in the international water. However, they could not let people get on board because they had to stay at the site for a few months. We told them our boat was leaking and the engine was not working properly. There were many children and women. We were hungry and exhausted. We begged the captain to rescue us.

The captain told us to wait for him. He wanted to contact his company in Japan, and headquarter of the United Nation High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) in Hongkong. By international law, if the ship rescue us, Japan which the ship registered to would have to take us in when no other countries accepted us. While the captain went to his cabin to make phone calls, I walked to the side of the ship and looked down at our boat. It was so small like a little leaf bobbing up and down in the water. A quick thought ran through my mind. I did not want to get back on that boat at all. Please rescue us!!!

Our prayers were answered when the Japanese captain told us that he got the green light to rescue us. I stood there watching my boat companions climbing up the ladder, carrying whatever they had. For me, I only had a pair of shorts blackened by engine oil on me. Nothing else. Yet I had what I dreamed for. My new life started at that moment.

We stayed on the Japanese ship for 10 days. Then, it took us to a refugee camp in Pulau Bidong Island, Malaysia. It took the big ship 8 hours to travel from the oil platform to Pulau Bidong camp. After two weeks at sea, we stepped foot on land. Our boat was numbered as PB733. We were officially boat people. We arrived in Malaysia without any legal entry visa. I never forget that I was an illegal immigrant once.