"Vo Tay"

“Chau chao me” - As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I had bungled my greeting to my new mother-in-law. 

My husband and I had met nearly a year earlier in Hanoi. We quickly realized that we had similar ideas about life and happiness, or, as the Vietnamese say, we were “hop nhau.” On this day in early January, we held a “bao hy”, a ceremony to celebrate our marriage after the fact rather than hold a traditional ceremony. We arrived in my husband’s home village, about two hours outside of Hanoi, and prepared to greet guests and celebrate our new life together.

I imagined something akin to a wedding reception as we have back home and I had been told to expect about a hundred people from my husband’s immediate and extended family. I fantasized that I speak beautiful Vietnamese with everyone I met and that I would amaze everyone with how perfectly I performed the traditional rituals.

That’s not exactly what happened.

First, I arrived, very nervous, with my husband. Rather than holding hands or other affectionate gestures that westerners normally display at their wedding, we stood apart from each other upon exiting the car and walking up to my husband’s ancestral home. His father suffers from ill-health and was indisposed, so his mother stood in front of the doorway to greet us. My husband spoke first and then I recited “chau chao me.” I felt an elbow in my side as my husband hissed “con, not chau!” I had already mixed up my Vietnamese pronouns. My mother-in-law, always the epitome of patience and kindness, blinked slowly, and calmly replied “me chao con” as if I had made no mistake. 

Our next stop was the family altar. I have a deep respect for family as well as the past, so I had prepared carefully for this ritual. My imagined moment of perfect actions was destroyed as a helpful man grabbed the incense for me and began miming the motions I needed to make over and over as the crown looked on. He bowed about 20 times before handing me the incense. I already knew to bow three times and to place the incense carefully on the altar, but, as I tried to reach forward, Mr. Helpful grabbed it away from me and placed the incense on the altar himself. My husband sighed.

Our next duty was to go around and toast our future with the guests. As I stepped outside to look around, I realized I could not see the entire party. I nearly fainted. Even across the street at other people’s homes, guests were lined up at tables and craning their necks to get a look at me. Far from the small gathering I had imagined, we would welcome over 700 people that day. 

The immediate family had no time to enjoy anything, as they spent the day running to buy and cook more food for the steady arrival of more guests. When I asked my husband why so many people came, he shrugged. “They’re curious,” he responded. 

Since I was also pregnant at this time, I wanted to avoid alcohol, so I clinked my cup and only put the cup to my mouth. My poor husband, in contrast, cannot drink a single beer without turning bright red. About halfway through, I turned to make a comment to him and saw he was a shade of deep purple.

My Vietnamese was also especially terrible that day. I was incredibly nervous after saying the wrong thing to my mother, so I tried to avoid talking too much. Luckily, most people were interested in talking to me, not with me. A big smile and “Vang a” usually worked, although later I found out that I agreed to some really crazy things, such as helping build a house, lending a hand during the rice harvest and teaching English to about a million kids. 

I also enjoyed the ways in which our guests both talked directly and non-directly, depending on the subject. This is a true talent of Vietnamese people. For instance, one woman grabbed my long coat, without asking, and began to inspect my belly. She announced I was 4 months pregnant, another nearby friend disagreed and claimed six months and then a loud debate ensued on how western women look when they are pregnant. Observations about how “big” I was had nothing to do with being pregnant. Another man, after a bit of wine, announced loudly that I was taller than my husband. Fortunately, my husband was engaged in conversation and didn’t hear, so I just gazed back and grinned: “Shhh, that’s top secret.” Everyone burst out laughing. 

Later, a very elderly man, after enjoying numerous cups of wine, stumbled over to us. We both lent a hand to help him stand, but he only wanted to speak to my husband, pulling him aside. Then he declared much more loudly that he probably thought: “You must have a very strong machine to marry a western woman.” I had no idea what he meant, but the guests did. My husband turned even more purple as entire tables of people fell over laughing. The old gentleman seemed unaware of their reaction as he continued to look my husband up and down in a knowing way while patting him on the shoulder approvingly. 

I only remember the rest of the day as a blur of food, good wishes and shaking hands, except for one more encounter.

As we prepared to head back to Hanoi, a group of village kids surrounded me. One told me I was pretty, another asked my name. A shy little girl with big brown eyes came and stood near me. I told her she was very pretty as I touched her face and then asked her name. She replied, and then skipped away to her mom. I heard her exclaim, “The princess touched my face and she said I was pretty!” I was stunned, “A princess? She thinks I am a princess?” I had never imagined that anyone, even a little girl, would ever think of someone so average as a princess.

Then it dawned on me. I was really lucky. Not only had I married an amazing man, but I also had gained a wonderful group of family and friends. Everyone wished us well, no matter my mistakes, and they all would forgive the hundreds of errors I would no doubt make in the future. 

I was now a “vo Tay.” I should call myself “con” to my new parents. Yes, I am taller than my husband. I just reply “Vang” if I don’t understand, even if it gets me in trouble. And at least one person for one moment believed I was a princess. 

Ginger R. Davis

10:09 AM