I was driven to PRPC, near the Manila airport, along with about one hundred compatriots. On the next morning, more than half of them were driven to Bataan to study English before their resettlement in the United States. The remaining were driven to the airport for different destinations, e.g. France, Australia, Norway, etc. I didn’t belong to any categories, I so had to stay at PRPC waiting for admission into New Caledonia.

However, my refugee status had been sent to Brother Visitor Raphael Donato, I would guess, because the day next after my arriving to PRPC, Brother Donato and his secretary, Mrs. Floreøs came to visit me at PRPC. I suggested that Brother Donato sponsor me to any community of the Pilipino Brothers so that I could re-start my "regular" life. The administration at PRPC denied it. Why? I really didn’t know. However, the administration at PRPC allowed Brother Donato or Mrs. Floreøs to drive me out one day/week, usually on Saturday.

Thus, I could visit some De La Salle schools in the region of Manila, like De La Salle University at Taft Avenue, the Novitiate at Lipa City, and some high schools. Particularly at Antipolo school, I was amazed knowing that there was only one Brother running a big school with more than 2000 students, most of the staff and faculty seemed of the group Signum Fidei - perhaps something similar with the La Salle Sisters(?) in Vietnam. The tour around the region of Manila made me "homesick", thinking of the District of Saigon. Indeed, before the events of 1975, the district of Saigon composed of more than three hundred Brothers and more than one hundred Novices, Postulants, and Juniors, administering over twenty-seven De La Salle establishments. And now?

One says that "among blind persons, the one-eyed person is king." At PRPC I was assigned as a translator into English and/or French on behalf of Indochinese (Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian) refugees who stopped by from Indonesia, Hong Kong, Singapore, Thailand, etc. and who knew neither foreign language. I used to accompany some refugee families to the Australia, New Zealand, Norway, and Denmark Consulates to be interviewed and/or to complete their refugee documents.

On one occasion I helped a family complete its refugee status at the Australian Consulate, the consulate told me, "Where will you be resettled?" I replied, "New Caledonia!" He opened his eyes wide looking at me, then said, "Are you not afraid of that? You just escaped from the communist system in order to go to the socialist one?" I smiled, then replied, "To tell the truth, I wish to be resettled in the United States, but my Superior wanted me to go to New Caledonia." He seemed to understand what I just said. Looking at me for a few seconds, he said, "Brother! do you want to go to Australia? You have two options: One, if you obey to your superior then go to New Caledonia; Two, if you don’t want to obey to your Superior then I welcome you to Australia and will immediately sign every necessary documents for your admission to Australia." I smiled without saying a word.

***

Two of so many tragic stories I was informed through the "translator job" are as follow:

2. In the beginning of June, 1984, PRPC welcomed a group of Vietnamese boatpeople who had fought against "mother nature" i.e. storms, against death of hunger and thirst, against their own body... over thirty days on the high seas just to survive. Departing from Ba Ria, Vung Tau, There were forty boatpeople "half-dead half-alive" on a small boat which was luckily pushed by strong winds and waves and arrived to an Eastern shore of Manila Bay. They were put into quarantine for two days at PRPC. The images of sixty-two boatpeople rescued by Callaghan DDG994 came back to my memory. But these forty boatpeople were really much more miserable and depressed.
When I helped a young unaccompanied fourteen-year- old boy with his papers, he recalled to me how he had escaped, "When I was wandering late afternoon on the river side of Hai Son, I saw a group of about ten persons embark to a very small boat. I did hear before that there are some people who occasionally follow other people to flee overseas. I thus followed this group. No one paid attention because it was dark. The small boat approached by the side of a bigger boat. Everyone jumped up to it. The sun rose slowly, and at that time I recognized that I was on a boat with many people, and around me I just saw water and water with low waves... Every day I received three sweet boiled potatoes. I didn’t know how many days had passed. No one gave me anymore potatoes. I was really hungry. Many times it was raining, windy... Sometimes strong waves passed over the boat and made everyone wet, then I felt very cold. There were also strong winds which rocked the boat so hard that people shouted loudly "Help! Help!" I fell into unconsciousness many times..."
To see his frightened and abnormal attitude when he suddenly stopped talking, I felt he had something he didn’t dare to recall. I said, "Brave boy! Go to bed and try to sleep, OK? After dinner, I’ll invite you to a refreshment."
After dinner, I brought to him a soft drink can. I asked him about his native village, his family, his school... I suddenly, but with a soft voice, asked him, "Is there any accident, e.g. someone was beaten, or someone died on the boat?" I noticed frightened flashes from his eyes. He closed eyes, still kept silence. I saw he was so threatened by memories that his hands trembled. I guessed there was something quite serious that had happened on the high seas during his tragic over 30 days’ journey. I assured him to be not afraid, "If you have seen something that has frightened you, that has obsessed your mind... just tell out and you’ll feel much better." He hesitated for a few seconds, started breaking out in tears, and then said, "I don’t know for how many days we were on the boat. I only remember that they stopped giving me potatoes and other people too, for many days... We were very hungry. One day, I heard people around me whispering something like ‘She’s dead!’ And I saw a man bending over the dead woman then detached her arm still bleeding..." He stopped talking, bearing his face into his hands, and started sniffling. I embraced him and said, "That’s OK! That’s OK!..." I couldn’t stop my tears rolling down my face.
Two days later, I accompanied the whole group of forty boatpeople to the port in destination Puerto Princesa City. Before the ship left, I repeated many times to the little boy, "Remember! When you arrive to Palawan Refugee Center, look for Brother Hoaøng or Cöûu, again Brother Hoaøng or Cöûu... and tell them my name, Brother An, again Brother An, and ask them to drive you to CADP, again C...A...D...P... The Sisters at CADP will take care of you. OK? Good luck!"

***

Brother Superior General Joseù Pablo had informed Brother Head of the European Region in Paris, Jean-Marie Thouard, about my case right away after receiving my letter in August 1983 - handed to him by Brother Raphael Donato (Cf. page 17). Brother Joseù Pablo suggested that Brother Jean Marie Thouard sponsor me to New Caledonia. I was most grateful for that, though acting that way might disturb and/or delay the normal and regular processing of my refugee status. Indeed, Brother Donato informed me that "The Intergovernmental Committee for Immigration (ICM) is no more responsible for your case. All of your status documents have been sent to the French Embassy, and ICM suggested that you re-apply as ‘a migrant’ into France."

Brother Donato also informed me that he had been contacting the Interior Minister of the Philippines who had promised to provide me with a sort of visa to leave the country for New Caledonia. In fact, I got the permission to leave the Philippines on May 15, 1984. (Such a document had been signed on April 30, 1984. What a coincidence: Just nine years after the fall of Saigon in April 30, 1975!) But such a document couldn’t be used without the visa from the French Embassy to go to New Caledonia.

By the end of June, 1984, Mr. Janvier, UNHCR Representative, asked me, "What’s going on with your refugee status?" I just shook my head, saying, "I don’t know. Nobody tells me." He said, "If by August, the French Embassy does not send you any documents regarding your refugee status, you must contact me to re-open your files so that you could go to the United States for your resettlement; furthermore, if you don’t inform me about it after August, UNHCR will close your case for ever."

The visa to New Caledonia from the French Consulate arrived to PRPC, at last! It had been signed on July 7, 1984. Because it was the first time of my life that I had a visa, I was not surprised seeing its form and contents. But Mr. Janvier and other foreign volunteers expressed something like "it’s weird!" Mr. Janvier showed me his passport. It’s like a small booklet with hard covers. I unfolded the passport "booklet" and noticed that there were some visa stamps on it. My "visa" was completely different: it was a stamp on the other side of the letter of Brother Jean-MarieThouard, Head of the European Region, sponsoring me onto New Caledonia.

***

On the morning of July 10, I was really surprised seeing Reùmy Hieån’s family, Hieån-Nguyeät-Hieàn, along with a number of Vietnamese refugees from Palawan come to PRPC. The Reùmy Hieån’s family was going to Australia, too. I joyfully told them that I just got the visa for Australia and was leaving on July 15. After a brief discussion, we decided to go together on July 24, exactly the day, last year, we had left Vietnam on the last attempt fleeing overseas, July 24, 1983. I called Mrs. Floreøs requesting her to change the date of my departure to July 24. Her reply was simple, "I’ll try!" Unfortunately, just two days later, on July 12, the whole Reùmy Hieån family had to go back to Palawan Refugee Camp, because Nguyeät had been pregnant for over seven months, and no travel agency agreed to deliver an air ticket. I promptly called Mrs. Floreøs. She told me, "Brother! It’s quite difficult to delay your departure for Australia!"

On the morning of July 15, 1984, I walked around the offices, said goodbye to everyone. Everywhere, I heard something like "It’s the first time I met a refugee case who has had so much trouble in terms of legal documents!" Indeed, at the Manila International airport, when I presented the "exit visa" provided by the Foreign Affairs Office of the Philippines, the agent showed embarrassment seeing such a "weird" paper and seemed unfamiliar with it. He phoned several different numbers. Although Mrs. Floreøs had tried to explain, the agent told me to wait for his supervisor who, not less surprised, phoned to his chief. It had taken several minutes before the supervisor agreed to let me go. At the boarding gate, Mrs. Floreøs and her husband wished me "good luck!" then added, "We are wondering what other trouble in terms of visa and legal documents you’ll have to confront in Australia?"