I came to Nouméa airport in New Caledonia [The population of the city (commune) in the Aug./Sept. 2004 census was 91,386 inhabitants (up from 76,293 inhabitants at the 1996 census). Including the suburbs of Nouméa, the population of the Greater Nouméa metropolitan area (French: agglomération du Grand Nouméa) at the 2004 census was 146,245 inhabitants (up from 118,823 inhabitants in 1996, meaning a booming 2.5% population increase per year). 63.4% of the population of New Caledonia live in Greater Nouméa.] The first feeling that came to my mind when the plane had landed was rather bitter-sweet. "An island with less than 100,000 inhabitants (in 1984),"I said to myself, "and an airport that big - much bigger than Tân Sơn Nhất airport in Saigon with more than three million inhabitants!" [
Such a bitter-sweet feeling was deeper when I had traveled to Hanoi, the capital of North Vietnam before AND after 1975, in 1997: the carousel for luggage (only one!) at Nội Bài airport was as small as a single mattress!]I was not surprised when the airport security officer exclaimed, "C’est bizarre!" in reading my "visa". While the officer moved around showing my "visa" to other colleagues, I was thinking of the small resident house of Brother Theophane Kế at the campus of Dalat University in the late 60’s. At the front door, he hung a small board that read in Chinese characters, "Bạch Cư Dị." Brother Michel Hồng and my friends made a joke in translating them as "Bizarre Home for Odd Man!" And I smiled to myself in thinking, "It’s appropriate that ‘bizarre legal documents’ belong to ‘odd man’ like me because I have originated from a bizarre country that had been governed by odd (bizarre) leaders who really are unlike any government leaders in the free world."
Although I had to wait for a longer time than other "normal" people, I at last got out of the visa checking room. Brothers Paul Lê Cừ, Christophe, Girard, Désiré, Dominique and some friends had been anxiously waiting for me outside. What a coincidence or synchronization of time: Brother Basset, Visitor of Australia-New Zealand, was also at the airport on a fly back to Sidney after three days visiting the Vietnamese Brothers in New Caledonia.
Brother Paul Lê Cừ seemed to remember something important. He asked me, "Valéry, do you have any diploma from French Education Services?" I replied, "I had baccalauréat (BAC), but after being arrested, I have lost every things..." Brother Paul kept silence for a short while, then said, "You can request the BAC duplicate later. But, to be able to teach in France, you should get some degrees from French University. Anyway, Brother Basset is right here, what do you think if I request him to send you to Paris for your higher education?"
The idea of my wandering life for such a long time began to overwhelm me. I felt frustrated like losing half of myself: people pushed me here and pulled me there against my will. I felt like "Gone with the Wind." I didn’t even totally realize what I whispered in replying to Brother Paul, "It’s up to you!" A short and urgent meeting right at the airport took place just a few minutes before Brother Basset went to the boarding gate. I knew later that Brother Basset had agreed to send me to Paris as soon as possible, for being on time for my studies in Paris that would begin by September. How could it be done? I came to Nouméa on August 15 without any ID cards and had to "go back" to Paris in less than two weeks? No kidding!
***
The first thing Brother Paul could do was to telephone to Brother Alexandre Ánh, then Auxiliary Visitor of the sub-district of Saigon in Paris, informing him about Brother Basset’s and the community in New Caledonia’s decision on "my lot". The response from Brother Alexandre really shocked me a lot, "He (Valéry) didn’t ever contact me, how do I know? He only contacted Brother Superior General José Pablo when he had come to the refugee camp in Palawan, so let Brother Superior General decide on his case!" Even Brother Paul, whom every Brothers in Vietnam had known as a very nice and quiet Brother, was shocked and angry.
As for me, I guessed that Brother Alexandre was rather frustrated because I hadn’t contacted him, "beg" him for everything and treat him as "authoritative superior." To tell the truth, I hardly knew about his successful fleeing overseas. Only when I had a meeting with Sr. Pascale at the Palawan refugee camp, she mentioned about Brother Alexandre’s being at José Fabella Center a year before. In addition, When I had come to José Fabella Center and met the Pilipino Brothers, no one mentioned about him; and on that occasion, the only one I could contact with was Brother Superior General, thanks to Brother Raphael Donato, Visitor at that times. So, how did I know that there was a sub-district of Saigon in Paris, and that Brother Alexandre had been elected as Auxiliary Visitor? [
My thought and reaction were not to blame for Brother Alexandre’s response. Since the events of 1975 until I got to Palawan, I hardly received news/personal letters - not to say gifts from overseas. The only time I got gifts was from my two Chinese students (Cf. Journal 1.) In addition, because of the disturbing socio-political situations at times in Vietnam, the new communist government had accused the La Salle Community members of "being C.I.A and working for the capitalist American Administration." Thus, Brother Visitor Lucien had been wise in requesting that "the Brothers overseas not be in contact by any means with the Brothers in Vietnam."] Brother Paul Lê Cừ, who seemed to understand my upset feelings, telephoned directly to Brother Superior General. Brother José Pablo briefly but clearly replied, "Je suis d’accord que Frère Valéry vienne à Paris pour ses études. Je dirai au Frère Alexandre à Drancy de faire immédiatement les démarches nécessaires pour le faire venir à Paris et pour ses études." (I agree that Valery go to Paris for his studies. I’m telephoning to Brother Alexandre in Drancy, recommending him to undertake all necessary steps to bring Valery to Paris for his studies.)***
I had become rather familiar with waiting and waiting for something or event that would happen accordingly to my "destiny." However, aware that "l’oisiveté est la mère de tous les vices" (idleness is the mother of all vices,) I gathered the writings about the fleeing overseas of different groups, writings that I had solicited people to undertake when I had been at the Palawan refugee camp. I could make brochures and distributed them to the Vietnamese who had been in New Caledonia since 1945.
These Vietnamese people in New Caledonia had escaped from North Vietnam after the so-called "Declaration of Independence by Ho Chi Minh and the establishing of the state of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam" on September 2, 1945. Most of them are Catholics. They and their following generations had been very loyal to the Catholic tradition, i.e. they gathered every day together for reciting the old version of prayers and rosaries. When Brother Girard had moved from Australia to Nouméa and been informed of the religious activities of this Vietnamese community, he spent every week-end with younger people - of the second and third generations - who understood and spoke French much more fluently than Vietnamese, teaching them Vietnamese language. He also brought to the Vietnamese community a new wave of religious and socio-traditional living style.
I brought to these Franco-Vietnamese "hot news" from Vietnam after the events of 1975, from the so-called "communist paradise". They cordially received the brochures about the fleeing overseas and generously collected among themselves a substantial amount of money to be sent to help the refugees in Palawan.
***
To book air ticket for Paris, every travel agency required passport or at least titre de voyage. To get the titre de voyage, I must present legal documents, e.g. ID card attesting my nationality. Of these documents, I had none. And the process of getting legal documents had been more complicated than I ever thought. Brother Christophe drove me from one office to another, trying to explain my bizarre case; everywhere people showed something like "Mais c’est absurde! Jamais vu choses pareilles..." (It’s absurd, never seen thing like th
at...) At the end, an official suggested, "Allez au Consulat de France et soumettez la demande d’attestation de résidence en Nouméa, bien que ‘apatride’. Avec cette attestation, vous pourriez obtenir le titre de voyage nécessaire pour aller à Paris." (Go to the French Consulate and apply for a resident card in New Caledonia even though you are a stateless man. With such a resident attestation, you might get the necessary travel documents for going to Paris.)I submitted the New Caledonia resident certificate to the office of Foreign Affairs in Nouméa, my request to travel to Paris included. The officer seemed embarrassed. I told her, "Est-il vrai que je dois demander la permission d’aller d’une cité à une autre au sein du même pays, par example la France?" (Is it true that I must obtain permission to move from a city to another within the country, e.g. France?) She showed a little surprised, looking at me then said, "Absoluement non! La France n’est pas un pays communist ou dictateur!" (Absolutely not! France is not a communist nor dictatorial country.) I retorted, "Alors pourquoi devrais-je demander une telle permission d’aller d’ici, la Nouvelle Calédonie qui est un territoire de la France, à Paris, la capitale de France?" (If so, why do I have to ask permission moving from here, New Caledonia which is a French territory, to Paris which is the capital of France?) She laughed, friendly, "Eh bien! La France est La Nouvelle Calédonie, mais la Nouvelle Calédonie n’est pas la France!" (Why yes, France is New Caledonia, but New Caledonia is not France!)
***
Brother Girard drove me to the Air France Agency. My travel document was a long sheet of paper folded together - but not stamped - together in the form of a small booklet like the "real" passports I had seen before. A Travel Agency employee in his 50’s held my titre de voyage, played with it by unfolding and folding again like playing with an accordion, then laughed à la coloniale. He seemingly but intentionally dropped it down, picked it up, and played again in laughing. He did it three times.
It suddenly came to my memory sad and frustrated images from my childhood, when I was about six years old. My fourth brother, Nhạc, had been attending the elementary school, An Hoà. He was enjoying with his classmates jumping up and down on a horse chariot, and was mortally hit by a Jeep. His dead body was still at home when a French Officer with two escorts entered the court in front of my house. Seeing these men, my mother crazily ran towards them, crying and blaming them for her son’s death. The Officer pulled out his revolver... Many of my relatives restrained my mother, then moved her to a neighbor’s house. I, still crying, held my mother’s hand following her.
I angrily held Brother Girard’s hand trying to stand up and getting out with the intention of not buying a ticket at all, but Brother Girard pushed me down, then whispered, "This colonial ‘dirty’ man really wants to make fool of us, but be calm and sit still! We are in their territory. We need them but they don’t need us!" That "bloke of" a man had noticed of my unsatisfying reaction, he smiled at me in a very defiant and detestable way.
***
The air trip from Nouméa to Paris had four stops, and at the first stop at Auckland international airport in New Zealand, I had to get a visa from the consulate of New Zealand for overnight. I brought all documents and air ticket destination Paris to the consulate of New Zealand office. In contrast with the attitude of that "dirty" man at the Air France Travel Agency, the officer at the consulate welcomed me in a friendly and cordial way.
She glanced at my titre de voyage, nodded her head, then stamped on the visa to New Zealand, not only for overnight but for thirty days! Before I expressed "thank you!" she told me, "Juste par curiosité. Votre nom est Nguyen Van An, mais pourquoi votre signature est totallement différente: fvalery?" (Just by curiosity. Your full name is Nguyen Van An, but why is your signature quite different: fvalery?) I smilingly replied to her that fvalery stands for Frère Valéry and that it had been my religious name given to me by my Brother Master of Novices when I took the religious habit in 1965. The lady seemed delighted and joyfully said, "Je connais les Frères des Ecoles Chrétiennes en New-Zealand. Vous êtes de la même congrégation, n’est-ce pas?" (I know the Christian Brothers in New Zealand. You are from the same order, aren’t you?) I happily nodded my head. We laughed together, joyfully.