A boatride to my history

The open sea

Most people take their birth certificate for granted. They know exactly which hospital they were born in, which doctor delivered them, how much they weighed when they popped out, and the exact time the popping out occurred. For me, this type of information has always eluded me—I mean, I have a birth certificate, but it just doesn’t have all that info, a metaphor, maybe, for a missing part of my life. The time spent at the refugee camps seemed like a stolen time in life for many people. For too many, the escape by boat from Vietnam for unknown lands through unknown seas to an unknown future stole their entire life. I won’t ever know what time exactly I was born, or how much I weighed when I was delivered. But at least a visit to my birthplace, the refugee camps on Pulau Bidong, where my family lived in for nearly 1 ½ years, to which they had escaped to by boat from their home in Vietnam, would bring my life full circle 32 years later.

Full steam ahead

The open water seemed like liquid sapphire with shades of obsidian as the boat sped across the South China Sea. The sunshine glittered on undulating waves like diamonds against blue-stained glass. It was about a ½ hour boat ride from Merang to our destination of Pulau Bidong—the time passed quickly as we watched the mainland disappear into the horizon just as the island began to take form before us. The sea was only a bit choppy and the boat bounced whenever it crested a wave; for a landlubber like me, it was a rare opportunity. As a land mass formed before us and a streak of white sand began to appear, I pondered whether this was similar to what my parents and so many other Vietnamese boat people saw as they approached Pulau Bidong.

A memorial to those lost at sea,
depicting a father pulling his
dead daughter out of the water

This boatride to Bidong was the culmination of a six-hour drive from KL to the main city in the area, Kuala Terengganu, and from there a 45-minute drive to the departing port in Merang. But it was also 32 years in the making, a “coming home” of sorts to the place I was born and lived the first few months of my life. The trip fulfilled a long-held curiosity of mine about my birthplace. Deeply intertwined with that is a desire to more closely understand the experience my parents and brothers, my extended family, and—on a broader scope—the Vietnamese diaspora, including some of my friends, went through living in refugee camps at the island.

I won’t repeat the story of the Vietnamese boatpeople, other than to say that my family was one of the first few batches to arrive at Pulau Bidong. They—all Vietnamese refugees—risked getting lost at sea, running out of food and water, capsizing, being attacked by pirates—endless threats—in an effort to escape a country that was their home to a difficult life in a refugee camp. The Vietnamese are known for their resiliency, to say the least.

White-sand beaches at
Zone C of the island

Beauty with a history
of pain and sacrifice

For all intents and purposes, the island is deserted. A few fishermen hang out of the relatively new wharf, hiding from the relentless sun to fix their nets. The jungle and the undergrowth had taken over the island, though the four beaches remain pristine and breathtaking. We disembarked from the boat and made our way from the wharf onto the beach. The iron husk of a refugee boat remains (reputedly haunted), just the nose jutting from the sand. We saw black-tipped reef shark wading near the shoreline to hunt a school of fish that were attempting to find refuge among the rocks, an allegory perhaps of the Vietnamese refugees. This was the beach the refugees would've first seen when they arrived, and the beach they would leave from for the mainland if they were taken in by a third country. This beach was sandy, with dead coral and shellfish collecting. Other beaches were beautiful, with white sand as fine as powder and breathtaking scenery.

Rosli and his one-man effort
to keep history alive

Our guide, Rosli Mohamad, is a former Red Cross worker at the camp (after my family left) and has started a museum in Kuala Terengganu. He stated that as part of the effort to close the camp, all the buildings were burned to prevent pirates from using them. All that is left are several monuments, the remains of a Buddhist temple and Christian church, a couple of burnt-out structures, a car that refugees used to learn automobile repair, and the iron remains of the aforementioned boat. Rosli himself is a nice guy and speaks Vietnamese. He genuinely seems affected by the several years he spent at the camps as a social worker, and has some ideas on how to preserve and respect the history on the island.

If you are interested in going to Pulau Bidong, supporting Rosli’s effort to establish a museum, or joining the Pulau Bidong Ex-Workers Association (there really is an association for everything!) contact Rosli at lie3827@yahoo.com. Here are some tips:

• Bring appropriate footwear. You’ll be trekking through some tough undergrowth and jungle.
  
  
• Bring lots of water. It’s hot and humid and you need to stay hydrated.
  
  
• Bring bug spray. I was violated repeatedly by mosquitoes.
  
  
• Your starting off point would be Kuala Terengganu. You can fly there from KL or drive ( six hours). Unless you're going with a local, I recommend flying.
  
  
• We stayed at Seri Malaysia Hotel, which is strategically located near Chinatown. But be wary—the hotel is going through some renovations but I don’t know how extensive the changes will be. It’s old, worn, and just plain nasty. Double-check the conditions before committing. At least the breakfast was good.