The Ugly Daughter: A Thrilling Real Life Journey to Self Discovery, Riches and Spirituality

by Julia Legian

  At its peak, Pulau Bidong housed thousands of people. The little island became a bustling hive of activity where refugees set up schools, workshops, a post office, a church, a temple, and anything else they could think up. Entrepreneurs had even started their own businesses selling home cooked food, vegetables, all the basic needs and some started hairdressing salons. Mum grew her own vegetables and sold them at the Mini Saigon Market to give us a comfortable living. Local fishermen anchored their boats a fair distance out from the island and traded with those brave souls who ventured to swim out. Rumours spread all over the island that amongst these brave traders there were some desperate women who turned to prostitution for the money to survive. A black market came into existence.

  Dad often went fishing illegally with his new friends. The northern side of the island was off limits to refugees. People caught there were jailed for several days and had their hair shaved off – the ultimate punishment.

  Dad loved his ciggies; could not live without a smoke, so he was willing to take the risk. He went fishing at night during the curfew, when all the lights were off. The men swam out in the water holding on to makeshift floats, then threw their lines in and waited for the fish to bite. He sold his catch to the other refugees. He sometimes brought home giant bluefin tuna or swordfish and Mum cooked up delicious meals for us.

  The refugees who worked as labourers and administrators in the Government offices were paid in food parcels.

  The island became grossly overcrowded and it now had a huge problem with excessive waste, which also brought an increase in rats. The rodents were breeding out of control - so much so that the officials gave prizes to people for killing or trapping them. The prizes were packets of instant noodles, sugar, or condensed milk - the greatest milk in the whole world.

  While most people on the island were very unhappy with their living arrangements, I was over the moon. I saw it as paradise while they saw it as a hell hole. Most of my time I played hide and seek with my friends on the beach or at the cemetery. This had become one of our favourite haunts (no pun intended). One night a week we watched outdoor Bollywood movies. We could not understand a single word, but we could follow the dancing and singing.

  When the rat infestation hit, instead of swimming at the beach, my friends and I turned into rat hunters and quickly became very good at it. We collected dried coconut leaves, stacked them in front of rat holes and lit them. The smoke from the fire made the rats come out and run straight into our open bags.

  I’d been warned by many friends about the danger of falling coconuts. There had been cases of people being killed. I didn’t believe their stories until I came close to being hit myself.

  One quiet afternoon late in the day I was waiting for some of my friends to go for a swim. I was to meet them at the Mini Saigon Market. I sat next to an elderly gentleman. He was a nice friendly old man from North Vietnam who asked me a million questions. I answered them all, chatting to him while I waited. Suddenly I heard a loud noise much like the crack of a rifle and the man next to me fell on his side. Frightened, I jumped to my feet and saw a large, light brown coconut next to his body. He lay still.

  “Oh, my God, help, please help! Anybody, please help him,” I screamed.

  Moments later I was surrounded by people. They took him to the sick bay but there was nothing anyone could do for him. The coconut had hit him on the head and killed him instantly. From that day on I walked around the island with great care, always looking up.

  I can certainly say that the first twelve months we spent in Bidong were among the happiest days of my life. I made many friends out of virtual strangers. I called the adults Uncle and Aunty, as is the custom in Vietnam. I especially loved Uncle Thanh who I was very close to. We could talk about everything. He was kind and adored me and later offered to become my Godfather.

  By now most of the people who had arrived with us and even after us had been either designated a country to emigrate to, or were en route to their new homes. On the other hand my family hadn’t even been interviewed. Dad showed up at the UNCHR headquarters every day, trying to find out what was going on - and every time they told him to go home and wait for his name to be called.

  Like all the good times in my life until then, this pleasant episode also had to end. One day in the early evening as I made my way home from the beach, my Mum’s noisy outburst could be heard from a long way away.

  I dragged my feet as I realised my nightmare had resurfaced. No doubt she was talking to Dad. Her shrill voice sent shivers down my spine.

  “Why do you allow those North Vietnamese dogs to use you like this, you gutless idiot?” Her next words chilled me. “Go and kill that so-called Godmother of yours! Better still since you don’t have the guts to do it yourself, why don’t you get your loser friends to do it for you?”

  Through all the venomous words I’d heard my parents sling at each other over the years, I had never heard her talk like this before. Mum’s voice had taken on a new fury.

  “I want them all dead. That bitch, her children and her grandchildren. I want you to slaughter them all. Do you hear me? I’m sick and tired of being cheated by the North Vietnamese. We’ve been cheated by them all our lives. I told you not to trust those bastards but you don’t listen and fall for their sweet North Vietnamese accent every time. When are you going to learn that they’re users, that they are heartless and don’t give a damn about you or your family?”

  I didn’t agree with Mum because most of my friends in the camp were from North Vietnam. I thought they were funny, well spoken, kind and generous. I was certain that my Mum was wrong, but I thought I should keep my opinion to myself or she would bite my head off. I crept around the back of the house so she wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want her to take her anger out on me. The beach was deserted and I hoped that nobody - especially my North Vietnamese friends would hear her hateful and racist comments. I feared they would not want to be my friends any more. I hid downstairs listening to the tirade.

  Then I learnt the story. The old woman from the North Vietnamese family who escaped with us had declared herself Dad’s Godmother. This was a position of familiarity suggested by the lady only a short time before we escaped Vietnam.

  Dad accepted her proposition. In turn, he would receive some of the wealth she had brought with her, if we arrived safely in a foreign country. It sounded as though she had brought a small fortune with her in gold.

  This woman had brains. She had some of the gold made into chopsticks then painted them with dye to disguise the fact they were gold. The rest of the bullion she had turned into a big statue of Buddha. The statue would attract little attention, as most statues like this were a golden colour. Her statue would be taken to have little or no value.

  I suddenly had a flashback. I remembered that after our boat was wrecked and we were rescued by Mr Sardine and taken to his warehouse, this woman had become hysterical when she realised that her chopsticks and statue were missing. She made Dad and her sons go back to the boat and search for her treasure. Luckily, they found everything and when they returned them to the woman her demeanour changed. At the time, we were puzzled at her attachment to a mere statue of Buddha, given that she was a Christian. And surely the chopsticks could have been replaced. After all, they had absolutely no monetary value. Little did we know ...

  Her family were well-educated and spoke fluent English. Their lives were not in danger or under threat from North Vietnam. They enjoyed great prosperity back home, but they wanted more, hence they left Vietnam looking for greener pastures.

  According to Mum, Dad’s so-called ‘Godmother’ reported him to the Malaysian authorities as a people trafficker with a communist background. I understand this was so that she wouldn’t have to part with any of the gold she had promised him. Apparently our file at the UNCHR contained notes suggesting we be blacklisted and closely investigated. This was the main reason we were still in the camp and constantly turned away. We had, in effect, been ‘screened out’.


  As time dragged on, Dad made a desperate effort to get close to one of the Vietnamese UN workers, pleading with him to examine our file. Dad realised that the only way to confirm Mum’s insane accusation was to see for himself what the records said. The man eventually found the file and it confirmed Dad’s worst nightmare. Dad gathered a few other refugees from Bay Gia that were in the same camp and talked them into being witnesses to his good character and his right to emigrate to a new land. The UNCHR reopened our file. However, a new challenge arose - the size of our family and our general health made us an unattractive proposition to a host country. Our first petition to be allowed to resettle in Australia was unsuccessful, so were our second and subsequent attempts. We were told in no uncertain terms to go back to Vietnam.

  One morning, Dad told us to get dressed.

  “Kids, get dressed. From today on we’ll go to the UNCHR headquarters and I want you kids to cry until someone is willing to talk to us.”

  Every day we cried and begged the UN officials to help us find a sponsor. This became our humiliating daily ritual and our family haunted the steps of the UNCHR headquarters for weeks, until one day we were notified that we would be called in for an interview with an Australian official.

  Just getting to the interview itself was a monumental achievement. My parents began to sing and dance, tears of joy on their faces.

  Dad had us dress up as colourfully and as elegantly as we could. Our hair shone and we squeaked with cleanliness. This was our one chance at freedom. We’d been warned that we had to be on our very best behaviour or he would cane us to death.

  When we met the Australian official, we gave him big smiles as we shook his hand. We sat wide-eyed and quiet on the chairs in front of him. The process took less than half an hour. The interview came to an abrupt end when the Australian official told us that we weren’t suitable for immigration to Australia. The case officer who considered our application had turned us down flat. He said we had nothing to offer the new country. Dad had no skill other than that of a fisherman, Mum could sew and cook but that held little value in his opinion and Aunty Thuy had no skills whatsoever.

  The fact that my parents had seven children did nothing to convince him we would be a good thing for Australia. It meant ten welfare-dependent people seeking shelter.

  To all of us, this was devastating news. We all began to cry. But my youngest brother, illogically, began to giggle. He was just over a year old. He reached out to the Australian official, trying to get him to pick him up in his arms.

  Instead, my Mum picked him up and started to walk away. Tri cried so hard that the official, moved by his tears, reached out and took little Tri from Mum.

  Tri stopped crying immediately and flung his tiny arms around the official’s neck, kissed him on the cheek and started to giggle.

  I watched in amazement as the official brushed a tear away from the corner of his eye. At that point I realised the impact that Tri had had on this kind-hearted man. The official spoke to the interpreter and told him to tell us that he’d give our family a chance if we could find someone in Australia willing to take responsibility for us.

  Luck was on our side. A few short months later, two Australian families offered to sponsor us, one of whom we were related to, her younger sister being married to my favourite Uncle Pheo back in Vietnam. They had successfully migrated in the 1980s. The other people, the Murray family were complete strangers who had offered to help us simply out of kindness.

  The last but most important problem that surfaced was our health. While my immediate family had been declared well, Aunty Thuy failed every test. Instead of feeling sorry for her, Mum accused Thuy of catching all kind of diseases through sleeping around. Mum decided that Thuy would have to be left behind. She removed Thuy from her visa.

  Chapter 23

  The day we left the island of Bidong for Sungei Besi left its mark as one of the most devastating days of my life. I had to say farewell to the many friends I’d made and my heart ached as the boat pulled away from the jetty. I couldn’t stop crying as I looked at my friends standing on the shore, waving goodbye and singing the farewell song, called Bien Nho (Sea of Memory). Sadness washed over me because I knew I would never see these beautiful people again.

  As the boat pulled further away, and I could no longer see my friends or Bidong, my attention turned to the dolphins. I watched my favourite sea creatures happily dancing alongside our boat. It helped to ease my pain.

  Malaysia welcomed us with its magnificent green, lush and colourful tropical plants.

  “Oh, Mum, look, we’re back at the same mansion,” I said.

  It lifted my spirits as we waited for the morning of our departure to arrive and I was tempted to slide on the stair rail. However, I couldn’t shake off what the retarded kid had told me about the ghost lady. I hated him for that.

  Mum hurried us to get ready to leave. “C’mon kids get up. We’ve got to get ready for our new home.”

  “How long does it take to get there Mum?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, a few hours I think,” Mum said.

  Hours later we reached our destination by bus.

  “Mum, Mum, look, hundreds of people are crushing each other behind the high metal fence. They’re waving to us!”

  Excitedly I waved back.

  “It’s like a furnace here. How could anyone live here? I can hardly breathe,” Mum complained.

  “Look Mum, the people are cheering us.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s boiling hot here,” she kept complaining.

  When we stepped off the bus, we were swamped by strangers. They rushed to hug us, some patted us on the back and congratulated us for having made it this far. They asked us lots of questions about friends they had left behind in Bidong.

  After that we were taken into a long building. I was excited to see our room and I climbed on the wall that separated our room from the rest. “Mum, look! Our room is right in the middle. I can see everything in other people’s rooms. We all have the exact same room, Mum, there are so many of them!”

  “Loan, get off that wall and stop being so nosy,” Mum screamed.

  I quickly jumped down off the wall.

  The rooms joined back-to-back with three partitioned walls over one and a half metres high separating them from each other. Several shower cabins stood in front of our room. There were no doors, only curtains.

  “There’s no bloody privacy in this place,” Mum complained, as if we ever had any back in Bidong.

  Dad loved it because he and his friends could look at the women while they took showers. Dad always made rude jokes about their private parts.

  He made me embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable so I tried to ignore him. But it didn’t seem to bother Mum. She had a good laugh every time he made jokes about the women.

  Life in the camp was like heaven on earth to me. Food was cooked for us every day. All we had to do was to collect it in large buckets that were given to us on our arrival. My job was to leave home early and stand in a long line three times a day to collect our food. It wasn’t a hard job. It was an easy five minutes’ walk to the food centre but somehow I managed to take a wrong turn on every trip and hang out with my new friends. I usually came back with half a bucket of leftover food and a little amount of milk tea.

  My parents finally had enough of eating sodden rice. They figured that I did a lousy job so they fired me. Phuong took over and Miss Perfect came home with two buckets full of fresh food, tons of meat, loads of fresh bananas, pineapple slices and a bucket full of milk tea every time.

  Phuong got the VIP treatment because one of the workers, Phu, was captivated by her beauty. He had fallen head over heels in love with her. My parents were suspicious and they promoted me to be a spy. My task was to keep a close eye on every move she made. She was not allowed to leave our room without me. Sad to say I failed this mission, too. I was too busy hanging out with my friends and did not pay attention to Phuong’s activities. We would
go our own ways and then, when it was time to go home, we would meet up and come back to our room together.

  Every day I wandered around the camp. I went to different zones, finding new and interesting people to make friends with. I roamed around on my own all day while Phuong spent her time with her friends.

  One day while I was in the women’s zone, I ran into a nice lady who used to live with us on the island. She stayed in the same house with us in Bidong for a short period but left unexpectedly after only a few weeks, with no explanation as to why she’d gone.

  “Aunty Thu, it’s so nice to see you again. Where have you been?” I asked, “Why did you leave us?”

  “It’s a long story, my dear. I don’t know if I should I tell you or not. I think you’re too young to understand.”

  “Why can’t you say? Is it because you don’t like us? Is that why you left?”

  Thu looked sad. “No, darling, it’s not like that. I like you and your sisters very much.”

  “Then what is it? Please tell me, I promise I won’t say anything.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. But don’t say anything to anyone, yeah?”

  I cheerfully nodded.

  “Your father is a pervert. He did bad things to me when I was living with your family.”

  “What kind of bad things?”

  “It’s really bad so I can’t tell you. You’re too young. I hate him,” she said.

  “My Daddy is a good person. Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure - one hundred per cent. He’s a disgusting man.”

  “Okay, whatever you say, but I don’t believe you.”

  I walked away with a long face. I know Dad told me he looked at other women. But I thought Dad was just having fun because he had a dark sense of humour. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  One night while trying to sleep, I lay between my younger sister and Mum. I tossed and turned and managed to drive Mum crazy.

  “You stupid child!” she shouted in her usual manner. “Keep still or I’ll beat the hell out of you.”