After lunch it finally was the time, Hang’s father had found his way to the house of Bo’s grandmother to pick us up. It seemed to me like two worlds collided. Hang’s father sat there, a lanky man with working hands in his discolored shirt in the middle of this living room in an almost German stile, where Bo’s cousins ​​sat in front of their learning computers. But the shy smile of Hang’s father seemed to me more honest than the hollow laughter of Bo’s entire family. A little later I was back on the motorbike with Bo behind me and Hangs father led us the way. Bo told me: “I’ve lived my whole life just a few villages away from Hang, but I’ve never visited her before!” The way stopped being paved. We drove along a river, on the other side we could see some brickworks. The wind in my hair, Bo’s rich cramped family leaving behind me, I was immensely looking forward to seeing Hang again. We turned into the yard of the house. An incredibly simple but clean house. Hangs father got off the bike and smiled with satisfaction: “We have been able to re-build the house only two years ago. Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford paint, yet,” he added with a reference to the complete gray walls, “and we still have not enough furniture, so a few corners are empty. But I hope you will feel comfortable! “. Hang was sitting in the living room and smiled broadly as she heard the engine noise. Her eyesight is far lower than that of Bo, she can hardly walk anywhere unaccompanied. Hangs mother brought us watermelon, and her little brother romped around. His eyesight was as weak as his sister’s, but in the course of conversation, I learned that with ten years he was not mature enough to cope with the boarding life at the school for the blind and therefore easily spent the year at home unschooled. Hang and Bo sitting on the guest-chairs, the most expensive furniture in the house. Hang’s brother in front of the house. Bo dominated the conversation; although he was in the children’s generation, he dared to speak and boast big speeches about this and that. I suspected that he secretly looked down on Hang’s parents, because they were so much poorer than his family. Hang and I whispered and made up the plan to sneak out for a walk while Bo continued talking to Hang’s parents. We strolled with Hang’s little brother and her cousin, who met us on the way to the house of grandpa. Grandpa lived as a widow in a tiny house. He was full of joy to be visited and asked me many questions about my enthusiastic volunteer service while he made the most delicious lime juice (nuoc Chanh) I ever drank in my life. He therefor sent his grandson out to his lime shrub to harvest a fresh fruit. We said goodbye and looked how Bo got along. He was waiting for us, and was ready to go home. He probably had enough of this poor village and did not like it that I rather spent time with Hang than with him. “So, we soon go back to me, Laura, don’t we?”. ‘Big Sister Laura!’, I thought angrily, and did not know how I could stop Bo from having to say goodbye to Hang yet. But this time I was supported by Hangs parents. “Oh, our doughter wants so much so that Laura can stay here,” said Hang’s mother. Just then Bo’s father came up the driveway. He no longer looked like the day before I had seen him dry the rice, he had dressed up properly. A spotless shirt with pleated collar, a gold watch on the wrist made, in addition to its body mass, the impression that he was the president of a small company and not a pig-holding rice farmer. He wanted to take the opportunity to meet the family of the classmate of his son, he said, while offered green tea, and he took out his cigarettes and asking Hang’s intimidated father to smoke. After a brief skirmish, a conversation about the children, me, and the School for the Blind, Bo’s father broke up and gave me a nod to understand that I have to follow him – after all, I had come with his motorcycle. But for the first time in my time in Vietnam, I wanted to be a rebel. “I sleep here today, Uncle.” I explained quietly, earning raised eyebrows. Hang’s father agreed with me, and the two agreed after long discussions on a complicated plan that would take me and the bike the next morning back to Bo’s house, from where Bo’s father would be in turn to bringt me to the provincial capital, so that I could visit the two Girls from the second home. Bo’s father wouldn’t agree in a plan in which I would go from Hang’s house directly to the provincial capital, probably he secretly didn’t think that Hang’s parents would bring me there safely. My father had often complained on the phone about how much Vietnamese distrusted each other, how much the rich despised the poor, and how many would prefer one good lead to an evil game, but beore this trip I hadn’t seen mcuh of an evidence. The view from Hang’s house. The ducks eat the slugs onthe field In the evening me and Hang walked even further through the village. We lay down in front of her aunt’s house on the thêm, the terrace-like steps in front of the house. Hang’s aunt gave us a bamboo mat and so we lay there and just chatted, and enjoyed the buzz of crickets. Hang’s aunt got some glasses, poured in water from her 20-liter tank, and took out a box with ice of the fridge. Here in the countryside, this square-shaped vessel had not yet been enforced, which made beautifully shaped ice cubes. Here the ice is made in unshaped metal boxes. The aunt pulled out the doorknob and slammed it on the block of ice until she got ice cubes that fit into our glasses. Later we even walked past the neighbors, where a farewell ceremony took place. The family would leave the next morning to Ho Chi Minh City, because the son got a place there at the university, and the entire family took advantage of this opportunity to emigrate to the south. From a small village to the big city. The whole household was packed into rice sacks and the whole village was invited to drink with the family green tea for the last time. At this opportunity I was introduced to the chattering villagers. But Hang and I both were not so much into large gatherings and got away quite quickly. I shot a few photos on the roof of her house and then we shared her bed. Lauras Blog: Vietnam und Ich