Returning To My Roots After 50 Years, With Mother

From the desk of Khamsone Sirimanivong, Legacies of War Board of Directors Vice Chair

This past November, for the first time ever, my mother and I returned to Laos together. We had not been in Laos together since 1979. I was just over five years old when we fled Khammouane Province due to significant post war trauma. Then there was the ever-increasing risk of life threatening UXO accidents from leftover Vietnam War-era bombs that plagued civilians and many farmers in the province and nearby Savannakhet Province. My maternal family had been living in Thakek for generations, and had mainly been farmers. 

My mother, upon learning I was returning to Laos, casually invited herself to travel with me. She wanted to visit her sister and did not want to travel the distance alone, declaring she would make herself, “invisible as a mouse” whilst I worked on my projects. I acquiesced on the condition that she would take me to Thakek to see the house where I was born. She laughed as usual when I mentioned this, exclaiming my grandmother sold that property decades ago and there was nothing there for me to “see.” Nonetheless, she  promised to take me. We decided to wait to make the “homecoming” trip to Khammouane Province after my Legacies work was done.

Truth be told, I had long desired to visit my birthplace in Thakek. I had returned to Laos three times prior but my obligations back in the USA were too many, which made my time in Laos always too short. My mother, on the other hand, seemed to want to forget everything that happened before our life in America. However, she did admit she wouldn’t mind seeing her old town again even though there was “nothing left” - these sentiments of hers echoed throughout our trip as we journeyed closer to Thakek. 

I have only piecemeal memories of those few years spent in Thakek. I pondered what I would discover, how I would feel, whether I would find answers I didn’t know I had. What would the place look like? My mother laughed and said I think too much. I remembered the stilt house, my mother cooking in the outside kitchen, heavy monsoon rains, a favorite tamarind tree, sleeping in a hammock, a funny uncle, celebrating rice harvest, mischief with cousins, and other such tiny glimpses.

The day finally arrived and we flew into Savannakhet Province and drove to Khammouane Province. I reminded my mother that I wanted to see the very place where I was born; I wanted to dig my fingers into the dirt, cup it in my hands and smell it. She laughed and said the dirt was probably still there and reminded me that the old house was torn down and replaced and not to expect much. For the first time, I learned about my mother’s family roots and how she grew up. She barely talked about her childhood, her struggles, the war or how we ended up in the States. Ironically, it took her 50 years and a trip  back to Laos to open up.

Finally, we reached the property where our old house stood. We had to park on the main road and walk behind some other buildings and homes to reach the house. The whole block used to belong to our family before the war, yet I did not recognize anything walking up the dirt path to the house. The house that now stood on my birthground was a modular building: nondescript, gray and unattractive.

My mother seemed uninterested and dismissive. I wondered if it was too traumatic and painful for her and whether it was a mistake to bring her  here. Or maybe it was difficult to connect with the past, knowing it no longer physically existed. Perhaps she too was simply lost in her memories. I closed my eyes and imagined what our house looked like from the fragments of images I had in my head. 

Somewhere on the old family property, there was a tree where my mother had buried my umbilical cord, as her mother had done with hers and her mother before, and so on and so forth - for generations.

There were tons of trees, in fact the property was overgrown with trees, bushes, vines and very tall grass - wild and unkempt. I walked around the house as much as I could without looking suspicious (no one seemed to be home but we were told by neighbors, it was occupied). Despite the vegetation obstructing the house, I continued to sleuth. 

I told you, my mother said, there is nothing to see anymore. It’s all gone, nothing left for you here, not even the dirt. 

Mom walking on the little bridge to the little enclave that used to be her backyard, now occupied by some new families and houses

To my dismay, the weeds and grass were so wild and daunting, I was not able to get close to the dirt. My mother tried to dig into the “old earth” for me, but the area was landscaped with something like sand, probably when the new house was built. The last remnant of my childhood in Laos, had been inadvertently buried for over 50 years, hidden from view by industry, capitalism, modernization, manufactured houses - and sand. Disappointed, I started to walk away.

And then, there it was - I froze and stared. A giant wave of deja vu flooded over me. There on the side of the house leaning on what looked like an old wooden building that may have served as storage for rice, was a familiar tree. It was the tamarind tree! After all these years, it remained strong and healthy. I had climbed this very tree countless times as a young child and had climbed it even more in my memory. My mother laughed and confirmed, she couldn’t believe I remembered. We laughed like children and I pretended to climb the tree. We joked that the neighbors probably thought we were crazy tree-hugging Americans and we laughed even harder.

The cemetary and urn where my beloved uncle is buried

So, my quest to return to my family roots ended with a literal discovery of roots- the roots of my long forgotten tamarind tree. Yes, it is just a tree. But in the end it meant so much more to me than seeing the old house that I was born in.  

It had been 50 years since I returned to Thakek, and so much happened in those 50 years that even my mother could not fathom, but the knowledge that this tamarind tree remained through all of that turmoil gave me a sense of hope. Perhaps no bond stands the test of time better than that of a mother and daughter, and of course, a girl and her tamarind tree. 

Happy Mother’s Day, Legacies family.