VietNamNet Bridge – In almost every village in Vietnam, one common complaint stands out among residents, to be precise, remaining residents.

Phan Mong Tuyen, 24, a teacher in Lai Son High School, Lai Son Island Commune in Kien Giang District. She is one of the few young people who have decided to stay in the island locality to work, instead of migrating to big cities. — Photo laodong.vn

They say that the youth are no longer interested in traditional vocations and are fleeing to urban centres, near and far, in the hope of finding jobs and realising their dreams. The remoter the rural area, the greater the desire to leave.

Amidst this rural flight, or the ‘exodus’ of young people leaving villages and small towns behind to make a living in cities, a common phenomenon throughout Vietnam now, a few homing pigeons are bucking the trend – millennials who are ignoring obvious opportunities to make a life in major, dynamic urban centres like HCM City or Vung Tau in the south, Da Nang in the centre, and Hanoi in the north.

Among these are a few natives of a remote island in the south of the country.

Dang Hung Cuong, a 30-something man with a sun-kissed tan typical of a coastal resident, has chosen to be a homestay host on the Lai Son Island Commune in Kien Giang Province’s Kien Hai District. Cuong’s ‘specialties’ include, but are not limited to, guiding guests to snorkel and hunt for spiky sea urchins amongst colourful coral reefs.

Listening to Cuong listing the must-see sights in Lai Son with evident enthusiasm and pride, it is hard to imagine that he used to be an engineer.

Most people on the island were fisherfolk, and Cuong’s father was no exception. After graduating from high school, Cuong studied marine electronics for three years, then set up a shop to repair electronic devices used on boats. However, his little business quickly faltered as fishing in Lai Son started to dwindle, with fishermen gradually abandoning their vocation and young people leaving en masse for the cities, he told the Lao Dong (Labour) newspaper.

“While the islanders were leaving, the number of tourists to the island kept climbing, which led me to consider trying my luck in the tourism business,” he said.

With encouragement and support from his younger brother, Cuong remodelled his home and turned it into a guesthouse. With the experience and knowledge gained from the days of accompanying his father on fishing trips, Cuong decided to double as a tour guide.

“I went online to see how a homestay business works. I also attended a crash course on hospitality. My wife cooked and accompanied guests in trips to the markets, helping them select the freshest seafood available. After two years, I started to get the hang of the business, and began earning a stable income,” he said.

He still occasionally dusts up his repairing and mechanical skills for those still sticking to fishing.

“Since I have decided to remain on the island, I will do whatever people here need,” he added.

Following Cuong, his two younger brothers have also decided to stay back and make the island their home.

We owe this place

Dang Van Huong, an aquaculture major graduate from HCM City, could have chosen to stay in the southern economic hub, but decided to return to the island and engage in agricultural extension work. He was later made vice chairman of the Lai Son Commune in charge of social affairs.

Huong has recommended and led many community tourism programmes, including co-ordinating with universities to hold short training courses for locals in cooking, communications and basic hospitality. He has also forwarded the idea of building a sea bank as an open space for locals to set up shops and organise entertainment activities for tourists.

“My father was originally from the central province of Binh Dinh. He followed a fisherman to the south and settle here to dodge military service during the war. The island has saved and nurtured my father, and brought my father and my mother together. This is also where we have grown up, and we owe this place an enormous debt,” Huong said, explaining his decision to return.

His youngest brother, Dang Thanh Phong, 27, learnt to repair phones and found work in several urban areas. Later, when the island was finally connected to the national power grid in 2016 and people flocked to buy modern conveniences like TVs, fridges and washing machines, Phong saw an opportunity for an electrician to do well.

“When I was younger, I worked in Binh Dinh, Vung Tau and Binh Duong. With my trade, I was just a small grain of sand in the big cities, but, here, I have found myself more than helpful... My work is needed by the people here.”

Future of the island

While some people have fled their rural homes after spotting economic opportunities, others have been influenced by just “liveability.’

“In 1997, the devastating typhoon Linda hit the southwestern sea. I was 10. My grandparents ordered that the whole family abandon this place and go to Vung Tau. Ten years later, I decided to return to the island after finishing my training as an English teacher in a university,” Nguyen Thi Phuong Thi, who now teaches at the Lai Son High School. She is one of a dozen or so young natives aged 24-33 who have bet on a future on the island. It might not be a risky bet as one would assume.

Until as late as 10 years ago, the island was a hard place to live in. Infrastructure, electricity and clean water were virtually non-existent, and it would take hours to go reach the mainland on rickety boats.

“My family remains in Vung Tau, and I am here on my own. As fate would have it, on the boat to get here, I met my childhood friend who’d recently graduated from the Chemistry-Biology pedagogy faculty and was returning to the island to be a teacher here, like me. Of course, we were thrilled to see each other,” Thi said.

Happiness was writ large on the face of Lai Son High School principal To Thi Minh Hoan as she talked about the returning islanders.

“We have really struggled to hire teachers, locals were of course not available, so the provincial education authorities had to mobilise teachers from elsewhere. Difficulties to adapt to local lives, as well as difficulties of living on an island, meant that most barely stayed for three years before asking to go back to the mainland,” Hoan said.

Locals returning to teach has improved the situation considerably.

“One headache here is students’ dropping out. Upon turning 15, most would abandon their studies to either go fishing or leave the island altogether for Binh Duong or HCM City to work in factories. The smaller ones would follow their parents to other provinces and cities, and in many cases, without supervision and care from their parents who are busy with work, get tangled in social evils.”

Local teachers, who can really understand and sympathise with each family’s background and difficulties, would find it easier to work with parents and help reduce the dropout rate, she said.

The youngest teacher in the school, Phan Mong Tuyen, 24, admitted that island life is ‘less fun’ than in cities, but “there are too many things that attach me to this place.”

Other people on the island are being influenced by the youngsters, and encouraging their children to continue studying and saying it is possible for them to make a living here.

“Previously, when I was student, every time I heard that a teacher was moving back to the mainland, we were really sad and resented them for ‘not loving the island, not caring about us.’ When I got older, I could understand their reasons, they just wanted to be with their family. It was a natural thing,” Tuyen said.

“The responsibility of building a future for this island ultimately falls on people like me and coming generations... We do not regret our decision to come back.” 

Source: VNS