Sen. Brown, U.S. government please read this blog

People in power have two choices. They can use their power to help, guide and teach others. Or they can use their power to humiliate and belittle others. The consular officers at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City have made the wrong choice. They've gone out of their way to embarrass my wife Phuong and treat her like she doesn't deserve a fair hearing or the same rights as others.
My wife was denied a tourist visa on Thursday to accompany me with our daughter to the United States. It's her fourth rejection.  The officer asked her if she spoke English. When Phuong replied "a little," the man made a "ch" sound and rolled his head back. Make your own interpretation of that professional behavior. Then he wanted to see our marriage license. He left Phuong alone at the table for 10 minutes, then came back and said her marriage was a fake and gave her a rejection letter. When Phuong started to challenge his outright lie, the man put his hand up in front of Phuong's face and waved in the next visa applicant. She wanted to know if  he thought our baby was a fake, also.
It's interesting how the same people accepted our marriage license a few weeks earlier when they made our baby Joanna a U.S. citizen.
On Thursday, Phuong had the deed to our house that proves she is the owner, and she had my work contract. Both are evidence we would return to Vietnam from the U.S., but the consular officer didn't ask for either. He was too busy fabricating an outright lie about our marriage.
I understand there's a vetting process involved with immigration, but denying a visa on a false premise sounds like a criminal act to me. I think that clown may have broken the law. We've written letters of protest and have received a response to each. Of course the world is powerless to overturn the incorrect judgment of someone who makes false accusations. After all, it's HIS judgment, we were told, and that embassies all over the world never overturn a visa denial ... even if it's based on a lie, I guess.
The Embassy did say we could apply again, but that once a visa application is denied, it's very unlikely it would be approved at another hearing unless there was a dramatic change in circumstance. I would assume the truth isn't strong enough. So why apply if their minds are made up? Well, they probably want the application fee of $160.
We'll keep sending letters, we'll get an attorney of course, and I've reached out to U.S. Sen. Sherrod Brown of Ohio to help us, since Phuong will eventually be trying to immigrate to the U.S. with me and Joanna. There is no way in hell I'll let the prejudices and arrogance of some embassy flunky tear apart our family. Brown's office has already responded (I did vote for the man), and Phuong and I are hopeful we'll be able to raise our American daughter in the United States. Phuong is an incredible mom and wife, and we won't accept being separated. She was stunned and fought back tears after she was rejected. If the consular officer showed any compassion and gave her a reasonable explanation as to why she was denied a visa, maybe we wouldn't be so riled up. But this guy treated Phuong with no respect or dignity. He was dismissive and churlish. It's on, bro'.
If this farce continues, we can either try to stay here or seek asylum in another country. I love the U.S. and I know my wife and daughter would too if they can ever get there. So why is this happening?

Phuong's mom 'takes' my money; all lives matter

Phuong's mom is very helpful. She brings us food, sews our clothes, buys diapers for Joanna, and brings over lots of toilet paper for me. But ... God love her ... she speaks very little English and understands even less. The other night I needed to make change for a 500,000-dong bill.-- we're paid in big bills at work, just like Peru, and street vendors and some shops struggle to make change, just like Peru. So I gave the big bill to mom, and tried to explain in Vietnamese that I needed change, or smaller money. Mom looked so happy. She smiled and said in OK English: "Thank you, John."  Then she put the bill in her pocket and went home. That money was gone, never to be seen again. I told Phuong and we laughed about it. Her mom is so nice. I'm more than happy to donate to the cause. 
But I'm not happy to donate to VinMart or Bien Hoa Market vendors anymore. VinMart is a weird supermarket that's part clothing store. It's a healthy walk from our house and I've gone there in the past to get Q-tips and soap and some exercise. The supermarket is on the second floor and they sell the usual supermarket stuff, except they don't sell bread.  I asked "co banh mi" (have bread) in Vietnamese and the older ladies looked at me like I'm a White Monkey or something. No answer from them. They spoke to each other in Vietnamese and laughed at me. This is the all-too-frequent interaction I have with the real locals here. But a younger girl who happened to walk by asked in poor English what I wanted. I responded with my Vietnamese bread question and she said "khong co" (don't have). I thanked her profusely. When I checked out with my Q-tips, soap and three boxes of cookies and no bread, the girls took my money, gave me a receipt and then gestured that I go to the next register. I'm not sure what was going on, but I played along. I had my bathroom stuff in a bag in my hand, but they had the cookies. The girl started to put the cookies in another bag, but I motioned that I'd put everything in one bag, and started to jam the cookies in the bag with Q-tips and soap. The girl called security and he rushed over to me and sternly motioned for me to take the cookies out of the bag. You know, this is crap, so I demanded my money back, which I got, sarcastically thanked the clerks and security guard, and went home, where my ears are still dirty. Bien Hoa Market does the same bullslip that San Camillo Market in Arequipa, Peru, did. Try to cheat the White Monkey for a dollar or two and not care about future business. There's a language barrier, to be sure, but there's also an intelligence barrier. The low-life cheaters think they're smart, but I've got a paper signed by a psychiatrist that states my IQ is 107. Soooo ..... nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-bee.
A few odds and ends from the  week:
* Every time Phuong calls for a taxi, the driver has no idea how to get to our house. We're near a couple of huge coffee shops which are well known. We're two turns off one of the biggest streets in Bien Hoa. It takes at least 30 minutes and at least two phone calls for the driver to find us. Then we have to describe where we're going ...
* Joanna got a vaccine -- taken orally -- for her stomach. The doctors/government here gives you a 5-in-1 vaccine for a bunch of other diseases, and warns you that your baby could develop a fever from the multiple vaccines in one big shot. We opted to pay money to have the vaccines separated to reduce fever risk.
* Phuong has her interview at the U.S. Embassy this week to get a visa so she and Joanna can join me in the U.S. this November and December. Fingers crossed.
* Joanna likes to raise her right fist and focus on it. (See photo on right.)  Joanna, mom and dad believe black lives matter, white lives matter, Vietnamese lives matter, all lives matter.

The White Monkey gets fat on donuts

I've always been a fat slob, but now I'm a fatter slob because the donut lady started coming to our house every morning. Phuong and her mom thought they were doing me a big favor by getting six to 10 donuts a day for me. Like I said in an earlier blog, these donuts have an extremely thick caramelized sugar coating, which I assume is put on after the dough is deep fried in trans-fat-filled oil. Some of the donuts have a kind of green bean paste filling, which is yummy. In fact, all of the donuts taste good. Unfortunately, they're a death sentence, and they're not something you can or should eat every day, although I gave it my best shot. Phuong took a look at me and stopped buying the donuts this week, saying they're better if you only eat them once in a while. What she's really saying is that I'm fat. The donuts aren't big, but they pack a wallop (see photos on right). I'll take a break for a while. It was simply a case of too much of a good thing.
Good news: I'm back in the good graces of the Hu tieu girls. The 38-year-old with the doctor friend from the U.S. said she wasn't shooing me away. She said she was saying hello. I disagreed, of course, because the White Monkey knows shooing when he sees shooing, but we let it pass quickly and all is well. The Hu tieu girl said that I didn't understand what she was saying because of my headphones. If I were to die here -- oh God, please don't let that happen -- the Vietnamese would write the following epitaph on my tombstone: "Here lies White Monkey who didn't understand". The Vietnamese always forget articles, like "a". The tombstone would no doubt have some graffiti on it as well: "What your name? Where you from?"
Some sad news, but not totally unexpected.: The park near our house where I used to do some Tai chi has gotten seedy. I was coming home from my walk at 11 a.m,. and I passed though the park just in time to see some loser standing with his pants around his ankles taking a pee -- in front of God and everyone. This little wiener -- in every sense of the word -- wasn't behind a tree or being discreet. He was peeing and proud. Of course, he's friends with my sleeping buddy, and this dynamic duo hangs around on flattened cardboard in the middle of the park. Some other guy shows up regularly with a German shepherd and another big dog -- leash-less, of course -- and nods approvingly as the dogs threaten all passersby. More cars are parking in the park. And naturally, more motorbike riders zip through the park these days, which is completely understandable. Why use the traffic-free roads that run alongside the park when you can ride your motorbike through the park and anger pedestrians and guys taking a piss?
I'm still trying to gather documents for Phuong's visa interview at the U.S. Embassy. I really need a break in the United States with my wife Phuong and daughter Joanna, especially after the rough week of classes I had. Adding to my frustrating week: people have been pointing at my daughter when she's out and about, saying "my" (pronounced me), which I think means foreigner or American in Vietnamese. Give her a break folks, she's two months old. Actually, Joanna is doing very well, thanks to her mom's tireless efforts. She weighs 13 pounds already, is quite tall, and consumes mom's milk around the clock. She's smiling a lot, and making more cute baby noises every day.
I really miss playing tennis with Phuong, and I even started jogging a little to help my ailing right ankle and prepare for a possible comeback on the court. But finding a partner is the biggest challenge, so I make do with walking these days.

No apples and peanut butter; no Hu tieu and crepes; Joanna will be U.S. citizen

I teach a group of government workers, and they're pretty nice folk. Most are older, with husbands and wives and children. I was explaining apples to the group -- things like core, stem, skin, seeds, pie, cider, and all things apple. I brought in some peanut butter and apples and explained how this is a good combination and popular with some people in my country. I invited the class to try a small slice of apple with a little peanut butter on it. The 10 students looked at me in horror, like I asked them to lick the top and bottom of my shoes. I had already cut one apple into quarters, so I slapped some peanut butter on a quarter and ate the damn thing, exaggerating how good it was. Really, it was good (USA apples and chunky peanut butter from Golden Farms, a local company). Finally, two women wanted to try a quarter slice with peanut butter, and I think they actually liked it. They ate the whole piece, which I coated with peanut butter, and said it was very good. No one else budged. They refused to even have a taste. That's not how I live my life, but what the hell do I know.
I walked into a new store coming home from my daily walk. It was a crepes store, and they sell specialty drinks along with ice cream and fruit wrapped in crepes. I asked to see a menu and was instantly surrounded by three staffers. Bad sign.  The girl who opened the menu motioned for me to order one of the drinks on the right-hand side of the menu. But I wanted crepes with strawberries and ice cream, so I pointed to where this item was listed on the menu. That set off a barrage of questions and Vietnamese-speak, none of which I truly understood. Again, I pointed to the item I wanted -- and asked for two of them so Phuong could have one -- but things got more complicated. I asked for the items "to go" and the staffers looked at me in horror, like I asked them to lick the top and bottom of my shoes. One guy said in tepid English that the ice cream would melt and they wouldn't give me the items "to go."  I tried to explain to the English speaker that I lived two minutes away so it was no problem. But in unison the staff shook their heads and hands and wouldn't make the crepes "to go" for me. I'll never go in that shop again, but those losers don't care. They know what's best for the White Monkey because the White Monkey is a flaming idiot who doesn't know what's good for him. But that's how people do business here. Screw the customer. The customer is wrong and they're always right and you can take it or leave it. So ... I'll leave it. Good-bye. It reminds me of some computer stores in the United States where a snarky teen refuses to wait on you until he or she is damn well ready.
Another mystery on the walk: One of the Hu tieu girls decided the White Monkey is not welcome to share food with the girls. Three of the girls seem OK when I drop off some food, but one of the girls (really, a 38-year-old woman) runs up to me and shoos me away when I approach with a treat. Really. No big deal for me, so the treat exchange is over and I buy my Hu tieu elsewhere. Weird.
Joanna is going to be a United States citizen. We spent all afternoon at the U.S. Embassy on Tuesday, and the applications were accepted and stamped and pre-approved and post-approved. Now we're trying to get Phuong a visa for our trip to the U.S. If Phuong is rejected again and keeps getting rejected -- even though we're married with a child -- we'll look into moving to Canada when I retire. Prince Edward Island is one of the nicest places I've ever been to, but winter could be too much for my wife. We'll see what happens. I really like Yellow Springs, Ohio, so I hope my government realizes Phuong is so cool, so nice, and an asset wherever she goes.