"The extraordinary man" on the summit of Pha Mo

(Baonghean) - “Today I come here to meet you/ Will you reciprocate my feelings? The wind blows the leaves by the stream/ If I were a dewdrop/ I would melt in your hand…”, Old Man Song Thai sang in his native dialect. The high, resonant notes seemed to overshadow all the surrounding noise. The café was filled with loud music. Young and old customers, with their countless conversations, suddenly stopped. They looked towards us, towards Old Man Song Thai. Little did Old Man Song Thai know, he remained immersed in the world of his village, where the Pha Mo mountain is shrouded in mist year-round…

Elder Song Thai and Mong ethnic delegates at the 2nd Provincial Congress of Ethnic Minorities.

In his hometown of Huoi Vieng (Dooc May, Ky Son), the villagers still call him "the stranger." They affectionately call him, "Hey, Song Thai! You're not from Huoi Vieng! In our village, for thousands of generations, there's never been anyone like you!" But why wouldn't Old Man Song Thai be from Huoi Vieng? He is definitely from Huoi Vieng, a son of the Mong people of Ky Son. He was born and raised in the village; the villagers have witnessed all the hardships and joys of his life. Song Thai held out his hands: "Look, sister, these are truly the hands of our Mong people, hands that climbed mountains and clung to steep cliffs to find streams during the dry season, hands that turned red from working in my father's blacksmith's forge, hands that wielded the crossbow on the big festival..." Old Man Song Thai, no one ever doubted you. I knew you were deeply rooted in your ethnic character, a quality that, once you choose someone as a friend, remains loyal and devoted to them for life. The only thing is, to the villagers, you're still quite a stranger, because decades ago, your education alone was already quite unusual.

Old Man Song Thai learned to read and write when he was 10 years old. Like many other Hmong children, Song Thai was almost the main laborer in the family. His father's blacksmith's forge was there, and every morning, before dawn, Song Thai would climb into the forge to light the fire. The charcoal fire in a Hmong forge doesn't flare up quickly, but it's evenly heated. Every morning, after lighting the forge, Song Thai's face would be blackened with streaks of charcoal. His father's forge was on a hill behind the house. From there, he could see the peak of Pha Mo Mountain hidden in the white mist and clearly hear the gurgling sound of the streams where Song Thai and his friends used to go to fetch water. He had sat on this hilltop hundreds of times, yet he still saw the same scenery. The scenery of his Dooc May homeland was breathtaking! But Old Man Song Thai gazed and gazed, wondering, what was on the other side of the mountain? Were there streams, houses with samu wood roofs like those in Huoi Vieng village? And Song Thai imagined… And Song Thai longed…

Old Man Song Thai told his father, "I want to learn to read and write!" His only son's firm wish startled his father. Learn to read and write? In Huoi Vieng, he was the fourth generation in his family; who else knew how to read and write? Nevertheless, he indulged his son's wish, daily filling his basket with rice, adding some corn cakes and salt, and carrying a small, sharp knife to navigate the forest, crossing three mountains and two streams to reach the school located in Pa Lach Phay. At the age of ten, Song Thai began to write his first letters. Those letters were like a dream come true, like a magical world. Even now, recalling that moment, Old Man Song Thai still can't fully understand what powerful motivation had driven him to seek education on that familiar hilltop, and to persevere through all hardships to learn to the very end. Perhaps it was initially curiosity and a sense of adventure, and later, perhaps it was a burning desire to prove himself. Whatever the reason, these characteristics were alien to the regular and somewhat conservative pace of life of the people of Huồi Viêng village.

Old Man Song Thai was the first person from the village to complete high school. Later, he attended many other advanced courses and now holds the position of Vice Chairman of the People's Committee of Dooc May Commune. A son of the village has come such a long way… But the story of Old Man Song Thai doesn't end there. Song Thai was also the first person in the village to find ways to preserve the enchanting sound of the Hmong flute. The Hmong flute has become a "trademark," but it is increasingly at risk of being lost due to other modern forms of entertainment. "Few people use the flute to call friends anymore; the young people all use phones, all text, even at big festivals they don't know how to use the flute anymore. It's so sad!" So sad! Old Man Song Thai sighed! The sadness permeated every word of this morning's story, staining the bustling streets of Vinh City, and weighing heavily on the coffee shop where we stopped to chat about the "event" of Elder Song Thai's visit to the Congress of Ethnic Minorities in Nghe An Province. Elder Song Thai, for so many years, you've been deeply concerned about the loss of your unique flute music, and you've done everything you could. You returned to your village, organized meetings, and spoke to the villagers—fathers, uncles, aunts, and even your children and grandchildren—in the heartfelt language of your people, saying that the flute music must not be lost. It must not be lost, and there can be no excuses whatsoever.

Old Man Song Thai recalled that day, the villagers looked at him as if he were a stranger. They looked at Song Thai. They looked at each other. Was this Song Thai, the only son of Old Man Nhia Hua? Was this Song Thai, who, as a child, had traveled with his father throughout the villages to perform ancestral rites for the villagers? Yes, but what strange things was Song Thai talking about? Everyone knew about the Hmong flute. “Everyone knows that every Hmong household must have a flute, Hmong men must know how to play it, know the different ways to play it for funerals and festivals… But does anyone remember everything anymore? Which of you young people sitting here remembers?” Song Thai questioned.

Silence. No one spoke. No one dared claim to remember the complete and systematic recitation of their ethnic group's khaen (bamboo flute). So, Old Man Song Thai took another step forward. Many villagers had forgotten the khaen, so they had to learn it again. The elders would teach the younger generation, those who remembered more would teach those who remembered less, and those who knew nothing would simply listen. They also needed to find the khaen; many had been lost. Our khaen were easy to make; they were very simple instruments, primarily constructed from bamboo and wood from the forest. The most intricate and important part was the brass reed inside the khaen tubes. The Hmong people used thin sheets of brass, cut them into small pieces, and fitted them into the tubes. But they had the blacksmiths and the skillful hands of their people to do that. True to his word, he personally worked with the villagers to recreate traditional bamboo flutes – flutes that, when played, with the rhythmic ups and downs of the feet and the expressions on the face, seemed to evoke all the expansiveness of the mountains and forests. There's a true story about Old Man Song Thai that the villagers throughout Dooc May still tell each other: Old Man Song Thai had a bamboo flute nearly 100 years old, its body polished to a golden-brown color. Wherever he went, he carried it with him as if it were an inseparable object. He played the flute with passionate, heartfelt intensity, like a captivating spell, and soon the villagers had gathered in a circle around him. At that point, he put down the flute and said, "Look, everyone, this is such a beautiful flute piece, you're all so captivated by it, you must learn it, remember it, and use it regularly." The Hmong flute is a spiritual symbol of the Hmong people, a story told through sound. If the sound of the flute is lost, where will future generations find a way to trace their roots?

That deep-rooted heritage is the strongest driving force that motivates Elder Song Thai to find ways to preserve the traditional identity of the Mong people, which is in danger of fading away. Not only the sound of the Hmong flute, but also many other cultural symbols, such as the embroidery secrets of Hmong women, the love songs, the ball-throwing festival, the housewarming ceremony... Elder Song Thai acts decisively, sometimes as a son of the community, whispering, sharing, and advising; other times, in his capacity as Vice Chairman of the People's Committee of the commune, Elder Song Thai proposes including the issue of preserving and maintaining cultural identity in the annual Party committee resolution, thereby proposing specific solutions and programs. Today, we can rejoice at the changes in Dooc May village, where the younger generation, aged 14 and 15, can skillfully play the flute, and every household has a flute proudly displayed, as a reminder and a tribute.

I asked the elderly man from Song Thai, "What is your greatest wish now?" He replied, "In the not-too-distant future, I hope to successfully organize classes on the culture of the Hmong ethnic group for the Hmong people themselves. Things that seem so well understood are actually still unclear. We need to find the elders to record the ancient songs, rituals, and customs. If we don't do it in time, the Hmong people will be left isolated in their own rich and unique culture someday..."

Old Man Thai stopped speaking. I followed his gaze to the distance. What was there, Old Man Thai? Still the endless streams of the young city, the noise, the laughter and chatter of everyday life, the shimmering colors in the midday sun. But no, it seemed the man had become immersed in his own world, a world filled with the vibrant sounds of the flute on the misty Pha Mo peak?!

Phuong Chi - Thu Huong