"Marrying a fisherman..."

(Baonghean)For generations, those small fishing villages have been filled with the joyful sounds of returning fish, with boats and ships bustling about. For just as many years, the women who married fishermen have stood on the docks, their eyes searching for the boats carrying the men they loved most. Through storms, gales, and the darkness of night, these fragile women still held their lights, filled with anxiety and hope...

During the rainy season, the two small fishing villages of Nam Thinh and Bac Thinh in Nghi Thiet commune (Nghi Loc district) become isolated islands because the only road leading to them is both rough and muddy. On one side is a jagged cliff, on the other is the roaring sea with towering white waves; we trudged through the mud with trepidation to reach the village. In her small house, Mrs. Nguyen Thi Ngai was finishing weaving a fishing net, occasionally, as if by habit, glancing out at the wind and rain to hide a sigh. Mrs. Ngai's story is also the story of so many women along the coast of Nghi Thiet...

"In 1964, when she was just a young child of 10, she witnessed a great storm that swept away her father. At that time, her mother was pregnant with her fourth child. Seeing the storm, the pregnant woman, along with her young children, ran to the sea to look for news of her husband. One day, two days, then three days... Mrs. Ngai's mother and five other women from the village ran from one dock to another, standing on Hon Trok hill (also known as Hon Co) until their feet ached, gazing out to sea. Mrs. Ngai remembers: "For seven or eight days like that, my mother just wandered aimlessly, listless, without eating or drinking." "My brothers and I could only cry with her." That boat carried six men who were forever lost to the sea. The women in the village waited not just seven or eight days, but months and years... swallowing their tears to raise their children, and together they held a joint memorial service during the stormy season. That's how Mrs. Ngai grew up, listening to her mother sing lullabies to her younger siblings every night, witnessing the silent tears rolling down her mother's cheeks by the flickering oil lamp, and then seeing her mother toiling in the fields, selling shrimp and fish at the market. Then, like many other children, after finishing the seventh grade, Mrs. Ngai dropped out of school. At 18, she married a young man from the same fishing village. "What could I do? It was fate." "Besides, that's how we are here, confined to our village, we don't go anywhere, we don't know anyone else." Three children were born one after another. When she was 27, with her youngest child still an infant in her arms, one day she received devastating news: her husband had met with an accident while fishing. When the small boat finally brought him back, he was gone, one hand mangled and bleeding profusely. Her children became orphans again, just as she herself had once been an orphan. The vast, fierce sea, with its countless uncertainties and misfortunes, had once again taken away a pillar, the most reliable shoulder in her life. Every night, she would light a lamp and sing lullabies to her children, silently shedding tears. Every day, she would continue to work tirelessly at the market, taking her husband's place in providing food and clothing for her children. Her sons, growing up, also followed the sea to make a living. Her daughters also married fishermen. Life had to go on, even though she knew she would have to endure much bitterness. Understanding that simple truth is not simple at all. She has remained single since the age of 27, just like so many other women she mentioned: Mrs. Lien, Mrs. Nhien, Mrs. Huy, Mrs. Tuyet, Mrs. Luong... of this small fishing village.

Like hundreds of households in Nam Thinh and Bac Thinh, hundreds of households in Thanh Cong fishing village (Quynh Long - Quynh Luu) have lived and died by the sea for generations. The typhoon of November 9, 1997, marked a historical milestone for this village when it swept away dozens of fishing boats. Seeing the swirling black vortices rising from the sea, the entire village of Thanh Cong, in panic, rushed to the beach. People rushed out to sea in a chaotic rush, their footsteps filled with mournful cries. That whole night, hundreds of people sat huddled together on the beach, waiting. They prayed, called out the names of their husbands, fathers, and sons, but the only answer they received was the sound of the wind and waves. A few days later, dozens of bodies washed ashore in the coastal areas, and only then did hope begin to fade. This storm cast a pall of white mourning over the entire village. Seven strong young men from Thanh Cong fishing village perished, five of whom were never found. Previously, the 1983 tornado also claimed dozens of lives, and the 1996 tornado claimed 3 lives. Many families lost up to two men, sons, such as the families of Mrs. Lon, Mrs. Ngan, Ms. Tam, Ms. Le...

On the salt pans.

Living off the sea, yet the sea is also a terrifying nightmare. The joy of the boats returning with holds full of fish—who knows the countless worries, hardships, and storms that the women left behind on shore have paid for? They measure their hopes in every mesh of net, every measure of salt. Silently listening to the messages from the distant sea in each white-crested wave. And so, generation after generation, the sons grow up with tanned skin and strong, muscular chests, while the daughters' hands become nimble, their eyes gentle, and their hearts tender with each stitch. They meet on the docks and boats, fall in love, and marry, choosing the sea as their livelihood. Joy is intertwined with sweat, tears, and worries. Each day, the longing grows, their eyes deeper. How many women in the coastal fishing villages have sat like statues before the sea, overwhelmed by the immeasurable pain of stormy days? How many sandy beaches bear the marks of the claws of those who went far out to sea and never returned? Those women still create the "Waiting Wife" rock formations, continuing the story that has been told like a fairy tale for generations...

Now, the fishing villages are no longer desolate with their dilapidated thatched roofs. Nam Thinh and Bac Thinh villages have become wealthier thanks to the labor export industry. In Thanh Cong village, large ships have gradually replaced the fragile boats. But going far away always leads to a return to the sea. And the lullaby of a child's sleep, "Sleep well, my child, when the sea is calm, your father will return..."

Thuy Vinh