Mai Chau


I was scraping the last bits of rice from my lunch bowl when I heard the first hollow boom of thunder. My sore muscles tightened and I sat still on the bamboo floor of our stilt house homestay in Xo, chopsticks perched over my bowl. As soon as the drumming began on the roof I turned to my friends circled around the lunch platter and announced with unblinking eyes, “I’m taking a shower. Right now.” Miniature soap, shampoo and conditioner in hand, I hurried down the stairs and stood on the cement ground with my sunburned face straining toward the foggy gray sky. Red dirt trickled from my hair, my hiking clothes, my arms and my legs, collecting by my bare feet before mixing with the clear rain and disappearing. I straightened my head to allow the cool water down my spine.


Facing the stilt house, I saw my friend Cole scurrying down the slanted planks of wood to join me. Laughing, we poured shampoo on our heads and watched as the white bubbles cleaned our sweaty t-shirts. Soon more people were shivering barefoot on the stone ground, thankful that there was a force able to relieve us of this menial task. After a three hour trek in the mud, all anyone wants to do is stand under a powerful shower. Since Xô is one of the poorest villages in all of Vietnam, our school of sixteen teenagers were not going to complain about the water basin and buckets. But nature helped us out in the end, stopping the slapping rain suddenly so we could change into dry clothes and march back inside, knowing we saved a substantial amount of cistern water for the Xô villagers. Charity feels wonderful.