《性别、亲密关系与社会》课程教学资源（计划生育与女性）Cross-Border Brides：Vietnamese Wives,Chinese Husbands in a Border-Area Fishing Village.pdf_大学文库

gally,in a small boat.Although nervous,I wanted to take the route used by the women I knew in Wanwei. Ten people were already waiting when I arrived at the boat dock behind a private house in Mong Cai on the banks of the Ka Long River.I dared not strike up a conversation with any of them,having been warned against doing so by the friends who had arranged my trip.Each passenger gave 1oo,ooo VND (about USss)to the boat owner.Two of my fellow passengers were young women who seemed amazed by everything and looked worried, quite unlike the middle-aged woman in their company,who laughed and talked seemingly without a care.One of the young women got seasick;the other fared better,but she looked tense and scared,especially when the boat owner stopped to talk and give money to someone near the border crossing. When the boat arrived in Wanwei,the older woman promptly led the two younger ones away.I later learned that she was a matchmaker and that her two charges,who hailed from Quang Ninh province near the border,had gone with her to Wanwei to find husbands. I had no intention of studying mixed marriages when I first visited Wanwei in 1999.I was then part of a team considering investigating the consequences of the creation the previous year of the Dongxing-Mong Cai Free Economic Zone.That project never got off the ground,but I became interested in the lives of the Vietnamese women I met in Wanwei who were married to Chinese fishermen.Since then,I have traveled to Wanwei at least once a year and gotten to know forty-four such women(up until 2o08).I stay for extended periods,sometimes in the home of the Party Branch secretary who happens to belong to the Jing (ethnic Vietnamese)community.I have regularly attended the annual festival of the Jing community as an honored guest.I have helped my informants as they went about their household chores,worked alongside them as they cleaned and mended their husbands' fishing nets,dug in the sand for small mollusks with them,and processed jellyfish,one of the main products of Wanwei,with them;I have walked between the village and the shore,puffing behind the women as they carry heavy baskets on their heads.I have hung around the market stall where one of my informants sells produce and the small pavilion where another woman offers her services as a seamstress.We have long chats-sometimes in groups, sometimes one on one.When it is time for me to go home to Vietnam,some of the women entrust me with presents and news for their birth families.As 414 Cross-Border Brides

ùõù Cross-Border Brides gally, in a small boat. Although nervous, I wanted to take the route used by the women I knew in Wanwei.1 Ten people were already waiting when I arrived at the boat dock behind a private house in Móng Cái on the banks of the Ka Long River. I dared not strike up a conversation with any of them, having been warned against doing so by the friends who had arranged my trip. Each passenger gave 100,000 VND (about US$5) to the boat owner. Two of my fellow passengers were young women who seemed amazed by everything and looked worried, quite unlike the middle-aged woman in their company, who laughed and talked seemingly without a care. One of the young women got seasick; the other fared better, but she looked tense and scared, especially when the boat owner stopped to talk and give money to someone near the border crossing. When the boat arrived in Wanwei, the older woman promptly led the two younger ones away. I later learned that she was a matchmaker and that her two charges, who hailed from Quảng Ninh province near the border, had gone with her to Wanwei to find husbands. I had no intention of studying mixed marriages when I first visited Wanwei in 1999. I was then part of a team considering investigating the consequences of the creation the previous year of the Dongxing–Móng Cái Free Economic Zone. That project never got off the ground, but I became interested in the lives of the Vietnamese women I met in Wanwei who were married to Chinese fishermen. Since then, I have traveled to Wanwei at least once a year and gotten to know forty-four such women (up until 2008). I stay for extended periods, sometimes in the home of the Party Branch secretary who happens to belong to the Jing (ethnic Vietnamese) community. I have regularly attended the annual festival of the Jing community as an honored guest. I have helped my informants as they went about their household chores, worked alongside them as they cleaned and mended their husbands’ fishing nets, dug in the sand for small mollusks with them, and processed jellyfish, one of the main products of Wanwei, with them; I have walked between the village and the shore, puffing behind the women as they carry heavy baskets on their heads. I have hung around the market stall where one of my informants sells produce and the small pavilion where another woman offers her services as a seamstress. We have long chats—sometimes in groups, sometimes one on one. When it is time for me to go home to Vietnam, some of the women entrust me with presents and news for their birth families. As

a result,I have been given an entree into the families and communities they left behind.In this article,I seek to give voice to this small group of women as they reflect on the challenges and opportunities of cross-border marriage. Transnational marriages form part of the story of rural Vietnam's trans- formation since the 199os.Villages have become more urbanized.As factories and industrial parks spring up,arable and relatively unpolluted land becomes scarcer,impoverishing those without the skills or opportunities to find fac- tory work.Meanwhile,as the means of communication and transportation have expanded,so have villagers'horizons.More and more young women marry foreigners.In one of my informants'native village in Hai Phong,the Party Branch secretary of told me that 6o percent of marriage-age women had married foreigners.In another village in Thai Binh,the cadre in charge of cultural affairs explained,"More and more women want to go abroad, either to get married or to find work.Partly it's because they no longer want to labor in the fields;partly it's because they just follow the trend."The major- ity of women who"marry out"go to the People's Republic of China(PRC), Taiwan,and Korea.Some marry overseas Vietnamese in the United States or Australia,but most marry local men with no ties to Vietnam Transnational marriages involving Vietnamese women have received a certain amount of coverage-some scholarly,most journalistic,and some downright sensational.Both the Vietnamese and foreign press focus on numbers,in particular the number of women believed to be victims of human trafficking("Gan 1.ooo"2014).2 Invariably,these women are depicted as leading miserable lives after being conned into mercenary and exploitative marriages("Ham chong ngoai"2008).In both the media and the scholarly literature,the growing trend toward transnational marriages is linked to economic and social change,moral decline,new lifestyles,and gender imbalance,as well as larger issues such as globalization and urbaniza- tion (see Constable 2003;Glodava and Onizuka 1994;Nguyen and Hugo 2o05 Simons 2o01;Tran 2005;Tseng 2007). Cross-border marriages form a tiny subset of this phenomenon.The Vietnamese wives of Wanwei men constitute a small portion of the total number of women who contract to marry foreign men.The fact that they have settled in a village where there is a sizable population of Vietnamese speakers distinguishes them from the women who end up in South Korea, Taiwan,or farther north in the PRC,where they are marooned in a sea of Nguyen Thi Phudng Cham 415

Nguyễn Thị Phương Châm ùõú a result, I have been given an entrée into the families and communities they left behind. In this article, I seek to give voice to this small group of women as they reflect on the challenges and opportunities of cross-border marriage. Transnational marriages form part of the story of rural Vietnam’s transformation since the 1990s. Villages have become more urbanized. As factories and industrial parks spring up, arable and relatively unpolluted land becomes scarcer, impoverishing those without the skills or opportunities to find factory work. Meanwhile, as the means of communication and transportation have expanded, so have villagers’ horizons. More and more young women marry foreigners. In one of my informants’ native village in Hải Phòng, the Party Branch secretary of told me that 60 percent of marriage-age women had married foreigners. In another village in Thái Bình, the cadre in charge of cultural affairs explained, “More and more women want to go abroad, either to get married or to find work. Partly it’s because they no longer want to labor in the fields; partly it’s because they just follow the trend.” The majority of women who “marry out” go to the People’s Republic of China (PRC), Taiwan, and Korea. Some marry overseas Vietnamese in the United States or Australia, but most marry local men with no ties to Vietnam. Transnational marriages involving Vietnamese women have received a certain amount of coverage—some scholarly, most journalistic, and some downright sensational. Both the Vietnamese and foreign press focus on numbers, in particular the number of women believed to be victims of human trafficking (“Gần 11.000” 2014).2 Invariably, these women are depicted as leading miserable lives after being conned into mercenary and exploitative marriages (“Ham chồng ngoại” 2008). In both the media and the scholarly literature, the growing trend toward transnational marriages is linked to economic and social change, moral decline, new lifestyles, and gender imbalance, as well as larger issues such as globalization and urbanization (see Constable 2003; Glodava and Onizuka 1994; Nguyen and Hugo 2005 Simons 2001; Trần 2005; Tseng 2007). Cross-border marriages form a tiny subset of this phenomenon. The Vietnamese wives of Wanwei men constitute a small portion of the total number of women who contract to marry foreign men. The fact that they have settled in a village where there is a sizable population of Vietnamese speakers distinguishes them from the women who end up in South Korea, Taiwan, or farther north in the PRC, where they are marooned in a sea of

strangers whose language and customs they do not share.Living close to the border,the wives of Wanwei are able to maintain personal contact with their birth families in Vietnam. These women's lives as wives and mothers are also quite different from those of the Vietnamese women who make regular business trips between Mong Cai and Wanwei but do not reside there,and from those of the single girls who have recently come to work in the tourism industry.They also have very different experiences from the male guest workers who stream in from rural Vietnam to factories in Guangdong or Europe.Rather than being examples of transnational flows,the Vietnamese wives of Wanwei illustrate the experiences of individuals involved in cross-border marriages all along the China-Vietnam border,and perhaps in other borderlands as well. WANWEI According to Wei Xiaoming of the Guangxi Women's Union,"in 1999,an investigation in Dongxing showed that 1,269 Vietnamese women were living illegally without household registration or official registration of temporary residency;almost all were living with local men without being officially mar- ried"(see Ma 2oo2).Among the six thousand or so inhabitants of nearby Wanwei,a small Chinese fishing village that lies 25 kilometers from the Viet- namese border,are some fifty Vietnamese women who have settled illegally in the last couple of decades as unofficial wives of Chinese men. Together with two smaller villages,Shanxin and Wutou,Wanwei forms the Jingdao Peninsula.Originally,the villages were separate islands.In 1970, a seawall and causeways were built to connect them to one another and to other areas in Jiangping on the mainland,thereby forming the peninsula.In the past,the three islands were often objects of contestation between Vietnam and China.Their status was stabilized by the Franco-Chinese treaty of May 6,1887,which set the Peilun River as the border between the two countries: Wanwei became part of the Chinese territory,while Mong Cai became part of Vietnam.In Wanwei,people still recite these lines:"We used to live in Viet- nam;because of the French bandits,we had to become Chinese."As a result of this history,the peninsula is home to the largest concentration of Jing.As of 2009,there were 22,517 Jing in China.Outside of Jingdao,some Jing can also be found in nearby Fangcheng,Qiuzhou,Dongxing,and a few other scattered 416 Cross-Border Brides

ùõû Cross-Border Brides strangers whose language and customs they do not share. Living close to the border, the wives of Wanwei are able to maintain personal contact with their birth families in Vietnam. These women’s lives as wives and mothers are also quite different from those of the Vietnamese women who make regular business trips between Móng Cái and Wanwei but do not reside there, and from those of the single girls who have recently come to work in the tourism industry. They also have very different experiences from the male guest workers who stream in from rural Vietnam to factories in Guangdong or Europe. Rather than being examples of transnational flows, the Vietnamese wives of Wanwei illustrate the experiences of individuals involved in cross-border marriages all along the China-Vietnam border, and perhaps in other borderlands as well. WANWEI According to Wei Xiaoming of the Guangxi Women’s Union, “in 1999, an investigation in Dongxing showed that 1,269 Vietnamese women were living illegally without household registration or official registration of temporary residency; almost all were living with local men without being officially married” (see Ma 2002). Among the six thousand or so inhabitants of nearby Wanwei, a small Chinese fishing village that lies 25 kilometers from the Vietnamese border, are some fifty Vietnamese women who have settled illegally in the last couple of decades as unofficial wives of Chinese men.3 Together with two smaller villages, Shanxin and Wutou, Wanwei forms the Jingdao Peninsula. Originally, the villages were separate islands. In 1970, a seawall and causeways were built to connect them to one another and to other areas in Jiangping on the mainland, thereby forming the peninsula. In the past, the three islands were often objects of contestation between Vietnam and China. Their status was stabilized by the Franco-Chinese treaty of May 6, 1887, which set the Peilun River as the border between the two countries: Wanwei became part of the Chinese territory, while Móng Cái became part of Vietnam. In Wanwei, people still recite these lines: “We used to live in Vietnam; because of the French bandits, we had to become Chinese.” As a result of this history, the peninsula is home to the largest concentration of Jing. As of 2009, there were 22,517 Jing in China. Outside of Jingdao, some Jing can also be found in nearby Fangcheng, Qiuzhou, Dongxing, and a few other scattered

of Wanwei's 7,ooo hectares have been devoted to shrimp farming.Wanwei has become involved in the wholesale trade in seafood,either fresh or frozen, to Nanning,Fangcheng,Dongxing,and even Beijing. Since the late 198os,Wanwei has also become a tourist destination,as it has the only beach suitable for swimming in Jiangping and Dongxing. Villagers have opened guesthouses,restaurants,and rental lodgings.Thanks partly to these developments,Wanwei does not look like a typical fishing village,and it has gained a reputation as a place where it is easy to make a living.As the overall population increases,the proportion of Jing residents declines.Jing people make up so percent of the registered population of Wanwei;however,if the unregistered population is taken into account,the proportion of Jing residents drops to 3o percent.In the two neighboring vil- lages of Wutou and Shanxin,the proportion of Jing residents remains high, around 8o percent. TELLING LIVES According to my research,the women who came to Wanwei as victims of traf- fickers constitute about 2o to 3o percent of the total number of Vietnamese wives.Some of these women were told that they would be working for high wages and then were sold into marriage;others were told that they were com- ing over to marry but were given false information about their prospective husbands.Very few women have come as victims of trafficking in recent years. Ly,an early victim,said:"In my time [1992],where could I find any Vietnam- ese here?And so I gave up.Whereas nowadays some are so formidable that if they were sold over here and didn't like it,they would leave right away." By the time I met them,some of the women had been interviewed mul- tiple times by journalists fascinated by their anomalous status,and they were dissatisfied with their experiences with the media.They told me that they were so eager to fend off journalists interested only in presenting them as victims of human trafficking that they would agree that they had been sold in marriage to foreign men,even if that was not true.They were relieved to learn that I was interested in them as individuals and wanted to know about their whole lives,not just that one aspect.Other than these unwelcome inter- views,the Vietnamese wives of Wanwei had few opportunities to talk about themselves.Some were accustomed to telling the stories of their lives along 418 Cross-Border Brides

ùõý Cross-Border Brides of Wanwei’s 7,000 hectares have been devoted to shrimp farming. Wanwei has become involved in the wholesale trade in seafood, either fresh or frozen, to Nanning, Fangcheng, Dongxing, and even Beijing. Since the late 1980s, Wanwei has also become a tourist destination, as it has the only beach suitable for swimming in Jiangping and Dongxing. Villagers have opened guesthouses, restaurants, and rental lodgings. Thanks partly to these developments, Wanwei does not look like a typical fishing village, and it has gained a reputation as a place where it is easy to make a living. As the overall population increases, the proportion of Jing residents declines. Jing people make up 50 percent of the registered population of Wanwei; however, if the unregistered population is taken into account, the proportion of Jing residents drops to 30 percent. In the two neighboring villages of Wutou and Shanxin, the proportion of Jing residents remains high, around 80 percent. TELLING LIVES According to my research, the women who came to Wanwei as victims of traffickers constitute about 20 to 30 percent of the total number of Vietnamese wives. Some of these women were told that they would be working for high wages and then were sold into marriage; others were told that they were coming over to marry but were given false information about their prospective husbands. Very few women have come as victims of trafficking in recent years. Lý, an early victim, said: “In my time [1992], where could I find any Vietnamese here? And so I gave up. Whereas nowadays some are so formidable that if they were sold over here and didn’t like it, they would leave right away.” By the time I met them, some of the women had been interviewed multiple times by journalists fascinated by their anomalous status, and they were dissatisfied with their experiences with the media. They told me that they were so eager to fend off journalists interested only in presenting them as victims of human trafficking that they would agree that they had been sold in marriage to foreign men, even if that was not true. They were relieved to learn that I was interested in them as individuals and wanted to know about their whole lives, not just that one aspect. Other than these unwelcome interviews, the Vietnamese wives of Wanwei had few opportunities to talk about themselves. Some were accustomed to telling the stories of their lives along

the lines of the Vietnamesely lich,personal information questionnaires that are required when registering for school,applying for a job,receiving land, or being interviewed by census takers.As with rural people whose lives do not seem to change much from day to day,the temporal milestones they used were quite vague::“at that time,”“back then,"“in the old days."They talked about the turningpoints in their lives by referring to the time they left home, got married,or gave birth,or used expressions such as"when I was a girl"or 'when my child was growing up"(Hershatter 2002,59-60). Like the low-caste women in India studied by Kirin Narayan (2004), many of the women I interviewed were unable and,in some cases,unwilling to talk freely about themselves.Ha(b.19so)explained:"My life is quite sim- ple.What is there to tell?I just live one day at a time."Lan(b.197o)offered a slightly different perspective:"My life has been hard since I was a child; why would I want to remember it?"Part of these women's reticence stems from their refusal to provide fodder for sensation-hungry media.They also wish to deflect attention from their illegal residence in Wanwei and their equally illegal trips back to Vietnam to visit their birth families.Although their stories might seem to them not worth telling,the stories of the wives of Wanwei illuminate a variety of topics:village society and gender ideology in both Vietnam and China,cross-border lives,transnational marriages,and the economy of gifts and of emotion. PUSHED OUT BY POVERTY Most of the Wanwei women hailed from provinces close to the Chinese bor- der:Quang Ninh,Hai Phong,Hai Duong,and Thai Binh.Almost all came from large and impoverished rural families.Two sisters,Tan(b.1968)and Hong(b.1971),recalled their hard lives in Thuy Anh,Thai Binh.Tan said: There are six of us,five girls and one boy.Our mother passed away early. When she fell gravely ill,at first it was just stomach pain.She thought it was normal and only took some herbal medication.But it went on and by the time she went into the hospital it was too late because her tumor had grown. She died when my oldest sister was twenty-one,the youngest was only ten;I was seventeen at the time.My whole family did agricultural work.We car- ried heavy loads on our shoulders every day.When there was any free time we would run errands and hawk wares or work for hire to make extra money. Nguyen Thi Phuldng Cham 419

Nguyễn Thị Phương Châm ùõþ the lines of the Vietnamese lý lịch, personal information questionnaires that are required when registering for school, applying for a job, receiving land, or being interviewed by census takers. As with rural people whose lives do not seem to change much from day to day, the temporal milestones they used were quite vague: “at that time,” “back then,” “in the old days.” They talked about the turning points in their lives by referring to the time they left home, got married, or gave birth, or used expressions such as “when I was a girl” or “when my child was growing up” (Hershatter 2002, 59–60). Like the low-caste women in India studied by Kirin Narayan (2004), many of the women I interviewed were unable and, in some cases, unwilling to talk freely about themselves. Hà (b. 1950) explained: “My life is quite simple. What is there to tell? I just live one day at a time.” Lan (b. 1970) offered a slightly different perspective: “My life has been hard since I was a child; why would I want to remember it?” Part of these women’s reticence stems from their refusal to provide fodder for sensation-hungry media. They also wish to deflect attention from their illegal residence in Wanwei and their equally illegal trips back to Vietnam to visit their birth families. Although their stories might seem to them not worth telling, the stories of the wives of Wanwei illuminate a variety of topics: village society and gender ideology in both Vietnam and China, cross-border lives, transnational marriages, and the economy of gifts and of emotion.4 ŗŗŗ Most of the Wanwei women hailed from provinces close to the Chinese border: Quảng Ninh, Hải Phòng, Hải Dương, and Thái Bình. Almost all came from large and impoverished rural families. Two sisters, Tân (b. 1968) and Hồng (b. 1971), recalled their hard lives in Thụy Anh, Thái Bình. Tân said: There are six of us, five girls and one boy. Our mother passed away early. When she fell gravely ill, at first it was just stomach pain. She thought it was normal and only took some herbal medication. But it went on and by the time she went into the hospital it was too late because her tumor had grown. She died when my oldest sister was twenty-one, the youngest was only ten; I was seventeen at the time. My whole family did agricultural work. We carried heavy loads on our shoulders every day. When there was any free time we would run errands and hawk wares or work for hire to make extra money.

Ly(b.1973)had a similar home situation in Kien Thuy,Hai Phong: I'm the oldest.After me there are three more sisters and one brother.I should have had two brothers,but one of them died from illness at the age of six.My parents did agricultural work;later on there was not enough land to feed five children,so we also ran market errands and engaged in petty trade on the side.With a weak constitution since an early age,my father could not perform hard work or work for too long.It was mainly my mother who steered the houschold ship,and I was the one who helped her the most.From a young age I did all sorts of things:planting seasonal crops,single-handedly raising a few pigs,finding greens and bran and cooking them,and feeding and washing the pigs....When there was any free time I would help my mother with market errands,sometimes running rice for bran(buying paddy rice and then selling unhusked rice). using the profit to feed the pigs,sometimes buying vegetables and greens from the hamlet to sell at the market. Thanh (b.1974),who hailed from Tien Yen,Quang Ninh,had worked as a seamstress in Mong Cai before coming to Wanwei in 2003.Her many siblings,driven by poverty,were scattered throughout the country and even abroad: My father died when I was eight years old.My family includes eight siblings,and I am the youngest.Being poor,my siblings all dispersed to make a living.My oldest brother and one sister live in Mong Cai.Two of my sisters live in Saigon.One sister lives in Hai Phong.Another crossed the border to Hong Kong and now lives in Canada.My mother lives with an older brother in Tien Yen.I went to Mong Cai to live with my siblings when I was seventeen.I learned to sew and did sewing for other people. Given their impoverished backgrounds,none of the women I interviewed had received a full education.Ha(b.195o)does not even remember whether she had ever gone to school: I remember only that I worked all day:never did I find myself going to school.There seemed to be some evening class that my older sisters at- tended.I just peeked in,and I can't recall how I got to know how to read and do basic arithmetic.My family was poor,and my parents also 420 Cross-Border Brides

ùöô Cross-Border Brides Lý (b. 1973) had a similar home situation in Kiến Thuỵ, Hải Phòng: I’m the oldest. After me there are three more sisters and one brother. I should have had two brothers, but one of them died from illness at the age of six. My parents did agricultural work; later on there was not enough land to feed five children, so we also ran market errands and engaged in petty trade on the side. With a weak constitution since an early age, my father could not perform hard work or work for too long. It was mainly my mother who steered the household ship, and I was the one who helped her the most. From a young age I did all sorts of things: planting seasonal crops, single-handedly raising a few pigs, finding greens and bran and cooking them, and feeding and washing the pigs. . . . When there was any free time I would help my mother with market errands, sometimes running rice for bran (buying paddy rice and then selling unhusked rice), using the profit to feed the pigs, sometimes buying vegetables and greens from the hamlet to sell at the market. Thanh (b. 1974), who hailed from Tiên Yên, Quảng Ninh, had worked as a seamstress in Móng Cái before coming to Wanwei in 2003. Her many siblings, driven by poverty, were scattered throughout the country and even abroad: My father died when I was eight years old. My family includes eight siblings, and I am the youngest. Being poor, my siblings all dispersed to make a living. My oldest brother and one sister live in Móng Cái. Two of my sisters live in Saigon. One sister lives in Hải Phòng. Another crossed the border to Hong Kong and now lives in Canada. My mother lives with an older brother in Tiên Yên. I went to Móng Cái to live with my siblings when I was seventeen. I learned to sew and did sewing for other people. Given their impoverished backgrounds, none of the women I interviewed had received a full education. Hà (b. 1950) does not even remember whether she had ever gone to school: I remember only that I worked all day; never did I find myself going to school. There seemed to be some evening class that my older sisters attended. I just peeked in, and I can’t recall how I got to know how to read and do basic arithmetic. My family was poor, and my parents also

questioned why girls needed to study much.Just work hard.Once we got married we would be so busy with family and children,so what would be the use of studying? TOO OLD TO MARRY Secking to escape their families'poverty certainly factored into the calcula- tions of many rural women who moved to Wanwei.However,the women I interviewed offered other reasons for marrying foreigners as well,most of which had to do more with emotional needs than economic plight.While there is a growing concern in Vietnam about gender imbalance(currently, there are 112.3 men for every ioo women)("Gender Imbalance"2012),the imbalance is not yet as dire as in China(where the ratio is 17 men for every oo women).A thread running through all my informants'stories was that they were past the age when Vietnamese women,especially in the countryside, are considered desirable marriage mates.If they had remained in their home village,it would have been difficult for them to find husbands,but it would also have been difficult to remain there as single women.Hong recounted: When I was past twenty,my two older sisters,my older brother,and then my younger sister got married,one by one,while I myself did not receive a single marriage proposal.There were a few suitors,but they dilly-dallied, and that was that....Before anyone realized it,I had passed my years of eligibility.I found myself already twenty-nine or thirty.In the village, sometimes someone would point me out to their daughter and say:"Look at that girl,Hong.If you are choosy,you'll be a spinster,too!"I was so weary of hearing that. Thanh was twenty-nine when she arrived in Wanwei in 2003: I don't consider myself pretty,but I'm still a tall and healthy woman.I have had some suitors but nothingcame to anything....As I got older,all my friends kept marrying and having children and so sometimes I felt sad. But look at my friends:some got married to addicts who wrecked their home,one got married to a man who,in disgust at his failure in business, turned into an alcoholic who beat up his wife and children.I got afraid at the thought of marriage.In zoot or 2o02,when I was already twenty- Nguyen Thi Phuidng Cham 421

Nguyễn Thị Phương Châm ùöõ questioned why girls needed to study much. Just work hard. Once we got married we would be so busy with family and children, so what would be the use of studying? TOO OLD TO MARRY Seeking to escape their families’ poverty certainly factored into the calculations of many rural women who moved to Wanwei. However, the women I interviewed offered other reasons for marrying foreigners as well, most of which had to do more with emotional needs than economic plight. While there is a growing concern in Vietnam about gender imbalance (currently, there are 112.3 men for every 100 women) (“Gender Imbalance” 2012), the imbalance is not yet as dire as in China (where the ratio is 117 men for every 100 women). A thread running through all my informants’ stories was that they were past the age when Vietnamese women, especially in the countryside, are considered desirable marriage mates. If they had remained in their home village, it would have been difficult for them to find husbands, but it would also have been difficult to remain there as single women. Hồng recounted: When I was past twenty, my two older sisters, my older brother, and then my younger sister got married, one by one, while I myself did not receive a single marriage proposal. There were a few suitors, but they dilly-dallied, and that was that. . . . Before anyone realized it, I had passed my years of eligibility. I found myself already twenty-nine or thirty. In the village, sometimes someone would point me out to their daughter and say: “Look at that girl, Hồng. If you are choosy, you’ll be a spinster, too!” I was so weary of hearing that. Thanh was twenty-nine when she arrived in Wanwei in 2003: I don’t consider myself pretty, but I’m still a tall and healthy woman. I have had some suitors but nothing came to anything. . . . As I got older, all my friends kept marrying and having children and so sometimes I felt sad. But look at my friends: some got married to addicts who wrecked their home, one got married to a man who, in disgust at his failure in business, turned into an alcoholic who beat up his wife and children. I got afraid at the thought of marriage. In 2001 or 2002, when I was already twenty-

seven or twenty-eight,my family began to get worried.My siblings were also impatient to marry me off. Like Thanh,the two sisters,Hongand Tan,knew someone who did business in Wanwei,Hong said: At that time,there was an aunt from my father's side who used to do busi- ness in Mong Cai and Dongxing....Every time she visited,she would tell my father that he should send some of us away to make money,since we labored so hard in the fields and yet still barely made ends meet;when would we ever become better off?Then she also talked to us siblings.She said there was good money doing jellyfish in Wanwei....Hearing her we were rather eager,and my father also agreed;so I decided to go. She took me to Mong Cai,and the following day we crossed over to Wanwei.How she did the paperwork I wouldn't know;I was only told to come along.It was jellyfish season [March-April],so there was much work here.She took me to a processing factory whose owners were a married Vietnamese couple in partnership with a Chinese man from Fangcheng.So I worked as a day laborer in that factory....The work was hard,but it paid well.Back then,if you were to convert to our money it would have been over a million dong (nearly USsso)already.After a few months,having saved a bit of money,I was planning to go home to ask my younger sister to come work for the next season.But right when the jellyfish season was ending and work was waning,somebody introduced me to a seafood gatherer.I thought it would be good to earn some more money,so I stayed on.After another few months of work,my landlady introduced this guy to me.At first I hesitated,because I didn't know what he was like....I sent word to the auntie to ask her opinion.She came to my place and told me just to marry,to get it over with.If I returned home, I would have to work in the fields again,a hard life without money.And in the countryside,women still unmarried at thirty could only hope to be a secondary wife. Tan had her own reasons for joining her sister in Wanwei: When I was twenty-two,I fell in love with someone living far away in a different district,but he worked in Hai Phong.My father didn't like it, but didn't say anything,while my older siblings showed their open dis- like.They said a guy who had left home like that,how could I be sure 422 Cross-Border Brides

ùöö Cross-Border Brides seven or twenty-eight, my family began to get worried. My siblings were also impatient to marry me off. Like Thanh, the two sisters, Hồng and Tân, knew someone who did business in Wanwei, Hồng said: At that time, there was an aunt from my father’s side who used to do business in Móng Cái and Dongxing. . . . Every time she visited, she would tell my father that he should send some of us away to make money, since we labored so hard in the fields and yet still barely made ends meet; when would we ever become better off? Then she also talked to us siblings. She said there was good money doing jellyfish in Wanwei. . . . Hearing her we were rather eager, and my father also agreed; so I decided to go. She took me to Móng Cái, and the following day we crossed over to Wanwei. How she did the paperwork I wouldn’t know; I was only told to come along. It was jellyfish season [March–April], so there was much work here. She took me to a processing factory whose owners were a married Vietnamese couple in partnership with a Chinese man from Fangcheng. So I worked as a day laborer in that factory. . . . The work was hard, but it paid well. Back then, if you were to convert to our money it would have been over a million dong (nearly US$50) already. After a few months, having saved a bit of money, I was planning to go home to ask my younger sister to come work for the next season. But right when the jellyfish season was ending and work was waning, somebody introduced me to a seafood gatherer. I thought it would be good to earn some more money, so I stayed on. After another few months of work, my landlady introduced this guy to me. At first I hesitated, because I didn’t know what he was like. . . . I sent word to the auntie to ask her opinion. She came to my place and told me just to marry, to get it over with. If I returned home, I would have to work in the fields again, a hard life without money. And in the countryside, women still unmarried at thirty could only hope to be a secondary wife. Tân had her own reasons for joining her sister in Wanwei: When I was twenty-two, I fell in love with someone living far away in a different district, but he worked in Hải Phòng. My father didn’t like it, but didn’t say anything, while my older siblings showed their open dislike. They said a guy who had left home like that, how could I be sure