The shadows created by the flickering flames of the fire danced like ghostly visitors within the confines of the bamboo-and-straw-made Hmong home. Outside, evening covered the village with her dark embrace. The cool blackness, illuminated only by the the twinkling stars and a thin sliver of moonlight, heightened the eeriness of the night. The straw-covered house stood at the end of a row of twenty similar-looking houses that made up the entire village. Inside the house, my mother and her brothers and sisters circled the fireplace, waiting anxiously to listen to the grown-ups’ tales.
They had been waiting since the first reddish-gold rays of the sun had set as it was believed that these dab neeg, or “people spirit” stories, could only be told at night so as not to upset the spirits who lived all around us. As my mother waited, her mind pondered anxiously over what she would hear that night. Would the night’s stories be about brave souls fighting valiently against evil spirits and mythological creatures, or about talking animals that once lived alongside us? Perhaps if she were lucky, they would tell the tale of two star-crossed lovers whose romance surpassed even time and death?
As an adult, my mother continued this tradition of oral storytelling. In fact, I remember being that same little girl that my mother once was as I too waited anxiously with my own brothers and sisters to listen to her dab neeg. These stories had been passed down from her parents, and their parents, and so on and so on. The stories were much more ancient than even the terrible war that had brought the Hmong people from China to Laos. They existed long before the French missionary developed a written form of our language and taught it to the Hmong, and they certainly existed before the Hmong became secret soldiers for the American CIA during the Vietnam War.
I listened intently like a child intrigued by a new toy as my mother began each story. “Txeej thauv od…” (Long ago..) she would start. As she painted the events of the story with her words, I tried to picture them in my mind. I imagined each of the characters as she described them and used her many different voices to portray each one. I was a statue unaffected by everything else around me as I listened to the story chants that made the story even more delightful, and even to this day, I wondered at how she remembered these long rhymes and repeated them each time she told the story.
Years later, when I finally learned how to read, I thirsted for great written literary pieces in the same way that I had hungered for my mother’s stories. Little did she know that she had planted a love for reading within me with a cultural tradition passed down from generations of ancestors. My mother — who had never gone to school as a child; who came to the United States as an immigrant, illiterate in the English language and unaquainted with the American educational system — had done something that only educational gurus preach. She was unaware of the facts that storytelling helped to develop an understanding for written story elements, increased a child’s vocabulary awareness, and boosted a child’s interest in reading. Instead, she was teaching me an ancient tradition older than Hmong history itself.
Fantastic, beautiful, and wonderfully true! I felt like I was there with you listening to your mother’s voice and the voices of your ancestors. What a gift you’ve been given and what a gift you are giving to the world by sharing this with us.
Thanks, Naomi. I really do enjoy the comments that you give. They’re always very inspiring and sincere.
What an incredible experience you have to draw from for your own writing, Blia. Your mother has blessed you with a wonderful legacy. What a beautifully written memory!
You are a great story teller! Your mom passed on a great gift to you. I hope you write a book soon.
Thank you, Theo! I am seriously thinking about it. I just have to make some “me” time for writing I think. Thanks for visiting.
Thank you, Holly for the warm comments. I do think that she has much to contribute to the person that I am today.
So true – you are very blessed to have that oral history too – I wish I had asked my grandma more about her life before she passed away. I hope my kids and grandkids want to hear our lives… very well written too
Thanks for stopping by my blog
I’ll be sure to add you to those I read!
Annissa´s last blog ..Tree vs. Toddler
Thanks for stopping by Annissa and for your comments. I enjoyed your blog too:-)
Story telling is a good tradition that we should keep it going.
VanillaSeven´s last blog ..Little India-A Call from Home
Wow… this is a unique blog. will be back.
Cinella´s last blog ..Mommy Q & A – Now What?
Thanks, Cinella. I hope you visit again.
Thanks for signing up for the Decorating for the Holidays Blog Hop! Please put a link on your Decorating for the Holidays post to the next blog on the list which would be Lenox Knits! The link is: http://lenoxknits.blogspot.com/.
Thanks again and this should be a great blog hop!
JT Locke — The Frugal Housewife´s last blog ..Decorating for the Holidays Introductions — Part 3
awsome story..
i loved it..
following via MBC…Hope you will follow back…
Thank you, Shradda. I am so glad you had the chance to visit. Am also following you now.
That is beautiful. The tradition of storytelling is so amazing and such a wonderful gift for our children. I am keeping a journal for our 1 yr old son to keep track of new stories about him to tell him when he is older.
Following you from MBC and looking forward to reading more.
Muggs´s last blog ..Mommy Tips
Muggs, keeping a journal for your children is such an awesome idea! I know they will treasure that when they get older. Thank you for stopping by. I have truly enjoyed reading your posts too!