Children of the Noble Revolution,
South China Morning Post,
October 1998

My work with the poorest of the poor takes me into some of the worst areas of Saigon, or Ho Chi Minh City as it is now officially called. It was in one of these I first came across Phuc and his family, down by the railway tracks in Nhieu Loc, the city's canal district, a place more squalid than any shanty town, where people live in constructions like cages, one on top of the other.

Among this congestion I noticed something that look like a small coal box – just a few boards of broken wood nailed together. I might have mistaken it for just that had it not been for a piece of old curtain hanging over the entrance. As soon as I saw that I knew there was a women inside.

I pulled back the curtain, peering into the blackness, and I was hit by the foul stench of human flesh. A family of five were hunched inside; a father and mother, two little girls and a young boy of about 10. The box was no bigger than 1.2 metres square, smaller than many Western toilets – so small, in fact, there was no room to lie down- the family had to sleep sitting up against the walls. My eyes went to the boy because, unlike the others, he was not sitting but lying on his back, motionless, with his matchstick legs drawn up towards his chest. A closer look told me had cerebral palsy.

My first reaction was to do something immediately, to take them out of this hovel, this box, but I knew it was impossible. "Could you come to the Children's Centre at 38 Tu Xong Street in District 3?" I asked them through Helen. "I think we might be able to help you.: He looked somewhat taken aback, but with great dignity he nodded and said "yes".