Storytelling can bridge boundaries and hearts, connect us to one another, and aid in the understanding of our individual or collective purposes in life. Sharing them can serve as a magic medicine for life, encourage us to challenge ourselves, or give us permission to forgive those who have wronged us. Learning how to connect with others takes time and requires the art of listening and compassion building; as you read my story below, I hope it will spark you to share your own.

—Pat Nivanh

BACKGROUND | From Laos to Burke County, North Carolina

My name is Phetoudone Nivanh. I am Asian American and one of nine children in my family. I was born in Xieng Khouang Province, Laos in 1981 to a Hmong mother, Oneia Vue, and a Laotian father, Thoum Nivanh. My mother was a merchant who sold and traded goods while my father served in the Royal Lao Army as a nurse. 

After the Vietnam War, Laos fell to communist forces so my family fled in 1983 to avoid persecution. We found refuge in neighboring Thailand after being smuggled across the Mekong River. We are lucky to be alive because the Communist Pathet Lao Army would patrol the Mekong River day and night to stop or shoot anyone crossing the river to Thailand. We heard horrifying stories about families who were either returned to Laos, killed, raped, tortured, or separated - some were never able to reunited with their families. The Mekong crossing was traumatizing for us because we were a large family of ten and had to split up between two boats - each one crossed at different times and locations. It took my parents a horrendous 7 hours of searching to reunite everyone. To prevent my infant brother, Bounthanh, from crying, my mother gave him sleeping medication. It was not unheard of for families escaping Laos to lull crying children to sleep with medicine or small doses of opium - a crying child could alert troops looking for escapees. Later, he ran a high fever and it affected a certain part of his brain. Today, he is physically healthy but has a mental disability due to the fever. He is the most kind, loving, and giving person that I know. Without even knowing it, Bounthanh made sacrifices for the family and we are forever grateful to him. My family was desperate and we all risked everything to be alive. Once we were in Thailand, we stayed in a refugee camp for two years before my mother’s Hmong relatives in Colorado sponsored us - they had fled Laos a couple years earlier.   

In 1986, our family of ten arrived in Colorado where we lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. We arrived poor and broke, and owned nothing but the clothes off our backs. We received government assistance such as cash to help pay for rent and food stamps - which was greatly appreciated, but it was still barely enough to get by. In addition, local churches would donate gently used clothes, toys, and houseware to help my family get off our feet. In order to save money, my mother said that she would put away one to twenty dollars a month for several months. Her knowledge as a former merchant helped our family tremendously. We were grateful for our time in Colorado, but we decided to move to California where we had more family and a bigger Asian population to help offset the foreignness of our new home.  

In California we were placed on welfare and received government assistance. A requirement for the benefits was that my parents would have to attend school or take classes to gain an employable skill in order to find a job. They eventually acquired their driver’s license, and started a vegetable garden to help feed the family as a supplement to welfare. They also worked as farm laborers picking plums and berries - making fifty dollars a day for 8-hour shifts. Ultimately, it was selling food at the Hmong New Years which eventually gave my parents the opportunity to start saving more money. The work was very hard so my siblings and I - all between the ages of 5 and 15-years old - pitched in to help. We traveled to big cities like Fresno and Sacramento to vend for days at a time. We spent nights sleeping on the floors of relatives’ homes, and woke up between 4am-5am to head out to the location of the Hmong New Year to sell food (which was prepared the night before). We lived in California for 4 years and worked every year vending at multiple locations. My parents were frugal and taught us to be frugal. Eventually, my parents were able to purchase a van to help move us across the country to North Carolina in 1993. 

My parents decided to move to North Carolina to get off welfare and pursue job opportunities in manufacturing, and because the mountains in Western NC reminded them of Laos. We relocated to Morganton, Burke County and we have lived here ever since. Both my parents worked in factories making minimum wage while all the children attended public schools and colleges in North Carolina. Both my parents retired from the company they started with. They used welfare and government assistance to help them get on their feet, but they refused to rely on it for the rest of their lives. Because of this one single decision, none of their children are on welfare nor the generation after. There are other contributing factors that shape us as human beings, such as societal structures, economics, and expectations, but they also taught us to think outside the box to make a better life for ourselves. My family is not wealthy but we work hard to earn what we have. So, it is very hard but it can be done. This is my family’s epic journey to Burke County.