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reunited with his wife. Although their stay in Camp Pendleton was uneventful it was saturated with grief and profound sadness over losing the war, and their country. They had lost everything that was theirs, even their identities. Uncle Three’s recollection of life at the camp is heartbreaking. He wrote these words to me in an email:
With our past wiped out as with a stroke of fate, our present full of apprehension and uncertainty and our future bleak, we lived on, happy only with the fact that we were together. We spent five weeks in Pendleton in which our activities were confined in finding friends and family in the camp, looking for news of Vietnam, and also the routine of lining up every day for food served on paper plates and cups. For the first time in my adult life, we were fed not by the seat of our labour but by the benevolent hands of the United States government. In retrospect, I consider myself and my family lucky compared to other people who were lost for days at sea, murdered, raped and attacked by pirates.

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AFTER THE WAR
    For years my father, his parents and his other siblings had no idea where Uncle Three or Uncle Twelve were. It was a similar story for others who had fled the country. They could only hope their loved ones were alive somewhere and they would be reunited in the future.
    After the Fall of Saigon, the future was uncertain for the people of South Vietnam. For most, like my father and his family, it was a time of waiting—for the new Communist government to take over. Vietnam was a country in ruins. Both buildings and infrastructure in the North and South had been destroyed. For about a fortnight shops were closed and towns deserted as people stayed close to their homes. While they waited for word from the new government, no one knew what was going on. The new Communist regime moved very slowly, which caused much anxiety. People feared that civilians who were against Communist rule would be treated unjustly. The South Vietnamese in particular feared they would be penalised and prepared themselves. So many questions went through their minds. Can we work? How can we earn a living? Will we eat today? Will we be hurt or even killed by the Communist government?
    A bloodbath was also anticipated. The South and its allies thought those who had been captured as well as those still living in South Vietnam would be severely punished. It was an especially anxious time for the wealthy, who were regarded as over-educated and expected not to conform to the Communist regime. They were evicted from their homes so Communist personnel and their families could move in.
    The South Vietnamese had lost their rights. If families didn’t move out ‘willingly’, soldiers would take over a room inside the house, controlling the family’s affairs and confiscating all their money. The rich took to hiding large amounts of cash, as did my Uncle Five.
    But all the money in the world couldn’t save some families. One way the Communist government weakened the civilians of the South was by changing the country’s currency a year after the Fall of Saigon, making the old money that so many families kept hidden redundant. These people had to start from scratch. The new government gave each family about 200 dong, not even $1, and that was it. A couple of years later, the government changed the currency again. Many people committed suicide because they couldn’t cope. Left with no money, they were unable to feed their families. The North Vietnamese grip over the South became tighter and tighter.
    Luckily for my dad’s family, Uncle Three exchanged all his cash for gold before the currency changes. Dad’s family was well known in the Gia Dinh Province but they somehow managed to keep a low profile. They just kept to themselves, inside Uncle Five’s office in Downtown Saigon, until they desperately needed money or food. Uncle Five wasn’t wealthy but he was better off than most people in Vietnam. He owned a business that