The Refugee Journey: War, Hope, and Liberty

By Toro Saniya Vaun

Written by a survivor of the Killing Fields in Cambodia, this book details the life of a refugee journey to America and his family during immense trials of war, hope and freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887315966

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue: Birth in the Breath of Flames

Introduction: My Box of Treasures

Cambodia

Our Names

Visits from Ancestral Spirits

Memories of My Ancestors

An Innocent Flirtation

Life in the Pol Pot Time

First Fleeing

Escape from Cambodia

Evacuations

From Site 1 to Site 2

Blood, Water, and Earth

Chicken Bone Soup

Hunger and Politics

Go Fly a Kite

Voice of America

My Father's Path

Secret Military Training

Cruelties of War

Strong Women

Buried Treasure

Education in the Camps

The Artist Within

Friends and Love

My Mother's Spirits

The Last Camp

America

Coming to America

New Arrivals

School in California

Life in Maine

Portland High School

Learning English

Bobby, the Bully

Frustration!

Changes in Our Family

My Romantic Junior Year

Tennis, Anyone?

Expressing My Artistic Spirit

Becoming a Good Citizen

Family Lessons

Decision Times

Photography and Social Change

Working

Meeting Concetta

Faces of Tomorrow

September 11

Admired Photographers

Stories We Must Tell Ourselves

I Am a Witness

Dreams and Visions

Texas

Leaving Maine

Houston, Texas

Hurricane Katrina

Evacuating for Hurricane Rita

On to Austin

On to Ballinger

Documenting Hurricane Rita

The Spirit of Texas

Hawaii, Song of the Sea

The Pink Roses

Reuniting Souls

Saying Goodbye

Ballinger, Texas

The Carnegie Library

St. Andrew's Chapel

Memories of Holocausts

What Is Justice?

World Hunger Project

Concetta and Love

Ode to Concetta

Dove's Nest

Trip to Maine

Angelo Donuts

The Library Café

Our Mango Trees

Loss of My Father

Honoring My Father's Memory

Return to Cambodia

My Trip to Cambodia

Arrival in Cambodia

Angkor Wat

More Temples: Bayon, Baphuon, and Ta Prohm

Finding Meaning

In Sisophon

The Hundred-Days Ceremony

My Village, Banteay Toup

My Father's Memory

A Journey of Gratitude

Embracing Kulen Mountain

Traveling Across Cambodia

Phnom Penh

Genocide Museum

Return to Texas

Return to West Texas

Christmas Reflections

Endings and New Beginnings

Transformation

Retrospective

About the Author

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The Refugee Journey

War, Hope, and Liberty

Toro Saniya Vaun

Copyright © 2023 Toro Saniya Vaun

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-595-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-596-6 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To all my teachers, I owe a great debt of gratitude: Mrs. Tory Tyler and Julie Criscitiello. To my guardian, editors, mentor, counselor, and sources of inspiration: Sherry York, Victoria Mare Hershey, Patricia Ganz, and Christi Saxon Koelkor

My seal of protection, love, and care goes to my mother, Lor Meas, and my father, Sanet Vaun. To all my brothers—Sahak, Vireak, Tin, Tong, Chettana, and Kuy—and my beloved sisters—Sokny and Sokny—who, throughout the hardships of war, had survived to live inspiring lives by always showing love and kindness.

The cosmic flower, the fragrance of earth, the queen of the forest, the treasure of the sea—to my beautiful wife, Sri Synoun Bupha Tevi. The world of my reflection, our river of life, continues to make me a better person than yesterday. My children, my wealth, and my universe: Vorejakeomonny Ajita, Keokambuja Indra, and Keo-Reja Krisnaj.

To the Palanzas family, love and prayers. Our friendship, Concetta, is my muse and inspiration to make this world of beauty and art.

To the United Nations and the powerful leaders: Vladimir Putin, Benjamin Netanyahu, Perk Geun-Hye, Ali Khamenei, King Salman, Dilma Rousseff, Scott Morison, Justin Trudeau, Joe Biden, Pope Francis, Narendra Modi, Xi Jinping, Volodymyr Zelensky, Rishi Sunak, and so forth. Please end all war and poverty so your child and my child can just play.

To the reader and all of us: I want to leave you with a simple conversation. On Earth Day 2023, my six-year-old son, Ajita, asked, What are love and cars? I said our promise that every day is Earth Day. By showing love and respect to each other, we create a beautiful world.

Prologue

Prologue: Birth in the Breath of Flames

I was born the tenth of eleven children to Lor Meas and Sanet Vaun in a village in Cambodia at the end of the harvest season of 1977, the year of the dragon, 2522 in the Khmer lunar calendar.

A story told by our family in later years involves my birth and the courage of my mother. The telling of the story of our mother's bravery when she cooked a chicken is a part of our family's rich heritage.

I was born during the Pol Pot regime, a terrible time in the lives of my family and in the lives of the people of Cambodia, my country's darkest history. In the village where we lived, we had fruit, rice, and chickens, but we were not allowed to eat them because everything belonged to Angka, a word that meant the government. Even the papaya that grew in our backyard belonged to Angka. We could not pick it because if they saw us, they would say we had been dishonest, we had stolen from Angka. Angka did not allow anyone to cook food in their homes. The penalty for stealing or disobeying was death. Everyone was afraid. People witnessed death with their own eyes every day. People disappeared and never returned.

At that time, when a pregnant woman was about to give birth, she would be allowed to keep an iron kettle in her house to boil water to use during the delivery of the baby. My mother's sons and daughters, who were at home, were starving. After I was born, while she still had the kettle, my mother, in the darkness of night, stole a chicken, her own chicken. Silently, she killed it and quickly put it into the pot—feathers, feet, and all—and cooked it. When it was done, she tore the meat apart. Then she crept quietly to each sleeping child, and with a single finger, she awakened them, one by one. In the fearful darkness, she gave each a tiny bit of meat. Then they slept again.

If she had been discovered, she and all our family would have been killed, but our courageous mother, who had just given birth, overcame fear to feed her children so they might survive. Mother defied the rules to feed her starving children as I, a newborn baby, began my earthly life during a time of war and genocide.

Introduction

Introduction: My Box of Treasures

I am a piece of paper on which a photograph will be etched. As I go through the stages of the developer, moving from one solution to the next, lightness and darkness appear. A beautiful picture is emerging.

In my dream, water has flowed into a box containing a treasure, the negatives of all the photographs I have taken during my years as a photographer. I am afraid, so afraid, that those negatives have been damaged, perhaps even destroyed by the water. Disappointment floods my being.

Am I at fault? Should I have taken better care of those precious negatives? As I agonize over these questions, without making a conscious choice, I dive in and miraculously am able to swim beneath the surface of the shadowy water without having to gasp for breath, without fear of drowning. When the telephone rings and I awaken, the dream fades into reality as I talk to my friend Concetta.

Later my mind goes back to the dream, and I puzzle over its meaning until I realize that the liquid is not water but a solution in which photographs are developed. All the experiences of my life, light and dark, have come together to make an ever-changing photograph of me.

I, Toro Saniya Vaun, was born in Cambodia in the midst of genocide in 1977. The first fifteen years of my life were spent in war, a holocaust in the Killing Fields where Cambodians suffered because of world politics, failures of policy, a hundred years of colonialism, and a cold war between superpowers.

Loss, separation, and misery are always the results of war, and so it was with my family. We experienced hunger, deprivation, terror, and death while we endured years of agonizing despair caused by separation. Finally, in 1993, our family had a joyful reunion in the United States.

Now I understand that this dream is symbolic, a sign to tell me how to begin my story. In America, opportunity and freedom became a reality to me as I pursued my hopes and dreams for a new life. Now here I am, looking back at this dream and my life as I try to find meaning. War. Courage. Loss. Hope. As hard as it was to live through war, it is much harder to remember and write about war.

As I struggled to find the strength and courage to tell my story, I was given signs from the universe. God has shown me that I need to tell the story of the millions who suffered and perished in Cambodia and the story of millions of others who have suffered and died in holocausts and wars around the world.

On the following pages, I offer you a collection of memories, a series of word photographs, and documentation of my life. This is my story, but it is more than just my story. It is ultimately a story of humankind, destruction and rebirth, war and peace, despair and hope, endings and new beginnings, and God's promise of peace.

Part 1

Cambodia

Our Names

My brothers and sisters and I survived the Pol Pot regime and the years of war that followed because of the bravery and wisdom of our parents. My father, a well-educated man who knew Pali, Buddhist scriptures, and Sanskrit, the ancient language of Cambodia, chose names with special meanings for his children.

My two older brothers who still live in Cambodia are named Tin, whose name means Copper, and Vireak, a name that carries spiritual power. My brother and sister, who died of starvation and disease during that awful time, were called Vijay, which means Judgment, and Soriya, Sun.

My six brothers and sisters now living in the United States are United, Sahak (Tong); Gold, Uksa (Kuy); Ambitious, Chettana; Desire, Ossja (Sokna); Graceful; and Harmony, Pdachnha (Sokny).

When I was born after Sokna and before Sokny, Father remained faithful to his convictions in spite of the war and their struggles to survive. I was named Saniya, a Sanskrit word that means Promise.

My parents gave most of my brothers and sisters nicknames. My nickname, Turrer, was given to me when I was very young. Like most children born during that time in our village, I was sick and malnourished with little chance of survival. Perhaps I lived when others did not because a woman who took care of me picked bananas, baked them on a wood fire, and fed them to me. When I learned to walk, I was so weak I walked like a drunk person. Because of that, my close family called me Turrer, a Khmer word meaning someone who staggers when they walk.

At the refugee camps where I attended school, I used Saniya, my birth name. According to Cambodian tradition, the family name came first. My father's name was Sanet Vaun, so the name I used at school was Sanet Saniya.

My name changed when we left Cambodia. My older brother Sahak had come to the United States earlier. When he began work to reunite our family, he was required to fill out paperwork for sponsoring us. Sahak had to list all family members still at the refugee camp, but he did not know how to spell my nickname, Turrer, in English. In Orange County, California, where he lived, many place names were Hispanic. In Santa Ana, Sahak saw El Toro, a street sign on the way to San Diego, so he chose the name Toro for me.

Because of the American standard in which the family name comes last, our last name was listed as Vaun, my father's given name. My legal name became Toro Vaun. I am proud of my American name as I am proud of my Cambodian name. In my heart and in my spirit, I am both Toro and Saniya. In the East, a promise is a duty to fulfill. In the West, promise is hope.

As I think about the meaning of names, I remember those children who did not survive, who did not have a chance to live up to their names. My earliest memory is of starving. When I see pictures of starving children around the world, I am saddened because the same things that happened to me are still happening today. I am alive for a reason. I believe my purpose, the promise of my life, is to send the message of peace.

Visits from Ancestral Spirits

My ancestors in Cambodia believe that everything has a spirit. Every living thing in Cambodia, mountains, trees, water, light, stones, and fruit, has a guardian spirit. Cambodians also believe that our ancestors watch over every aspect of our lives.

I lived through times of war when I did not know if I would take another breath. During that time, I believe guardian angels, the ancestors' spirits, watched over and protected me.

I understood about the world of spirits because of the experiences of my mother that I was witness to, but I was surprised when, about a month after we started the book, Sherry said, Your grandmother visited me.

In January 2009, Sherry York and I started writing this book. As I began remembering my early life, I wanted to remember as much as I could, but I had to deal with the hardship of traveling back to the past in my memory. On February 19, 2009, a woman who said she was my grandmother spoke to Sherry. Like my mother, Sherry has the ability to see beyond what some of us can see. She can speak to the spirits. That spiritual encounter took place during a difficult time when I was trying to revive the past.

At that time, I did not know what any of my grandparents looked like, and I did not have any memories of them. In January 2010, Sherry, my brother Tong, and I were looking at a photograph album of pictures that Tong had taken years earlier when he returned to visit us at the Site 2 refugee camp. There among the pages was a portrait of a woman Tong said was our grandmother, our father's mother. I had never seen the picture before, but Sherry remembered the words my grandmother had said to her, You ask about my appearance. In my spirit, I am tall and slender with long black hair. In that life, I was graceful and regal.

The message I received through Sherry made me realize my ancestor is keeping an eye on me during these difficult and challenging times. The spirit, my grandmother, told Sherry, As you are reading about all the ugliness and horror, look also for the good, the beauty that was there. Amid all the horror, there was also kindness and goodness. Toro's book, which will also be your book, must give readers a reason to hope.

My ancestor knows that this is the time for me to write this book. She said, You and Toro will write this book to tell the story of his family and the story of hundreds of other families like his. You and he will be speaking for all those who survived but cannot bear to speak of those terrible times. You will also be writing the story of the millions who perished during those horrible years. This telling of Toro's story will help to create peace in the world.

My grandmother's words give me strength. Her words and Sherry's patience have helped me to believe that this book is possible. Doing this book is enriching my life, and I am happier and stronger. All the resources that I need have come to me.

My ancestor said, As you embark on this project, know that many are watching both in the world where you live and beyond in the world where your ancestors now abide. Yes, you have the approval and endorsement of God and his angels!

Memories of My Ancestors

Records and pictures of my family from the old, old time were destroyed during the Pol Pot regime. Nothing is left except a picture of my grandmother and my uncle, which was sent to a relative in Khmer Surin, now a part of Thailand. Those pictures exist because they were preserved by distant relatives. They are the only evidence I have of our family's past.

When I look at the pictures, the images of my grandmother and my uncle, I am angry and sad. They were a part of my family, but I do not know them. I feel nothing except emptiness when I look at the pictures. I do not feel any connection. I wish I did. I see only meaningless images on pieces of paper. How dare I not know them!

I wish I could have had a grandparent! I do not know what that would feel like. The picture of my grandmother allows me to look back and see her, but I cannot hear her voice when I look at that disconnected image. There is only distance.

There is a gap. My grandparents were gone by the time I was born, so I have no memories of them. I cannot describe them. I do not know what they sounded like, how they spoke, or what they liked to eat.

How do I make sense of my past? I have my memories, memories of war. I can hear the voices of the guns, the voices of the bombs. I can feel the earth shaking as bombs explode. I can feel the hunger and the thirst, but what of my memories of my ancestors, those I never knew?

We moved often in our struggle to survive. My family and other families were separated again and again. The stories of the past, stories of life, family, and grandparents, disappeared into the darkness of time.

My parents never talked about my grandparents. During the times we lived through, we did not have a chance to share memories. After we came to the United States and had a more stable life, as newcomers, we struggled to earn a living, so we still did not have time to discuss family history.

As an American teenager, I was faced with a multitude of challenges and opportunities in my new life. I was always proud of my Cambodian heritage, but I became Americanized. During my years in the United States, I have been busy with my own life and never explored my family's past.

I have a hole in my soul. I need to paste something into that hole to repair it. How do I put my soul together? Can I paste in memories of my ancestors? How do I put this grandmother in my story when I do not have any sense of her soul?

I would also like to know more about my father and mother before I was born. Sometimes, they will open up and talk about their memories, but I never heard my father tell stories about his parents. My parents, like most Cambodians, were traumatized by the war, the Killing Fields time when the only way to survive was to remain mute and to know nothing. During that time, it was only important to survive.

The Pol Pot regime destroyed the past. I am recalling memories and reconnecting with my family roots to put my soul together, to tell my story and the story of my family so that my children will have a family history, to have what I did not.

An Innocent Flirtation

Our life is shaped by where we come from. I am who I am because of Lor Meas (my mother) and Sanet Vaun (my father). Although I was born during a war, my family was my shield of protection. I did not lose sight of love and caring because I had a family, parents, sisters, and brothers.

I wish I had known more about the childhoods of my mother and father. They kept the past to themselves and did not share much about their early married life.

I do know that my mother had a big family. They were a family of farmers living in a farming village. They held to strict, traditional Cambodian customs and values.

This story of how my mother and father met makes me smile. It happened before the war in Tapho, a farming village. Lor Meas was fifteen, and Sanet Vaun was seven or eight years older. Every day, she would walk barefoot to the well to get water. She had no shoes. Because it was the dry season, the weather was hot, so she wrapped her bare feet in banana leaves to protect them from the sizzling heat of the ground.

One day when Meas went as usual to bring water, Vaun was walking nearby. In my mind, I see her walking along a dirt path with her girlfriends. It is almost sunset. In the distance, palm trees are silhouetted against a blue sky. A few clouds are floating by as the farmers with their cows and water buffalo walk home after a long day of working in the fields. Golden rays of the setting sun illuminate small clouds of dust raised by footsteps on the dusty road.

He approached and spoke to her. While he talked to her, he touched the carrying pole she was holding on her shoulders. Their meeting became a source of gossip.

There was a strict code of conduct for young women. According to tradition, unmarried men and women did not communicate. No dialog. No flirtation. A boy was expected to ask a girl's parents for approval before he spoke with her. Unmarried women had to behave in a respectable way because they represented the family. Young women were expected to be very shy. According to my mother, A woman in Cambodia was pure, like a pearl, smelled like jasmine, and glowed like a diamond.

Her parents were told about her flirtation with this guy. Gossip like that was not good. After the gossip was spread and her parents heard, there was a confrontation.

We did not do anything wrong! It was nothing. He just came and talked to me.

No one believed her. Because she was stubborn and had a temper, after a lot of fighting with her parents, because she did love him, she became determined that she would marry Sanet Vaun. She married him to protect her family's reputation.

Traditional