You can meet Mr Ngo at the central post office, in front of the cathedral, in district1. He sits everyday of the week at the back of the hall, with his dictionnaries and magnifying glass.
Every day at 8 o’clock a 77 year-old old man passes swiftly the doors of the central post office of Ho Chi Minh city and sits down at a table in the middle of the hall. He holds French and English dictionaries in his hands. Everybody knows him. From the employee behind the counter to the security guards at the entrance door. Mr Duong Van Ngo is a public letter writer. He speaks French and English and thus he can bridge different worlds - connecting people across the planet with his fountain pen. His profession may be dying, but in his 60 years on the job, he has created many marriages.
“I have learned French form 1942 to 1945 at Petrus Ky high school (now Le Hong Phong). I studied only three years so I have not graduated. But because of the reputation of the school and my hard work, I think I can speak a proper French”, he explains. “One day, I even explained a grammar rule to a French teacher. I explained to her that according to the dictionary, one should not say “merci bien” but “je vous remercie bien” as “bien” is an adverb and should always go with a verb. After arguing she finally admitted that she was wrong even though French people use it”, he remembers, looking at the giant painted maps of Cochinchine and Saigon in the French times.
The main post office in Ho Chi Minh City is close to the Cathedral. In 1886, the post office was built based upon the design specifications of renowned French architect Gustave Eiffel, who built the Eiffel Tower in Paris. With a beautiful dome-shaped roof and an interior of exquisite decorative patterns, the grand colonial building also includes dome-shaped window panes, in which are carved the names of inventors who contributed to the fields of electricity and telecommunications such as Edison, Morse, Ohm, Ampere and Bell. Over the main gate there is a large clock, which was installed when the building was constructed, and is still in operation.
Ngo sits down at the end of a long wooden table underneath a mural of Ho Chi Minh. He produces two dictionaries and a directory of French postal codes from his briefcase. Then he slips a red armband over his left sleeve to make sure he's recognized immediately. He sets up his sign: "Information and Writing Assistance."
The first person to come to his stand is young girl from District 10. She's got a letter with her, addressed to a man from Europe. She knows him through via a contact Web site on the Internet. She needs a letter to be translated. “I am so happy to know you. I hope we can meet you soon.” She blushes a little and she tells Duong Van Ngo that she will be back the next day to bring her reply. Next to Ngo, a student is writing an essay for her French class. Later, she will have Mr Ngo reviewing it and making corrections.
Mr Ngo is a mediator between worlds - a professional letter writer of the sort that used to exist in the old days. He chooses each word carefully, formulates cautiously, polishes the style of the letter. He knows how important words are and what harm they can do. Ngo doesn't just translate. He bridges the distance between people, advises and comforts them, discreetly and with perfect attention to form. But he never look at emails or telephone texts: “these words on machines have no soul”. Ngo has worked at the post office since he was 17. He says he never missed a day of work, not even during the wars. He speaks the languages of the former occupiers fluently to this day. He learned French in school and English from American soldiers.
The women at the service counters call him the man who writes love letters. He's set up many a marriage, they say, and he's a poet. Well, says Ngo, "maybe two or three marriages. Love has no borders. But it’s not so easy to bridge cultural gaps."
Ngo has heard thousands of such stories, some beautiful and others tragic. He searched for the children of US soldiers and relatives of Vietnamese citizens who escaped as boat people after the war. “In this job, you have to keep the matters absolutely secret and confidential”, Mr Ngo says. “My customers appreciate that.” Sometimes Ngo receives mail himself. The thank you letters arrive from all over the world and they are addressed to "Letter Writer, Main Post Office, Saigon." During his lunch break, Ngo walks along the street where Vietnamese who live abroad sit in cafes wearing large sun glasses.
In the afternoon, Japanese tourists arrive and photograph him. The ladies at the post office counters staple the pages of faxes together and chat. In the middle of it all, new customers wait to be helped at Ngo's desk. They hand him their address books, as well as parcels for their relatives overseas.
“Today, Ngo says, the world has become a complex and unpredictable place”. This also means that there is greater demand for his work these days than there used to be. Paradoxically, his colleague Lieng died last year and he was not replaced. Ngo is now the last letter writer in the city. And who will replace Mr Ngo when he retires?
