The Land of Buddha: A Lesson in Reciprocation

I was on an overseas exchange with the Hanoi School of Business, and we were on a bus heading to Ninh Binh for a day trip. Our tour guide, determined to wake up a bus full of sleepy students, grabbed the microphone and sang out "Hello Vietnam" and "I Have a Dream."

The energy on the bus was mixed. Most students just wanted to nap, but a few energetic ones encouraged him, sparking an impromptu singing competition. The guide played along, joking, cheering.

Midway through, we stopped at a bamboo factory. We all knew what this was: the "commission stop." It was his only chance to earn extra money on top of his base fee.

But he had the wrong target audience. We were exchange students. We were broke.

We walked through, looked around, and bought absolutely nothing. I saw the disappointment settle in his eyes, but he shook it off and kept smiling.

On the drive back, he was pressured to conclude the singing competition. He reluctantly played along with enthusiasm, apologizing along the way as he was too tired because he missed his afternoon nap - a cultural norm in Vietnam. He then played some grandiose "Emmy Awards" style music and announced the prize: 5 Billion VND.

The bus gasped. 5 Billion?

He pulled out two red packets. He handed the winners... 50,000 VND each (about $2.50 SGD).

The students laughed, some disappointed it wasn't a fortune. But I sat there doing the math. This man just spent a day working, missed his rest, failed to earn a single cent in commission, and then paid his own money to give prizes to the students who didn't buy anything.

We often talk about reciprocation in business, but we forget it in life. We consume experiences—the songs, the jokes, the guiding—without thinking about the person providing them.

I felt uneasy. I couldn't leave it like this.

I prepared 500,000 VND (about $25 SGD) in my pocket. It wasn't a fortune, but it was a "thank you." I stayed back on the bus to give it to him privately, avoiding the judgment of my peers.

But when I got off, he was gone. Vanished.

I panicked. I scanned the area and spotted him walking away. I sprinted after him, tapped his shoulder, and shoved the money into his hand. I fumbled with Google Translate on my phone:

"I know it's not a lot, but thank you for today."

He stood there, shocked. He didn't know how to respond.
He frantically opened his wallet to find something to give back to me. That’s when I saw it. inside his wallet, there was no stack of cash. Just maybe 100,000 VND (less than $6) and a bunch of lottery tickets.

He had given away half his daily cash in those red packets earlier.

Realizing he had no money to give, he pulled out a small, plastic-wrapped packet.

"Land of Buddha," he said.

He explained, with intense seriousness, that he had visited the holy land where the Buddha once walked and taken this soil. It was his most energized possession.

"Are you Buddhist?" he asked.

"A little bit," I said.

"Catholic?"

"No."

He pressed the dirt into my hands. He gave me detailed instructions: Buy a necklace. Put the soil inside. Wear it for protection.

I stood there, holding a bag of dirt, feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt. I knew this soil would likely end up forgotten in a drawer in my room. I didn't want to take something so spiritually valuable from him.

But to refuse would be an insult. So I accepted.

I kept this story to myself for a long time. I have a tendency to worry about "virtue signaling"—sharing good deeds just to look like a good person.

But looking back, this wasn't about the money. It was about the exchange.
I gave him cash, a resource I had. He gave me the Land of Buddha, a resource he had.

It remains one of the most endearing human connections I’ve ever made. And yes, I still have the dirt.

Here are some videos of him singing. What a genuinely wholesome person <3