At just 13, Va Xuan Canh has become the primary caregiver for his two siblings, Khanh, 5, and Dung, 3, as their father works far away, and both their biological mother and stepmother have left.
The three children live in a modest wooden house nestled in a bamboo grove in a H’mong village in Song Ma District, Son La Province. Their most valuable possession is an empty, unplugged refrigerator. The walls, marred by torn wallpaper, display Canh’s certificate of academic excellence. The house’s corners are coated with spider webs, and thick layers of black soot have accumulated over time.
Each day, Canh wakes up at 5 a.m. to prepare breakfast for his siblings before helping them dress and pack for school.
Children like Canh are among the "left behind," a term UNICEF uses to describe those who endure extended periods—often over six months—without the care of one or both parents due to labor migration.
Though there are no official statistics on this group, the 2019 population and housing census recorded 6.4 million migrants nationwide, nearly 65% of whom have families. This suggests a significant number of children are left to fend for themselves. In the northern midlands and mountainous regions like Son La, these children also face a heightened risk of educational disruption.
Canh’s father left when he was not yet two years old.
The father returned briefly when Canh was in second grade, but the reunion was short-lived. His parents divorced, and his mother left without explanation. Six months later, his father remarried.
Financial pressures soon forced his father to work away from home, with trips that initially lasted a few days but grew longer over time. Each return brought new conflicts. By mid-2023, Canh’s stepmother also left, leaving the children without maternal care. In November 2023, their father took a factory job in Hung Yen Province, leaving Canh and his two siblings in the care of their grandmother and uncle, who live in a different house.
With no consistent adult supervision, the family home became vulnerable. Burglars broke in multiple times, stealing rice and even Canh’s piggy bank, which he had painstakingly filled by skipping breakfasts to save for new clothes. "I’m most afraid of thieves," Canh said.
To protect what little they had, he moved the rice to his uncle’s house and split his time between the two homes, spending half the week at his uncle’s and the other half at his own house.
Their father rarely visits, sending money irregularly to the uncle—amounts ranging from VND500,000 to VND3 million (US$19.67-118)—around the middle of each month. The children’s grandmother works as a medicine vendor in the district center and only returns on weekends. Their uncle, busy with his part-time job at a grocery store, cannot provide consistent care, leaving Canh to shoulder most responsibilities for his siblings.
Canh often has to skip school, especially on Saturdays, to look after his younger siblings when their preschool is closed. He does not dare to leave them home alone after catching them wandering off to bathe in a stream despite not knowing how to swim.
"I'm afraid they might be swept away by the water, and no one would be there to help," Canh said.
At Muong Cai Semi-boarding Secondary School, where Canh studies, the staff often step in to help, covering expenses or seeking donations for food and clothing for him and his siblings. Canh’s classmates also contribute small amounts—VND2,000 to VND5,000—when they can. While these gestures offer some relief, they are inconsistent and temporary.
His teacher, Pham Thi Kim Tuyen, has observed signs of emotional distress when he buried his face in his hands and cried when talking about his family.
Canh's struggles are a stark reflection of a 2022 study by the Institute of Labor Science and Social Affairs on the social impact of labor migration, which found that 57.8% of children left behind suffer sadness and anxiety due to prolonged separation from their parents.
Eleven-year-old Thao Thi Hoa Anh, another "left-behind" child, faced similar struggles.
Her parents left their village in 2018 to work in lowland provinces, taking her younger brother but leaving her in the care of her grandparents.
Her mother, 25-year-old Song Thi Cang, still grapples with the guilt of this decision. She vividly recalls Anh’s heart-wrenching question: "Why do you love my brother but not me? Why don’t you take me with you?"
Cang missed almost every parent-teacher meeting when Anh was in preschool, relying instead on phone updates from teachers. Even when her daughter fell ill, she had to depend on the school staff for assistance.
Though she often thought about bringing Anh with her, Cang feared she couldn’t provide the stable environment her daughter needed. She also considered asking her husband to return home, but his monthly wage of VND6 million—three times what he could earn locally—kept her from doing so.
Over time, Anh learned to adapt to the separation. She stopped questioning her parents' love and began expressing her feelings through long-distance calls.
"I miss you, mom. Come home to me," Anh would say.
Each time, Cang felt a sharp pang of sadness. "I felt so overwhelmed with sadness that I couldn’t say a word," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret.
Anh’s story reflects the emotional toll labor migration takes on both children and parents, highlighting the difficult choices families must make to survive.
The emotional toll deepened for Anh after her parents’ separation in November 2023, ending their 10-year marriage.
Cang took Anh to live with her maternal grandmother, while her two sons—including a younger sibling born later—stayed with their father. The family was now split in half.
Many afternoons, the young girl would stand outside, staring in the direction of her old home, 45 kilometers away.
The transition was especially hard on Anh. Midway through fourth grade, she had to change schools, which left her anxious about making new friends and keeping up academically. The new school was 10 kilometers from her grandmother’s house, so she stayed at a boarding facility and only returned home on weekends.
Just three months into her adjustment to the new school, another blow came: her mother decided to leave again for work.
This constant upheaval compounded Anh’s emotional struggles, forcing her to confront feelings of abandonment and instability while trying to navigate her education and childhood largely on her own.
Dr. Doan Kim Thang, a social security and social work expert at the Institute of Sociology, described the difficult decisions parents face when migrating for work: "Leaving children behind or bringing them along is a dilemma. Both parents and children bear significant losses."
He elaborated that when children are left behind, parents lose the opportunity to nurture and be physically present for their growth, which can strain family bonds over time. Meanwhile, the children often grow up without emotional support, which can have long-term adverse effects on their personality development and emotional well-being.
"The absence of parents during crucial developmental stages leaves children vulnerable to feelings of neglect, insecurity, and low self-esteem, which can hinder their ability to form healthy relationships later in life," Thang added.
According to Thang, most parents choose to leave their children behind because the cost of childcare in lowland urban areas far exceeds that in mountainous regions, while factory wages remain modest.
In the past, children without household registration in a city or province were ineligible for public school enrollment, while private schools were often unaffordable. Although the household registration requirement was abolished in 2023, school placements still heavily depend on place of residence.
"The conduct remains unfair, as priority is still given to children with permanent residence," Thang said.
A survey conducted by the Vietnam General Confederation of Labor in August 2023 among 891 female migrant workers revealed that 14.5% struggled to enroll their children in schools due to a lack of household registration, while 14.6% reported having no time to care for their children.
Similarly, CARE’s 2020 survey found that 15% of migrant workers had to return home because they were unable to secure school placements for their children.
Thang cautioned that children left behind without adequate adult supervision face heightened risks, including dropping out of school, exposure to abuse, and involvement in social vices. For those in boarding schools, overcrowding and lack of resources further compound these vulnerabilities, creating an environment where children are susceptible to neglect and exploitation.
According to Pham Van Liem, Principal of Kim Bon Primary and Secondary School in Phu Yen District, Son La Province, where Anh studies, teachers have become accustomed to managing not just their students’ education but also their daily care.
Over 60% of the school’s 1,500 students have parents working far away, leaving many children to struggle with regular attendance due to long, rugged commutes and a lack of family support for transportation.
"Teachers do their best to help, but it's impossible to carry the entire burden," Liem said.
After nearly a decade of teaching in remote villages, teacher Luong Van Sang from Kim Bon often finds himself taking on parental roles, from addressing students’ health issues to covering their expenses, which parents reimburse later.
"The biggest challenge is ensuring the students’ regular attendance," Sang said. When students are absent, teachers must inform their distant parents and sometimes trek through streams and forests to convince the children to return to school.
Dr. Nghiem Thi Thuy, a sociologist with two decades of experience studying northern mountainous communities, explained that the responsibility of caring for children left behind by migrating parents frequently falls on teachers. Grandparents, who often serve as primary caregivers, may not speak Vietnamese fluently or fully understand the children’s needs, while other relatives are preoccupied with their own livelihoods.
At boarding schools, teachers extend their care to tasks like helping students change clothes and guiding young girls through puberty, filling the gaps left by absent parents.
The schools themselves face significant challenges, particularly due to limited facilities.
Kim Bon Primary and Secondary School can accommodate only 500 of the more than 800 eligible students, forcing the school to rent seven off-site houses for temporary lodging. Its 13 dormitory rooms, located in aging, single-story buildings on a hillside, are operating at full capacity. Some of these structures are nearly 25 years old, and one dormitory room alone houses nearly 100 students.
Nguyen Duc Hai, Deputy Head of the Phu Yen District Education Department, acknowledged that overcrowding is a widespread issue across local schools. Despite efforts to mobilize additional social resources to upgrade school facilities, budget constraints have left these initiatives unable to meet the growing demand.
While children left behind face numerous challenges, labor migration does offer some positive outcomes.
Sociologist huy noted that improved financial conditions from migration enable families to invest more in their children’s education. This shift has also changed parental perspectives, with many becoming less inclined to marry off their children at an early age, a practice once common in many ethnic communities.
"Migration creates new opportunities for parents, which in turn shapes the children's worldview. They can dream bigger than their parents ever did," Thuy said.
Both Canh and Anh share the aspiration of becoming police officers. Canh plans to finish grade 9 and then attend high school in Sop Cop, 70 kilometers from home. Anh is uncertain about her exact path but remains determined to continue studying and support her mother when she grows up.
Though unsure how she can support Anh from afar, Anh’s mother holds onto the hope that her daughter will continue her education, striving for a future that she herself had to abandon at the age of 15.
Content: May Trinh, Phung Tien
Photos: Phung Tien
* All images used in this article are published with the full consent of the children and their families.
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