The paths leading up the hills in the high-altitude villages of Sam Mứn are steep and winding, with many sections barely wide enough for a single motorcycle tire track printed on the dry earth. Amidst the midday sun, locals are still diligently digging holes and transporting seedlings up the hills to plant coffee and macadamia.

A man wearing a sweat-soaked shirt carries a bag of technical documents on his shoulder and holds a nearly empty water bottle in his hand. Occasionally, he stops, bends down to examine each dug hole, and uses his foot to push back the soil around the rim to ensure proper technique. Residents of Na Hai village have been familiar with this image for many months now. “Chía went up the hill early in the morning again,” Cà Văn Trung, Head of the Front Working Committee of Na Hai village, said while wiping away his sweat.

Vừ A Chía, Deputy Director of the Sam Mứn commune General Service Center, spends most of his time on the hillsides rather than at the office. Some days, he is at U Huổi Hai hill in the morning to guide locals in digging holes, moves to U Hủa Vản hill at noon to inspect newly planted trees, and goes down to U Sầu Điện in the afternoon to check on the post-planting care of the coffee trees. Late in the evening, he continues visiting Na Hai, Con Cang, Ca Hâu, and Na Láy villages to mobilize residents to expand the cultivation area of coffee and macadamia. During the early days of implementing the coffee-macadamia intercropping model, many households were hesitant. Some worried the crops wouldn’t suit the soil, some were anxious about the techniques, and others feared the high amount of care required without knowing what the results would be. Choosing not to explain through long meetings, Vừ A Chía rolled up his sleeves and went directly up the hills to work alongside the people.

On a newly cleared patch of land on U Huổi Hai hill, dozens of freshly dug planting holes still glow with the bright red color of new soil. Chía walks over to a hole that does not meet the requirements, takes a hoe, and fixes it. “The top of the hole must be wider than the bottom so it’s easier to place the tree and fill it with soil. Keep the topsoil separate on one side; we will use it to fill the hole first...” Chía says while demonstrating for the villagers.

When it comes to planting, he carefully instructs on every small action: “Tear off the plastic pot gently, don’t break the roots. Place the tree straight. Fill the soil three to five centimeters higher than the root ball surface. Then press the soil firmly and water it to maintain moisture...” After speaking, he kneels right down on the hot ground, using both hands to press down the soil around the model tree for everyone to follow. Especially for households not fluent in the national language, Chía patiently explains in the local dialect. His rustic, close manner of speaking amidst the fields makes it easy for the villagers to understand and remember, prompting them to boldly follow suit.

Lò Văn Chính, Head of Na Hai village, said: “At first, many households didn’t want to do it. But Chía came directly to the site, spoke in our ethnic language, and worked directly with the people, so the villagers believed him.”

Trust does not come from mobilization words, but from what the people see every day. In the middle of a May noon, the sun beats down on the scorching hillsides. The ground is so dry that just one heavy step is enough to kick up red dust. Many steep slopes force climbers to stop and catch their breath. Yet, Chía still walks ahead bareheaded. One day on U Hủa Vản hill, seeing some newly planted coffee trees tilting due to the previous night’s rain, he bent down to straighten each tree. Wherever the soil was not completely filled, he stopped to heap more earth around it... by the time the work was done, the towel draped around his neck was darkened with red dirt!

Residents of Con Cang village recount that on many extremely hot days when everyone sought the shade of trees to rest, Chía was still checking each newly planted area, walking from one hill to another to see if the trees could survive. Seeing the official’s dedication, the people followed his lead.

According to the plan for developing macadamia and coffee trees and testing the low-space development model in 2026, Sam Mứn commune strives to dig more than 72,000 planting holes, corresponding to about 20ha of coffee and 20ha of intercropped macadamia. To achieve this goal, the locality has mobilized forces to support difficult areas. Up to this point, the commune has planted over 30ha, reaching over 160% of the assigned plan. More than 2,000 turn-overs of people, including residents, the armed forces, officials, civil servants, public employees, and workers, have participated in supporting the villagers with tree planting. The areas of coffee and macadamia forming on the hillsides today have been nurtured by many days of sticking to the fields by grassroots-level officials and the people of Sam Mứn.

In Sam Mứn, many people refer to Chía with a simple phrase: “An official of the people.” Because wherever people are digging holes to plant trees, he is there. On days when it is so hot that the heat radiating up from the ground burns the face, he still walks through each newly planted area to check the survival rate of the trees. On slippery slopes after a rain, he uses his hands to grab the grass and climb up the hills with the villagers. When asked what makes him spend so much time on these hills, he only smiles gently: “If I don’t go directly to the site to guide them, it’s hard for the people to practice the correct technique. Only when the trees grow healthily will the people have a stable income in the future.” His simple words make people remember even more his spirit of being close to and staying with the people.

When an official chooses to go to every hillside, speak the language the people are accustomed to hearing, and work with them on specific tasks, the gap between policy and reality gradually narrows. From closeness and sincerity, public trust is nurtured, creating a consensus so that these arid lands today gradually form coffee and macadamia areas, carrying expectations of long-term livelihoods for the highland people.

In the middle of May, when people everywhere turn their hearts toward the birthday of beloved Uncle Hồ, on the hillsides of the Sam Mứn highlands, there are still individuals quietly remembering Uncle Hồ in their own way. That is by doing their daily work well. Being a bit closer to the people. Speaking so that the people understand, and acting so that the people trust. And from these seemingly small actions, the once-arid hills are gradually being covered with the green of coffee and macadamia, opening up hope for new livelihoods for the highland people.