From inside the workshop, artisans carry bundle after bundle of freshly made incense sticks into the courtyard amid the morning mist. A gentle scent of spices linger in the air.
At Lê Minh Xuân incense village
Despite its well-known moniker, this neighborhood where many incense makers congregate is not a village, but Lê Minh Xuân Commune of Bình Chánh District, Saigon. Here, the marks of urbanization are etched into every corner: a mishmash of old and new corrugated roof pieces is strewn across the canopy, forming distinctive patches.
Minh Phước incense workshop.
Having been here for nearly 50 years, Nguyễn Cát Bội Thúy, owner of the Minh Phước incense workshop, has witnessed the location experience ups and downs. She reminisces: “Before, the surrounding areas were all empty land. Then thatched huts started showing up. Long after that, life got better and the people got some help from the local commune authorities to construct corrugated roof homes like today.”
Thúy and her workshop have been keeping the traditional incense-making craft alive while creating a way to make a living for many underprivileged households here. Knowing first-hand the struggles of being stuck in instability, she fully understands the circumstances that lead people to this place.
Nguyễn Cát Bội Thúy.
A typical workday of an incense maker starts at 6am and ends at 6pm. “I think making incense sticks is not that difficult; I only needed one day to familiarize myself with all the steps,” a young worker in her early 20s tells me nonchalantly.
A workday starts at 6am.
Thúy sits down with me to explain how to make joss sticks; her dye-stained hands move animatedly with every description. There are four main ingredients for each stick: sticking agent, bamboo sticks, coating powder, and dyes. Each hails from a different place in Vietnam: the glue is from Gia Lai, while the toothpick-thin bamboo sticks are shipped from Hanoi.
“We can’t manufacture every single ingredient, because each region is specialized in one thing, each step is handled by a different worker. Take the bamboo sticks, for example. It might look simple, but if you’re not careful, they will break.”
Each worker handles a step.
Throughout decades in business, the incense-making process is still pretty much the same; any newcomer can learn the craft and handle any step of the way. First, the bamboo sticks are dyed red outside the house. Each 1,000-stick batch is soaked in a rectangular bath filled with red dye for five minutes, and then dried separately in the sun in the courtyard. The excess dye is reused for the next batch.
The sticks are soeaked in dye.
Just five minutes and the original yellow sticks have turned into that recognizable shade of scarlet while lying in the sun, so the colorant becomes baked in.
The sticks are dried in the sun.
Then, workers bring the sticks into a rolling machine, where the incense powder is evenly coated onto about two-thirds of the stick length. Once that’s done, wet incense sticks are dehydrated for 12 hours. Lastly, fully dried sticks are packaged in front of the house.
Rolling the incense.
A standard incense stick should have a smooth, crack-free surface. Every stick should be of the same length and, once lit, should burn seamlessly from top to toe in one go. Thúy tells me that she feels a sense of pride and assurance whenever she lights up a stick she’s made herself. It’s how she sends goodwill and well-wishing to the ancestors on the altar.
Drying the sticks.
Memories of hand-shaped incense and the forgotten counting machine
Before the advent of machinery, the most labor-intensive step in incense-making was rolling each stick by hand. Artisans used a plank to roll the powder onto the bamboo sticks. However, a “technological breakthrough” arrived in the incense community, not from engineering schools, but from the… scrapyard. A waste collector got his hands on a discarded currency-counting machine, one often seen in banks, and tinkered with it to produce the first prototype of an incense-rolling machine. Thanks to his invention, the process became more efficient: before, amongst 1,000 incense sticks made by hand, about 800 were not up to commercial standard; the figure is just 80 when rolled using the machine.
Rolling the sticks.
Nonetheless, with technological advancements also came concerns over rising operating costs and risks of machine failures. Amid the constant clanking of the rolling machine throughout the day, workers now take on new tasks as part-time mechanics who have to both oversee their production step and “babysit” the machine to maintain work safety.
In any incense workshop, there are workers of all ages. From older adults with salt-and-pepper hair and curved backs to barely grown-up young people who couldn’t finish their K-12 education. They come from everywhere: some grew up right next door, while others migrated to the city from the Mekong Delta.
Người làm nghề nhang đến từ nhiều hoàn cảnh khác nhau.
Thúy tells me that her personnel is constantly changing. The most successful ones work for a few years and leave to form their own workshop, expanding the reach of the incense village. Some just quit altogether and move elsewhere to find other work.
Similarly, bundles of incense sticks leave the workshop and head towards a fate of their own. Most are shipped to the Chợ Lớn Bus Station, following each bus to every region in Vietnam, from rural to urban. And finally, when they are lit up on an altar of a cozy home, they would fulfill the ultimate honor of their existence — being a bridge between our reality and our historic roots.
The seasons of uncertainty about the future
In the minds of many, the COVID-19 pandemic might be a story of half a decade ago, but to many traditional craftspeople, its ripples could still be felt today. The economy is unstable and challenging, and ingredient costs have been on an upward trajectory. Consumers favor cheaper alternatives of questionable quality, so traditional makers are gradually losing out.
A last coat of colorant is applied.
For years, the peak season for incense production often falls on the month before Tết and the Hungry Ghost Festival, but these days, even those festive periods are less lively. Even though those days are gone, incense makers can’t bear to leave their craft, yet. “I’ve been in this trade for so long. It does make me sad, but what can we do? I just keep working and hoping that perhaps one day it will stabilize.” Thúy places her hope on the next generation, who has the IT know-how to take incense sticks onto internet platforms instead of just relying on regional buses and festive seasons.
Bundles of final products are ready for shipping.
Behind each lit incense stick is a prayer from descendants to their ancestors and an expression of the rich spiritual customs of Vietnamese, established and maintained through generations. Beyond that, incense sticks also encapsulate the story of their makers, people from all walks of life trying to make a living on a traditional craft that’s entering a time of modern uncertainties.
