A road I pass on my walk home.
Right outside my backyard.
The road next to my house.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Coconut Heaven
These were all taken by where I am staying...
A road I pass on my walk home.
Right outside my backyard.
The road next to my house.
A road I pass on my walk home.Right outside my backyard.The road next to my house.
Eight is Enough (or Sixteen)
A tricycle to the jeepney terminal from the Holding Boys Center (HBC), a multi cab to Valencia, and a walk down the road about a mile and about an hour later you reach my new home. Somehow an hour commute becomes enjoyable, even with strangers on your lap and mini concussions from a lack of any shocks what-so-ever, when I get to see so much more and live away from all the chaos and noxious fumes in the city.
A typical multi cab ride
Agnes is my host and co-worker at the HBC and the house is from her mother’s side of the family and is the home of Agnes’ family as well as her mother’s sister’s family. It is customary for couples to stay with the wife’s side of the family until they can afford their own home, if ever at all. There are Agnes’ parents, Agnes and her husband, Melvin, their two children, Dominick (7) and Aloha (5), Agnes’ brother, aunt, cousin and cousin’s husband, their two children, another cousin, and two maids, Ruby being the one I know and who helps us. So with me I think there are 16, I think.
Strangely enough, even after being here over two weeks, I still don’t know everyone’s name. Partially because I have a bad memory when it comes to hearing names (especially that are unfamiliar to me), more so because I haven’t really been officially introduced to them. Everyone just smiles and nods so I just do the same.
Even stranger is the fact that we have a maid, but I am not complaining since she does my laundry and that I’ll be forever grateful for. I am not sure I could hand wash all the clothes I am going through with the heat.
Apparently there were two additional families living here at some point. I am glad that point is not now because I am still trying to figure out where everyone sleeps. The house is divided into a number of units or what we’d call a bedroom. I have only seen four, but think there must be more otherwise that means a few people are sleeping outside. I am just hoping my room isn’t normally someone else’s, but they would never tell me because they are too polite. Each family has their own unit and there are two main areas that are shared. Yep, so Agnes, Melvin, Dominick and Aloha all share one room. Agnes, Melvin, her parents, brother, children and me share one of the main areas, which includes a kitchen, dining area, family room, and comfort room (their name for a restroom in case you couldn’t figure it out ). Yep, one comfort room for eight of us to share.
Comfort may be the furthest thing from the truth as you saw in the picture for “The Art of Showering”. Actually, comfort is not a word I’d use for describing anything in Ormoc from the lack “air cons” that actually work while it is 90 plus degrees and no breeze, the overly crowded transportation and flat benches we sit on, the straight backed wood chairs at restaurants, or the wire framed chairs in the family room with expired cushions. I am guessing in addition to the shear cost of things, it is probably pretty hard to keep an air con working at full blast when it is as old as my grandparents or cushions decent with rainy season, the general humidity, and dirt. I still don’t have a guess on why pillows are so hard though. Maybe no geese?
The house is collection over time of appliances (and by appliances I mean a refrigerator and burners for the stove), furniture, and knick-knacks making it seem like the playhouse I had when I visited my grandparent’s farm. Since nothing is really stored in the refrigerator (leftovers are stored on the table under a mesh covering to keep the flies off of it) and we could grill our food (which would be preferred over all the grease) the most important pieces in the house in my opinion are the fans. Without them I’d be living in a sauna. I’d argue their most prized possession is the “to be fixed” karaoke machine, the national pastime of the Philippines in addition to cock fighting (which sadly I can’t get my video of the cock fight to load so that will have to wait for the US).
Here is the room I share with my roommates Lucky (the lizard), Frank (the rat), mosquitoes (too many to name), and armies of ants. There was a cockroach the first day, but I think I scared him off so I don’t really count him anymore. 
The house is far from fancy, but the creeks with every step, the holes filled with plastic bags, and the ability to hear the entire family anywhere they are makes it quite charming and my new home.
Our Kitchen
The Second Kitchen
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Camotes and Curry
Ahhh, my first real weekend adventure away from Leyte to explore one of the thousands of islands that surround me! So many options to chose from – Bohol to see Chocolate Hills and tarsiers, Malapascua for white sand beaches, Camotes for a remote island that is close to Leyte, or Siquijor where I will meet a friend of a friend originally from Naperville. Bohol and Malapascua are going to be a bit more challenging to get to so I figure I should test out my Philippine navigation skills first on an easier choice. Siquijor is soooo tempting because I’d love to converse with another American who is not here for the prostitution, but figure I’ll appreciate the companionship even more so in a couple weeks. So off to Camotes I go!
Camotes is a set of three islands that you can actually see from Ormoc. Rumor has it there is a ferry that can get me there in three hours. However, the rumors did not tell me that to find the departure times or location of the ferry would be an adventure itself. Agnes offered to help and said she would talk to Joel, one of our co-workers. This was Wednesday. Thursday came and no news. Since I was leaving on Friday and heard the ferry leaves at 6am, 9am, 11am, 11:30am, 1pm, 3pm, 5pm, maybe 6pm, and 9pm I figured I’d better get to the bottom of this. I have learned that Filipinos would rather give you a wrong answer than no answer at all so before I get too excited with all the options I want to confirm this with the ticket office.
Easy enough to find a ticket office I think so I ask Agnes where the ticket office is. The pier. This is an answer I am pretty confident in as Agnes is pretty honest when she does not know the answer. I jump in a tricycle (a motorbike with a side car) and I head to the only pier I know. I ask around and after a few turns I find a boat that says Camotes.
Relieved at how simple it was to find I go to the boat and ask when they leave for Camotes. 6pm. Remember, this is Thursday so I need to be sure to find out the time for Friday. Tomorrow? 6pm? Shakes his head no. 3am. Huh? I am guessing he means 3pm. So I ask 3 in the afternoon? Shakes his head no. 5pm. Tomorrow? So today is 6pm, but tomorrow is 3am or 5pm? Shakes his head no. So I try another angle. What times does the boat leave tomorrow? I don’t know. Uh oh. So I try another angle. Tickets? He points in some general far off direction that could be Camotes, but I can’t be certain.
I love challenges so it is no wonder I love traveling. Although sometimes it can be a bit frustrating, it is generally pretty entertaining so I go along with the game of “how do I get to Camotes”. And really, what is the worst thing that could happen? I stay in Leyte for the weekend? Since I have time before dinner I decide to see what more I can find out about the boat to Camotes. I ask a few people Camotes? And each one points me in a different direction and to what I am still uncertain. I am thinking the ticket office, but whatever it is, it will be like finding a pot of gold. Until sure enough, I am back at the boat I started at. Circles, another common trend you’ll see in my travels. So far it looks like my best option is to just bring my bag down here and sit all day until it takes off which as crazy as it sounds, is a consideration.
It’s true that the journey is just as important as the destination because while doing a big circle I discovered the greatest market in Ormoc with fresh veggies and meat everywhere. I decided to put my new game on hold and start exploring with my camera. As I am clicking away with my camera, my greatest friend on all my adventures since she sees everything the same way I do, a woman starts to talk to me. Her questions are different than the typical ones I get of “Are you single?”, “Where are you from?”, and “What is your name?”, in that order, and her English is almost perfect. A long shot, but perhaps she can tell me about the ferry or boat or whatever it might be to get me to Camotes? She does, or at least she sounds convincing. She tells me to hop on a tricycle because it is from a pier about 5 minutes away. I get to the pier and there is a man who says the ferry leaves every day at 1pm. I ask him about the other boat I had found and he said that it too goes to Camotes, costs less, and takes less time, but not sure what time it departs. Extra time and money? Are you kidding? I am just ecstatic that the woman from the market is right. I am going to Camotes after all!
After a $5 ferry ride and about four hours I land in Poro, one of two quaint little towns on the island. Agnes recommended I stay in San Francisco so I went with her advice since the internet didn’t have much more to offer. I hire a motorbike and off to find a hotel. The motorbike driver turned island tour guide, Sande, recommended I stay in Mangodlong. Since that was one of the three hotels I did find on the internet I decided to go with Sande’s advice. Even if he gets a little cut from bringing me there I figure you can’t beat a hotel on the beach for $20 a night. Now for someone who plans spontaneity, this was huge for me. No hotel plans? Granted, safety always needs to be first so a little due diligence is always required, especially as a woman traveling by herself, but how liberating to extend yourself beyond your comfort zone. And the timing of my arrival couldn’t have been more perfect as I got to watch the most brilliantly colorful sunset over Cebu.
Since Sande’s and my first adventure was a success there was no question he’d be my guide for Saturday’s exploring. For only $10 he said he’d take me to the best spots around including a lake, a cave, and a hotel. Even though this was his island I had to interject a request for beaches, the one thing I was most looking forward to photographing. Funny how beaches didn’t even make a list and a hotel did, but it makes sense if I look at it from his perspective. In an area where there are little more than shacks a hotel, even like a Days Inn, is magnificent. I’ll let the pictures of our tour speak for themselves.
What’s also funny to me is what becomes important. Food will be an entire topic of its own, but let’s just say it has not been the highlight of the trip since deep fried food is not my favorite. So when we sat down for lunch and I saw the man next to me eating vegetable curry I about died. I felt like Pavlov’s rat with my mouth watering and had to use all my strength from going to lick the guy’s plate clean. I am pretty sure I scared poor Sande with my excitement to get fresh vegetable curry and to my delight it tasted even better than it looked. I even considered ordering another serving which was big enough to feed a family. Now back to the hotel for another breathtaking sunset as I will wonder whether the curry would be as delicious in any other setting...but really, who cares.
As challenging as it was finding a ferry to get me to Camotes, it was proving to be as challenging to get home. I was hoping to find one leaving later than the 8:30am one I knew of so I could explore more, but nothing seemed certain so disappointingly I had an early departure. I had no idea that I should have had my camera ready as I entered the ferry for home though. As Sande and I drove around the islands the day before there was definitely no Gaisanos (the Super Target / Macy’s of the Philippines), so I just assumed that people got everything they needed from the local shack. But where do the shack owners get everything from? It’s not as if they can place orders and truck drops it off as they need it.
As I watched the can of sardines (a common theme) unload from Cebu, the biggest city near Camotes and Leyte, it became obvious the shack owners and people themselves go to Cebu to do their shopping as they all departed with bags and bags of goodies from Gaisanos. Half the island must have been in Cebu last night. I immediately wonder where they stayed for the night since there are is no schedule that allows you to go to Cebu and return to Camotes the same day (at least from what I can tell). Even more curious to me was the mother holding a baby no more than a couple days old. Did she catch a ferry to have the baby in Cebu? With only one option to get there the timing had to have been perfect. Did she leave before her due date and just wait in Cebu? How long would she have had to wait? Perhaps the Filipinos have a super secret way of knowing exactly when the baby will arrive? These are the types of questions that commonly enter my mind and I’ll likely never have an answer to since it seems I am limited to yes or no questions with most everyone. I like to think I am pretty logical, but something tells me the answer to my questions can’t always be yes though.
Once I got to Ormoc I decided to stop by to see my gang and drop off pineapples. The excitement in their eyes even topped mine with the curry. Maybe an early departure wasn’t so bad after all…
Who needs blankets when you can make forts like this?
My friends from the ferry
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Art of Showering
Here I stand. Toilet bowl, faucet, bucket, and scoop.
Hmmm, what is the best approach I contemplate? I could recreate a shower with the scoop. Yes, that’s it! I’ll recreate a shower with the scoop. Well, I guess discussions of weather are often just a time filler because I have had so much to say I haven’t even mentioned it. My first few days in the Philippines were a bit rainy and mildly cool, relatively speaking. We were actually in a typhoon with a Signal 1. Even though there are only three levels of a typhoon, it sounds a bit more exciting that it really was. It was just a lot of rain and a bit of wind. Why is the weather important? Because that means the water I am about to “shower” with is cold, cold, cold. I naturally resort to the same routine I use at home in my nice warm shower by starting with the shampoo so I dump the scoop over the top of my head. Eeks! The initial shock is chilling and refreshing at the same time. The part I hadn’t thought about though was now this ice cold water will continue to chill me as I continue with my routine of conditioner, face wash, and then soaping up the rest of me. If there was a light and mirror that I could see myself in I’d swear I was purple because I was so cold. Cold in the Philippines just seems like an oxy moron. There must be a better way.
This, my friends, is where the art of showering comes in. For the next time you find yourself showering with a bucket in the cold this is my recommendation. First, start with the face wash because splashing cold water on the face is the easiest and will prepare you for what’s next (and you can keep the towel on longer). Then, instead of using the scoop as a shower just suds up your rag and clean. For some reason the water seems a bit warmer from the rag. Then stick your head under the faucet, bum in the air getting bit by the mosquitoes I am sharing the comfort room with, and shampoo. Forget the conditioner. If my hair is a knotted mess I’ll be happy to have saved three extra minutes of shivering. Viola!
That being said, I have a feeling this will actually be a treat after working with the kids in 100 degree heat and covered in dust and pollution from the city…
Oh, and the art of flushing with a bucket. Much simpler, just be sure to pour from a low angle. You do NOT need the extra force from pouring high. Trust me.
Hmmm, what is the best approach I contemplate? I could recreate a shower with the scoop. Yes, that’s it! I’ll recreate a shower with the scoop. Well, I guess discussions of weather are often just a time filler because I have had so much to say I haven’t even mentioned it. My first few days in the Philippines were a bit rainy and mildly cool, relatively speaking. We were actually in a typhoon with a Signal 1. Even though there are only three levels of a typhoon, it sounds a bit more exciting that it really was. It was just a lot of rain and a bit of wind. Why is the weather important? Because that means the water I am about to “shower” with is cold, cold, cold. I naturally resort to the same routine I use at home in my nice warm shower by starting with the shampoo so I dump the scoop over the top of my head. Eeks! The initial shock is chilling and refreshing at the same time. The part I hadn’t thought about though was now this ice cold water will continue to chill me as I continue with my routine of conditioner, face wash, and then soaping up the rest of me. If there was a light and mirror that I could see myself in I’d swear I was purple because I was so cold. Cold in the Philippines just seems like an oxy moron. There must be a better way.
This, my friends, is where the art of showering comes in. For the next time you find yourself showering with a bucket in the cold this is my recommendation. First, start with the face wash because splashing cold water on the face is the easiest and will prepare you for what’s next (and you can keep the towel on longer). Then, instead of using the scoop as a shower just suds up your rag and clean. For some reason the water seems a bit warmer from the rag. Then stick your head under the faucet, bum in the air getting bit by the mosquitoes I am sharing the comfort room with, and shampoo. Forget the conditioner. If my hair is a knotted mess I’ll be happy to have saved three extra minutes of shivering. Viola!
That being said, I have a feeling this will actually be a treat after working with the kids in 100 degree heat and covered in dust and pollution from the city…
Oh, and the art of flushing with a bucket. Much simpler, just be sure to pour from a low angle. You do NOT need the extra force from pouring high. Trust me.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
My Gang
The real reason I am here, the kids. The kids are absolutely amazing and bring me more smiles than I could have ever hoped for. Each one has a personality and story of there own. Here are a few…
Charlito – The quietest and most polite one of them all. Even though he is mentally challenged he continually surprises me with his ability to read to and listen to what I am teaching. Charlito was brought into the world because his mother was raped by her own father.
Ian – One of the two women in the shelter. Another quiet soul who
helps out as much as her skills allow with tasks like serving lunch. She is mentally challenged and the fear is she might be pregnant. Fortunately she is in her 30’s and not 14, but we can’t be certain because she won’t tell anyone her age. I probably wouldn’t tell anyone my age either if I knew I would not be accepted into the HBC, my only choice for shelter, if I was over 18.
Allen – When I first met Allen there was someth
ing mysterious about him. Every move is slow and deliberate, yet he is always the first one done with any lesson I do. You could tell he was hesitant in trusting me too. When I talked to Agnes the mystery was solved. Allen watched his father kill his mother.
One day Allen was sleeping when I got treats so the two o
f us walked up to the corner to get him a hotcake coated in butter and dipped in sugar (you’ll see a common theme with Filipino desserts as they are all some form of flour, butter, and sugar. The only thing that varies is the amount of each ingredient and how they are shaped. You’d be surprised by how many variations there are!). The walk turned out to be more important than I could have imagined. We passed a young teenager on our way back who asked Allen “Where is your mother?” I pray he didn’t hear or see me glare down the kid (as I tried to refrain myself from strangling him), but I know he did and here is why. Allen had only communicated to me through nodding to my yes or no questions. Two minutes after we passed the young teenager he looked at me, smiled, and said “delicious”. I think Allen is going to let me be his buddy.
Jay – My little angel. Not only does his smile brighten the entire ci
ty, but he also has a heart of gold. The other day I gave candies to the boys. Most devoured them before they were even in their hands. Jay asked me for the box. I thought it was just so he could have something of his own, but in reality it was just to hold the candies. Time passed and about an hour later Jay and I were sitting by each other watching the older kids play basketball. He reached in his pocket, pulled out the box, pulled out a candy, and offered it to me. I can’t even think of the moment without tearing up. For someone with absolutely nothing to share what little he has with me may be one of the best things I have ever experienced. Plus, once you see him dancing to what seems like the Filipino national song of "Low" by Flo Rida since it is played everywhere, I am guessing you'll understand where my love comes from.
NOTE: Unfortunately the video wouldn't load properly so I'll have to settle for a picture.
And these are just a few of my new friends, my gang. I refer to the kids as my gang because they have created a gang of their own and LOVE to throw gang signs (as you’ll see in
all the pictures). As we all know gangs are often affiliated with bad behavior, but these kids are not out roaming the streets trying to mark their territory. These children have no one but each other and whether they realize it or not, they are creating a family of their own with the gang. The gang to me is quite sentimental and hopefully they don’t mind me imposing and calling them my gang for the time being.
Now, as for my actual teaching, let’s just say I appreciate teachers more now than ever before. If you can imagine a room with eight to 40 kids (depending on the day) of all ages, learning abilities, levels of English, and some who have been locked in a cage, for who knows how long, with my resources being a whiteboard, and notepads and pencils for each kid, it is quite comical. The attention span ranges from two minutes to an hour at most, even with bringing in handouts and markers. I try to teach in the middle of their learning levels and give one-on-one attention to those who are interested while the others play basketball. A few of them have already shown progress in math, which being the nerd in math I am, makes me quite elated. I can tell the remaining four weeks will challenge me in many ways…
Jay, Meon, and Edelino serving the padlocked kids lunch.
And yes, flipping the bird is just as bad in the Philippines. My little Jon Marco...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
My New Reality
2/13/09
The agenda for today is a tour of Ormoc. I am beyond excited to learn more about the city I’ll be living in for the next five weeks (or more accurately an hour away from with a good walk and jeepney ride). Where will I eat? Where will I exchange money? What interesting adventures might I find? Is there really a golf course like Wikipedia says? Not that I plan on golfing, but I am fascinated by the concept of a golf course in such a poor area.
Prior to beginning the tour we have one stop, the mayor’s office. Maybe I need to register for something? Nope, it is to meet the mayor, Mr. Codillo himself. Being the only non-Filipino other than Meredith, another volunteer who is leaving in a couple days, I have felt like a celebrity since I got to Ormoc. But this, this was definitely one step further. There were paparazzi, poses, and interviews. Really? I am just a volunteer, but a much appreciated volunteer.
Now for the tour! We leave the mayor’s office and directly in front of us is Centrum, the shopping “mall” that has an internet café and coffee shop where Eugene tells me past volunteers liked to hang out. Good to know. Next stop, a couple blocks away, is Gaisano’s. As we stand on the corner looking at this massive building with no windows Eugene tells me this is the “good” shopping. I am already intrigued. Then he points to the ATMs kitty corner of where we are standing and another internet café. Perfect. I should have no problem finding an internet café. But I am still curious about where I will eat, explore, etc. so I ask Eugene where we’ll be going next. Perplexed he looks at me and says that’s it. This is Ormoc!
This was the first time I realized where I truly was. Ormoc is not a tourist city. There is no McDonald’s. There are no maps to help me get around (although with everything I need within a couple blocks I think I’ll be okay). There are no postcards to send to family or friends (sorry). There are no Italian, American, or even Malaysian restaurants to choose from. Thank goodness the children love to play internet games otherwise there would probably be no internet cafes either. Ormoc is like nothing I have ever seen. When was the last time you have been somewhere that wasn’t infiltrated with American culture? Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE America (and will probably love it even more when I get back), but this is pretty amazing to see and be a part of (for a few weeks).
The other reality I experienced is the Holding Boys Center (HBC), which was a harsh reality. There are 25 plus boys and two girls ranging from 5 to 18 that are living at the center either because they were abandoned, do not have family at all, their parents cannot afford to take care of them for the time being, or their awaiting trial for a crime they committed. You walk in the gate and there is a basketball court and small room off to the right (where I’ll be doing non-formal education). Then there are two offices, one for Mama Gloria (the founder) and the other for about four of us to share. All of which seems fine until you walk past the offices. To the left is a room, just a tad bigger than the office four of us share where 20 of the kids sleep, keep what few possessions they might have, and share a single bathroom (which I won’t even begin to describe). The size of the room is bothersome, but it is the fact that only a few children actually have foam mattresses on the wire framed bunk beds they sleep on that are heartbreaking. My behind got sore on the two plus hour ride from Tacloban because of no cushioning, but to sleep on wire frames?
Then there are the juvenile delinquents. I was warned by Ate Agnes that they were “locked up”, but in cages that are about 3 feet by 3 feet is not what I was expecting. Some were in the cages and some were allowed to be “free” in the padlocked room. The “free” children were literally sitting on the windowsill with their arms reaching out of the bars trying to grab for me. My heart had moved from my stomach to my feet.
Just when I thought I saw the entire center Ate Agnes told me I could do down the other hall to see the kitchen. I walk to the kitchen and look around and think what a great space. It actually is a decent size and seems like a good area for the children to gather. As I turned around to go back to the office I saw James. James looks like he is about three, but I am guessing he could be as old as ten and just small from malnutrition. James was lying in a fetal position by himself in a wooden crib with an oversized shirt and no pants, diaper, or anything. This is where I almost died. Does anyone ever take care of James? How could they just neglect him like this? I am sure I’ll learn the answers over time, but I am not so sure I want to.
The kids, however, are a bright light in such a gloomy place. I fell in love instantly with little Jay who has one big tooth that dominates his smile and Joseph who is one of the studs of the HBC. I am excited to get to know all the others and think they are just as excited to get to know me by the way they dropped what they were doing and ran up to me only the second day I arrived.
As sad as I was to leave the comfort of Barangay 64 with the great community center and wonderful children I am somewhere that needs a lot more love and support which is exactly what I wanted. Now how much of a difference I can make in five plus weeks, probably not much, but if I can brighten their days and give them something to look forward to I will consider my trip a success.
Pictures to come...
The agenda for today is a tour of Ormoc. I am beyond excited to learn more about the city I’ll be living in for the next five weeks (or more accurately an hour away from with a good walk and jeepney ride). Where will I eat? Where will I exchange money? What interesting adventures might I find? Is there really a golf course like Wikipedia says? Not that I plan on golfing, but I am fascinated by the concept of a golf course in such a poor area.
Prior to beginning the tour we have one stop, the mayor’s office. Maybe I need to register for something? Nope, it is to meet the mayor, Mr. Codillo himself. Being the only non-Filipino other than Meredith, another volunteer who is leaving in a couple days, I have felt like a celebrity since I got to Ormoc. But this, this was definitely one step further. There were paparazzi, poses, and interviews. Really? I am just a volunteer, but a much appreciated volunteer.
Now for the tour! We leave the mayor’s office and directly in front of us is Centrum, the shopping “mall” that has an internet café and coffee shop where Eugene tells me past volunteers liked to hang out. Good to know. Next stop, a couple blocks away, is Gaisano’s. As we stand on the corner looking at this massive building with no windows Eugene tells me this is the “good” shopping. I am already intrigued. Then he points to the ATMs kitty corner of where we are standing and another internet café. Perfect. I should have no problem finding an internet café. But I am still curious about where I will eat, explore, etc. so I ask Eugene where we’ll be going next. Perplexed he looks at me and says that’s it. This is Ormoc!
This was the first time I realized where I truly was. Ormoc is not a tourist city. There is no McDonald’s. There are no maps to help me get around (although with everything I need within a couple blocks I think I’ll be okay). There are no postcards to send to family or friends (sorry). There are no Italian, American, or even Malaysian restaurants to choose from. Thank goodness the children love to play internet games otherwise there would probably be no internet cafes either. Ormoc is like nothing I have ever seen. When was the last time you have been somewhere that wasn’t infiltrated with American culture? Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE America (and will probably love it even more when I get back), but this is pretty amazing to see and be a part of (for a few weeks).
The other reality I experienced is the Holding Boys Center (HBC), which was a harsh reality. There are 25 plus boys and two girls ranging from 5 to 18 that are living at the center either because they were abandoned, do not have family at all, their parents cannot afford to take care of them for the time being, or their awaiting trial for a crime they committed. You walk in the gate and there is a basketball court and small room off to the right (where I’ll be doing non-formal education). Then there are two offices, one for Mama Gloria (the founder) and the other for about four of us to share. All of which seems fine until you walk past the offices. To the left is a room, just a tad bigger than the office four of us share where 20 of the kids sleep, keep what few possessions they might have, and share a single bathroom (which I won’t even begin to describe). The size of the room is bothersome, but it is the fact that only a few children actually have foam mattresses on the wire framed bunk beds they sleep on that are heartbreaking. My behind got sore on the two plus hour ride from Tacloban because of no cushioning, but to sleep on wire frames?
Then there are the juvenile delinquents. I was warned by Ate Agnes that they were “locked up”, but in cages that are about 3 feet by 3 feet is not what I was expecting. Some were in the cages and some were allowed to be “free” in the padlocked room. The “free” children were literally sitting on the windowsill with their arms reaching out of the bars trying to grab for me. My heart had moved from my stomach to my feet.
Just when I thought I saw the entire center Ate Agnes told me I could do down the other hall to see the kitchen. I walk to the kitchen and look around and think what a great space. It actually is a decent size and seems like a good area for the children to gather. As I turned around to go back to the office I saw James. James looks like he is about three, but I am guessing he could be as old as ten and just small from malnutrition. James was lying in a fetal position by himself in a wooden crib with an oversized shirt and no pants, diaper, or anything. This is where I almost died. Does anyone ever take care of James? How could they just neglect him like this? I am sure I’ll learn the answers over time, but I am not so sure I want to.
The kids, however, are a bright light in such a gloomy place. I fell in love instantly with little Jay who has one big tooth that dominates his smile and Joseph who is one of the studs of the HBC. I am excited to get to know all the others and think they are just as excited to get to know me by the way they dropped what they were doing and ran up to me only the second day I arrived.
As sad as I was to leave the comfort of Barangay 64 with the great community center and wonderful children I am somewhere that needs a lot more love and support which is exactly what I wanted. Now how much of a difference I can make in five plus weeks, probably not much, but if I can brighten their days and give them something to look forward to I will consider my trip a success.
Pictures to come...
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Whole New World
2/11/09
I made it! Well, partially. My final destination is Ormoc City, Leyte, Philippines and my program coordinator surprised me with a night in Tacloban before the 2 hour bus ride tomorrow and I am so glad the did. I have a feeling this surprise will be the first of many and for someone who plans spontaneity, the Philippines will be good, make that great, for me.
The family, Fridelita and Michelle, I am staying with for the night is wonderful. Perhaps it is because our shared words are limited (Waray Waray is the dialect of Tacloban and her first language) and I can make up what I think they are saying. For example, Fridelita has somewhere between 4 and 8 children and they could be all girls, but then again they may not be. More so I think it is the fact that I haven’t seen either one of them without a smile on and their hearts are as big as the island we are on (Leyte pronounced “Lay Tay”). However few words, Fridelita did speak with her food and prepared the most welcoming dish after 20 plus hours of traveling. The chicken was fried with oil that has gathered so many flavors from being used over again with one of my favorites, bacon, being the most dominant. The coconut cream sauce for the squash was so fresh that I actually got to watch her extract the milk from the coconut. The rice was fluffy and the perfect accompaniment. And the banana was sweeter than any I have ever tasted.
Thank goodness everything was so delicious because when you are in a home that does not have running water except for the kitchen sink it would have been a sin to leave anything on the bone. Yep, that’s right, no running water. So after all that traveling the fresh shower I was anticipating was a distant memory. The choice was a cold shower using a bucket and scoop or going to bed. Jet lagged I chose the latter thinking my next home stay accommodation may have just what I am looking for.
As Fridelita spoke with her food, Michelle, her daughter spoke with her actions. I was coming to the end of the delicious banana and tried to push it up only to pop it onto my lap. Fidela and Michelle held back their chuckles even though I was laughing at myself. Then Michelle did the sweetest thing. She grabbed a piece of the bacon flavored deep fried chicken and “accidentally” popped it into her lap as well as if to make me feel more comfortable. She can’t speak but one or two words from a mental disability, but her actions told me I had a new friend. If this is how the people are in the Philippines I know I am going to love it here.
Prior to my welcome dinner I visited the Volunteers for Visayans center of Barangay 64. I walked into seven girls lined up of various ages and sizes of smiles practicing their dance routine for “Apple Bottom Jeans”. To hear something so American made me feel at home right away even though I am on the opposite side of the world.
2/12/09
Barangay 64 is similar to a neighborhood in the US, but the houses are a lot closer and it is sidewalks that connect the houses rather than streets. To get to the center of the Barangay you have to walk through a maze of sidewalks and homes. The home I stayed in was just across the sidewalk from the volunteer center that is really the center of all the action when it comes to the children. It opens at 4am to feed the malnourished children while the others meet there before catching their jeepney to school. It was only 6:30am when I finished breakfast of fried eggs, bread, and bananas and my orientation did not start until 8:30am so I decided to go explore with my camera. Little did I know there would be 10 kids I met the evening before waiting for me. It was the greatest way to wake up in the world. The smiles and excitement of the kids was absolutely energizing. Sadly I knew I’d be leaving for Ormoc in a few hours so I tried my best not to get them too excited, or quite honestly, myself.
Today I was introduced to the efficiencies (or lack there of) in the Philippines. If you are staying in the Philippines past 21 days you need to extend your visa. So I asked Eugene, my coordinator, about how I would go about doing it once I got to Ormoc. Has to be done in Tacloban (where I was) was the answer I got so logically I asked whether we should take care of that today before I leave. He quickly responded saying I could just come back and do it one day next week. This would be fine with me except the fact that Tacloban and Ormoc are about two and a half hours apart from each other. Without trying to sound too American (or more accurately the efficiency expert, myself) I asked if we could just do it now to save time. Eugene was not big on the idea, but finally buckled saying we’ll just have to call the people in Ormoc and say we’ll be a little late (which I’ll come to learn later is quite ironic).
Now if you think that is an example of efficiency it got better once at the immigration office. There was the first guy, a jolly fellow, asking me why I wanted to stay longer (even though it was on the application he was reading). Then there was the guy in the plaid pants and mix matched shirt who got the approval from the jolly fellow and stamped my application. The guy with the plaid pants and mix matched shirt then passed it on to another lady with a stern face who just sat with it for about 30 minutes and then asked me for pesos. She then passed it on to another woman…and you get the picture. After about one and a half hours, which I am guessing could have been 10 minutes, I got my visa and off to Ormoc we go!
For some reason rather than just putting me on the van and sending me on my way, Eugene decided to go with. I figured the company would be better than making the journey on my own so I didn’t say a word. After hopping “bus” stations, which would be more accurately called a van station, we finally found one that was about to leave for Ormoc. You see there are no schedules with the van system. Once the van is full it takes off. Fortunately there were four seats left on the van and Eugene bought the two extra seats so I didn’t have to have my luggage in my lap for the adventure to Ormoc. Each seat was about $2.50 so I didn’t feel so bad. Packed in like sardines off we went. I am still wondering why we didn’t have people strapped to the top or riding the bumper, but I guess there are a couple laws.
Eugene is absolutely brilliant when it comes to setting expectations with the program and the ride to Ormoc. He might have asked me literally five times whether I get motion sickness. Fortunately I usually don’t, but I embraced myself for a nightmare of a trip. So there were so twists and turns and maybe a few bumps, okay, pieces of road missing, but all in all the ride was pretty smooth. Just about two minutes after Eugene said we had about 30 minutes left he yelled out para and the van pulled over to the side of the road. Where we stopped was nothing but a few shacks and people hanging around with motorbikes on the side of the road so I thought maybe he has to go to the bathroom. Filipinos have no problem urinating anywhere that is convenient. I kept looking around and waiting (which I has become a skill) and he is looking at me like time to go. Huh? But the last home stay was in the middle of a community in the middle of Tacloban, which is a bustling city, and there were definitely no communities around and I wasn’t even sure if there were houses near by. I fell out the back of the van as not to disturb the other sardines, gathered my luggage, and just stood there not knowing what to do or where to go. Eugene then asked a couple of the guys with motorbikes in Tagalog a few questions. Tagalog (ta-gaw-law-g as opposed to tag-a-log which is what I was saying) is the official language, English being second, but truly each island, and sometimes city, speaks in their own dialect. After a bit it seemed they came up with a plan – load my luggage on the bikes and Eugene and me on the back seats.
For those of you who have traveled with me you know I am pretty much a minimalist and try to fit it in one bag (or suitcase depending on the establishment) for convenience. Since I wanted to bring donations for the children, would be gone for two months, and figured I’d be in one location for a long time I broke my rule and brought a suitcase AND a backpack. That decision may be the worst one I could have made for the trip. Remember the maze of sidewalks I mentioned before to get to my first home stay? Well, the sidewalk was not necessarily suitcase friendly so I had to carry it for what seemed like a marathon (which probably had more to do with my exhaustion from traveling for so many hours). Van station hopping earlier was definitely more difficult because of the luggage and now this. Had I simply stuck to my rule of thumb life would have been so much easier. Fortunately Eugene is Filipino and nothing really seems to bother him so it allowed me to be less worried about the inconveniences. Another good thing for me.
Motorbikes and luggage in tow we start our journey down the road to find Ate Agnes’ home. Ate (rhythms with karate) is a term of respect for your elders and I’ll be known as Ate Jessie by the children. A little further and a little further and a little further yet we finally slow down but again not a single house around. The bike with Eugene starts to turn around so with a sigh of relief I think we must be closer to the main road. My bike and luggage follows the leader and I brace for what I think will be at least another mile back to the main road. Nope, just a couple hundred feet and we stop again. We have finally arrived at Agnes’ home and my home for the next five plus weeks.
I stand in front of the home and am speechless when Eugene asks “What do you think?”. The first thoughts that run through my head are that I should have taken a shower at Fridelita’s and thank goodness Eugene accompanied me to Ormoc. I can only imagine the directions had I had to find the place on my own. Just stop by the motorbikes on the side of the highway about 30 minutes from Ormoc, ask one of the guys who are absolutely perplexed on seeing a non-Filipino in their home, go about 2 miles, and once you pass the poultry farm (which is better distinguished by its smell than its actual appearance) it is the house on the left with a gate.
I had no idea what I was signing up for and really had no expectations. This is beyond anything I could have ever imagined and everything I wanted, I think.
My grandparents have a dairy farm in rural Minnesota and as a kid we’d play out in the woods by the farm. One of my favorite things was playing house with all the old pots and pans, cupboards, and kitchen tables. That playhouse we created from anything we could find is the best way I can describe my new home. Just as the playhouse was built from the love of my cousins and me, it is easy to tell my new home was built from generations of love.
After dropping off my load of luggage in the middle of nowhere it was time to see the Holding Boys Center (HBC) and meet the people I’d be working with for my time in Ormoc.
The commute to the HBC will be an adventure itself. First I have to get to the main highway, which is at best guess is just over a mile and actually not as far as it seemed when finding it for the first time. To get to there I can either 1) wait for a jeepney that may not come 2) ride a motorcycle that may not be there or 3) walk. If I had to guess getting to the highway may be the only exercise I get in the Philippines. Then it is a 30 plus minute ride into the city on a jeepney. Why the “plus” you might be thinking. It is because there are no designated jeepney stops. You get on and off wherever you want which is quite convenient, but makes for a long ride if one person literally gets off 100 feet from the previous person.
The jeepney is the ultimate icon of the Philippines. The easiest way to describe a jeepney is a truck with two benches on either side of the flatbed and a roof. This is simply the base and where it goes from there is at the discretion of the driver and only limited by their imagination and funds. Some jeepneys have crocheted liners hanging from their ceilings (and blocking the driver’s view) likely made by their grandma, cheap speakers pumping out loud distorted disco music, sports logo decals that make me wonder whether they even know who the Oakland Raiders are, and names elaborately painted in a multitude of colors (which I am still trying to figure out what they represent – perhaps the love of their life when I see Mary Diane or the name of their siblings when I see Billy Bob John?!). What would your jeepney have?
After about an hour Eugene and I make it to the HBC where I will experience nothing like I could have ever imagined…
I made it! Well, partially. My final destination is Ormoc City, Leyte, Philippines and my program coordinator surprised me with a night in Tacloban before the 2 hour bus ride tomorrow and I am so glad the did. I have a feeling this surprise will be the first of many and for someone who plans spontaneity, the Philippines will be good, make that great, for me.
The family, Fridelita and Michelle, I am staying with for the night is wonderful. Perhaps it is because our shared words are limited (Waray Waray is the dialect of Tacloban and her first language) and I can make up what I think they are saying. For example, Fridelita has somewhere between 4 and 8 children and they could be all girls, but then again they may not be. More so I think it is the fact that I haven’t seen either one of them without a smile on and their hearts are as big as the island we are on (Leyte pronounced “Lay Tay”). However few words, Fridelita did speak with her food and prepared the most welcoming dish after 20 plus hours of traveling. The chicken was fried with oil that has gathered so many flavors from being used over again with one of my favorites, bacon, being the most dominant. The coconut cream sauce for the squash was so fresh that I actually got to watch her extract the milk from the coconut. The rice was fluffy and the perfect accompaniment. And the banana was sweeter than any I have ever tasted.
Thank goodness everything was so delicious because when you are in a home that does not have running water except for the kitchen sink it would have been a sin to leave anything on the bone. Yep, that’s right, no running water. So after all that traveling the fresh shower I was anticipating was a distant memory. The choice was a cold shower using a bucket and scoop or going to bed. Jet lagged I chose the latter thinking my next home stay accommodation may have just what I am looking for.
As Fridelita spoke with her food, Michelle, her daughter spoke with her actions. I was coming to the end of the delicious banana and tried to push it up only to pop it onto my lap. Fidela and Michelle held back their chuckles even though I was laughing at myself. Then Michelle did the sweetest thing. She grabbed a piece of the bacon flavored deep fried chicken and “accidentally” popped it into her lap as well as if to make me feel more comfortable. She can’t speak but one or two words from a mental disability, but her actions told me I had a new friend. If this is how the people are in the Philippines I know I am going to love it here.
Prior to my welcome dinner I visited the Volunteers for Visayans center of Barangay 64. I walked into seven girls lined up of various ages and sizes of smiles practicing their dance routine for “Apple Bottom Jeans”. To hear something so American made me feel at home right away even though I am on the opposite side of the world.
2/12/09
Barangay 64 is similar to a neighborhood in the US, but the houses are a lot closer and it is sidewalks that connect the houses rather than streets. To get to the center of the Barangay you have to walk through a maze of sidewalks and homes. The home I stayed in was just across the sidewalk from the volunteer center that is really the center of all the action when it comes to the children. It opens at 4am to feed the malnourished children while the others meet there before catching their jeepney to school. It was only 6:30am when I finished breakfast of fried eggs, bread, and bananas and my orientation did not start until 8:30am so I decided to go explore with my camera. Little did I know there would be 10 kids I met the evening before waiting for me. It was the greatest way to wake up in the world. The smiles and excitement of the kids was absolutely energizing. Sadly I knew I’d be leaving for Ormoc in a few hours so I tried my best not to get them too excited, or quite honestly, myself.
Today I was introduced to the efficiencies (or lack there of) in the Philippines. If you are staying in the Philippines past 21 days you need to extend your visa. So I asked Eugene, my coordinator, about how I would go about doing it once I got to Ormoc. Has to be done in Tacloban (where I was) was the answer I got so logically I asked whether we should take care of that today before I leave. He quickly responded saying I could just come back and do it one day next week. This would be fine with me except the fact that Tacloban and Ormoc are about two and a half hours apart from each other. Without trying to sound too American (or more accurately the efficiency expert, myself) I asked if we could just do it now to save time. Eugene was not big on the idea, but finally buckled saying we’ll just have to call the people in Ormoc and say we’ll be a little late (which I’ll come to learn later is quite ironic).
Now if you think that is an example of efficiency it got better once at the immigration office. There was the first guy, a jolly fellow, asking me why I wanted to stay longer (even though it was on the application he was reading). Then there was the guy in the plaid pants and mix matched shirt who got the approval from the jolly fellow and stamped my application. The guy with the plaid pants and mix matched shirt then passed it on to another lady with a stern face who just sat with it for about 30 minutes and then asked me for pesos. She then passed it on to another woman…and you get the picture. After about one and a half hours, which I am guessing could have been 10 minutes, I got my visa and off to Ormoc we go!
For some reason rather than just putting me on the van and sending me on my way, Eugene decided to go with. I figured the company would be better than making the journey on my own so I didn’t say a word. After hopping “bus” stations, which would be more accurately called a van station, we finally found one that was about to leave for Ormoc. You see there are no schedules with the van system. Once the van is full it takes off. Fortunately there were four seats left on the van and Eugene bought the two extra seats so I didn’t have to have my luggage in my lap for the adventure to Ormoc. Each seat was about $2.50 so I didn’t feel so bad. Packed in like sardines off we went. I am still wondering why we didn’t have people strapped to the top or riding the bumper, but I guess there are a couple laws.
Eugene is absolutely brilliant when it comes to setting expectations with the program and the ride to Ormoc. He might have asked me literally five times whether I get motion sickness. Fortunately I usually don’t, but I embraced myself for a nightmare of a trip. So there were so twists and turns and maybe a few bumps, okay, pieces of road missing, but all in all the ride was pretty smooth. Just about two minutes after Eugene said we had about 30 minutes left he yelled out para and the van pulled over to the side of the road. Where we stopped was nothing but a few shacks and people hanging around with motorbikes on the side of the road so I thought maybe he has to go to the bathroom. Filipinos have no problem urinating anywhere that is convenient. I kept looking around and waiting (which I has become a skill) and he is looking at me like time to go. Huh? But the last home stay was in the middle of a community in the middle of Tacloban, which is a bustling city, and there were definitely no communities around and I wasn’t even sure if there were houses near by. I fell out the back of the van as not to disturb the other sardines, gathered my luggage, and just stood there not knowing what to do or where to go. Eugene then asked a couple of the guys with motorbikes in Tagalog a few questions. Tagalog (ta-gaw-law-g as opposed to tag-a-log which is what I was saying) is the official language, English being second, but truly each island, and sometimes city, speaks in their own dialect. After a bit it seemed they came up with a plan – load my luggage on the bikes and Eugene and me on the back seats.
For those of you who have traveled with me you know I am pretty much a minimalist and try to fit it in one bag (or suitcase depending on the establishment) for convenience. Since I wanted to bring donations for the children, would be gone for two months, and figured I’d be in one location for a long time I broke my rule and brought a suitcase AND a backpack. That decision may be the worst one I could have made for the trip. Remember the maze of sidewalks I mentioned before to get to my first home stay? Well, the sidewalk was not necessarily suitcase friendly so I had to carry it for what seemed like a marathon (which probably had more to do with my exhaustion from traveling for so many hours). Van station hopping earlier was definitely more difficult because of the luggage and now this. Had I simply stuck to my rule of thumb life would have been so much easier. Fortunately Eugene is Filipino and nothing really seems to bother him so it allowed me to be less worried about the inconveniences. Another good thing for me.
Motorbikes and luggage in tow we start our journey down the road to find Ate Agnes’ home. Ate (rhythms with karate) is a term of respect for your elders and I’ll be known as Ate Jessie by the children. A little further and a little further and a little further yet we finally slow down but again not a single house around. The bike with Eugene starts to turn around so with a sigh of relief I think we must be closer to the main road. My bike and luggage follows the leader and I brace for what I think will be at least another mile back to the main road. Nope, just a couple hundred feet and we stop again. We have finally arrived at Agnes’ home and my home for the next five plus weeks.
I stand in front of the home and am speechless when Eugene asks “What do you think?”. The first thoughts that run through my head are that I should have taken a shower at Fridelita’s and thank goodness Eugene accompanied me to Ormoc. I can only imagine the directions had I had to find the place on my own. Just stop by the motorbikes on the side of the highway about 30 minutes from Ormoc, ask one of the guys who are absolutely perplexed on seeing a non-Filipino in their home, go about 2 miles, and once you pass the poultry farm (which is better distinguished by its smell than its actual appearance) it is the house on the left with a gate.
I had no idea what I was signing up for and really had no expectations. This is beyond anything I could have ever imagined and everything I wanted, I think.
My grandparents have a dairy farm in rural Minnesota and as a kid we’d play out in the woods by the farm. One of my favorite things was playing house with all the old pots and pans, cupboards, and kitchen tables. That playhouse we created from anything we could find is the best way I can describe my new home. Just as the playhouse was built from the love of my cousins and me, it is easy to tell my new home was built from generations of love.
After dropping off my load of luggage in the middle of nowhere it was time to see the Holding Boys Center (HBC) and meet the people I’d be working with for my time in Ormoc.
The commute to the HBC will be an adventure itself. First I have to get to the main highway, which is at best guess is just over a mile and actually not as far as it seemed when finding it for the first time. To get to there I can either 1) wait for a jeepney that may not come 2) ride a motorcycle that may not be there or 3) walk. If I had to guess getting to the highway may be the only exercise I get in the Philippines. Then it is a 30 plus minute ride into the city on a jeepney. Why the “plus” you might be thinking. It is because there are no designated jeepney stops. You get on and off wherever you want which is quite convenient, but makes for a long ride if one person literally gets off 100 feet from the previous person.
The jeepney is the ultimate icon of the Philippines. The easiest way to describe a jeepney is a truck with two benches on either side of the flatbed and a roof. This is simply the base and where it goes from there is at the discretion of the driver and only limited by their imagination and funds. Some jeepneys have crocheted liners hanging from their ceilings (and blocking the driver’s view) likely made by their grandma, cheap speakers pumping out loud distorted disco music, sports logo decals that make me wonder whether they even know who the Oakland Raiders are, and names elaborately painted in a multitude of colors (which I am still trying to figure out what they represent – perhaps the love of their life when I see Mary Diane or the name of their siblings when I see Billy Bob John?!). What would your jeepney have?
After about an hour Eugene and I make it to the HBC where I will experience nothing like I could have ever imagined…
Pictures of A Whole New World
My friends from my night in Tacloban. The little one, Deanna, stole my heart.
The center of Barangay 64.
Fridelita and Michelle, my host family for my night in Tacloban. Our friend taking the picture had never used a camera before...
Fridelita's Home
My room when I stayed with Fridelita.
The famous jeepney!
Princess' Luggage
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