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…