I was elated driving the motorcycle by myself for the first time to Mapuyo, our farthest barangay, located about 30 minutes north of town. The road going north is rough, unpaved, and full of treachery but no problem-O. Nothing but coconut trees, sunshine, and the sweet taste of freedom.
The next day I tried using it again to follow up on our pig recipients, and I ended up driving straight into the canal of our neighbor. Awesome. I remember the oh crap sensation a split second before disaster, and the pain of my head hitting the palm tree, but I walked away with nothing more than a squashed pinky finger. Salamat sa Diyos. One of those moments when it’s hard not to believe that someone is watching out for me…
This week Na Bebie and I took Na Flora (the laundry lady) to the hospital. Na Bebie usually takes the assistant role as the faithful side-kick of Na Betty, the pastoral worker who’s been doing her job here since she was 18 (for over 30 years!). But this was the first time I saw Babes take the reigns, navigating us through the convoluted Philippine public healthcare system. I was quite impressed. There’s money from the municipio we can tap if we get the right referral, there’s a nurse from our town working at the hospital who can keep a special eye on Na Flora, there’s an eatery across the street where we can borrow a plate and utensils for her food. We finally got Na Flora admitted. A cot with a piece of plywood to lie on, in a ward full of tropical sickness. Lying on the plywood next to her was Clarissa, a stern-faced neighbor from Kawayan, laid up with a bad case of tetanus.
Na Flora was diagnosed with typhoid and sent home after a couple days with a prescription for antibiotics, which cost about $2 a pill. Almost 60% of the households here in Kawayan earn less than $1 per day, and I know for sure Na Flora earns even less than that. She has PhilHealth, health insurance for the indigent, the equivalent of Americaid, but the problem is that PhilHealth only reimburses medical expenses, and partially at that. You still need cash up front to pay for hospitalization and medicines and I don’t think many people like Na Flora are lucky enough to have someone who’s willing and able to front the cash for them. Hopefully we can get the ball rolling with the Diocese Social Action Center to start a parish pharmacy to offer cheaper meds to our folks—a small bandage on a gashing wound, but at least its something...
Later on in the day, sitting in Berto's hammock, listening to Chicago's Greatest Hits, pouring coconut wine from a gallon jug of Castrol GTX Synthetic Oil, and watching daylight fade until our only light emminates from the slits in his bamboo hut. Edgar, overweight and the jolliest of fellows dances the "otso-otso" for us and all is laughter. And even if Berto's 101 chickens he's been faithfully guarding and tending for the past month and a half, his only source of livelihood at the moment, will only turn over a $25 profit (much lower than hoped for), I get the feeling that it doesn't really matter that much.
And so it goes in this chaotic and simple land with a future so bleak. But at least here neighbors still know each other, help each other, and have time to sit around and laugh with each other. Maybe this reality is much deeper than it would seem.
P.S. Regarding the landslide, I'm fine. Thank you all for your concern. St. Bernard is on the next island over but it's quite far from here. A PeaceCorps friend of mine is assigned there but I recently got a txt message from him that he's fine, and joining the relief effort.
P.S.S. I added some more pics from January if you care to take a peek
Monday, February 27, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
twice bitten once shy
Lola Flora the laundry lady is sick. We visited her yesterday evening stumbling along the path to her house bringing biscuits from Manila and virgin coconut oil, a panacea says Dr. Fife. Her house is a shack in the woods with a single candle for light. She’s only 60 but looks about 85, her body a living skeleton. But she’s still somehow able to laugh, even about the sharp pain in her abdomen, the bitter taste in her mouth, and the feeling of being completely wasted on tuba, native coconut wine.
WE just back from 2 weeks in Manila. (If Jersey is the armpit of America, what is Manila to the Philippines? hmmm...) It took about 50 hours by bus to get there from Kawayan. About 15 minutes into the trip someone started vomiting in the back. Awesome. The road trip usually takes about 24 hours, but crossing from Samar to Luzon, there was a bagio (typhoon) which prevented the ferry from leaving for a whole day. Thankfully there is a Franciscan school near the port where we were able to call on and seek refuge. They had some plywood and cardboard we could spread out on the floor and lay our weary loins. The whole trip was actually fun for me... Watching the scenery along the road, listening to tunes, and sleeping, seemingly endless hours, the body processes having slowed down and gone into hibernation mode.
The Pastoral Assembly of all Franciscan parishes in the country, which is held every 3 years, took place just outside of the city. The content was kind of boring, something about the PIME system (planning, implementing, monitoring, evaluation) of pastoral programs which the Province is spending a lot of money and time to “install” in the parishes (like we are computers or something.. we're not, we're flesh and blood, man!). Anyway it was good to meet many of the other friars around the country. Most would agree I think that the highlight was seeing our parish priests dressed up in drag and strutting around (see pics).
We spent a couple nights afterwards in downtown Manila sleeping cramped in the upper room of store which sells junky toys and other junky junk. We then had retreat for a couple of days which was the spiritual refreshment I was thirsty for. I really connected with Fr. Nonong who lead the retreat with his East meets West spirituality, integrating John Campbell, St. John of the Cross, Buddhist meditation, and other good stuff. The retreat was followed by a “field trip” to Baguio, a bustling city high in the mountains to the north of Manila. We stayed in a large, extravagant house which was donated to the Franciscans, located deep in a leech infested wood. We arrived later than expected and had to brave the 30-minute hike in the dark when the leeches come out to feed. Shreeks and stomping of feet when we entered the foyer. I was bitten twice between the toes. I felt a bit woozy afterwards, it taking a long time for the bleeding to stop. Maybe it's what I needed, a good bleeding.
Edgar, Betty, Bebie, and I then headed to Subic to seek out Edgar and Betty’s long lost brothers. Subic is where the American Navy base was located before it was shut down shortly after Mt. Pinatubo erupted. One of the gifts the Americans left behind is a lot of toxic. Another is the thriving prostitute industry in Subic which still exists today. Creepy, overweight white dudes are everywhere, as are the mestizo kids in rags mixed in with the other native street children.
We found Edgar’s brother who he hasn’t seen in over 20 years ago when he left home to seek greener pastures. Betty’s brother too was there, living in the same small fishing village of Nagayantok about 30 minutes away from the city, only accessible by boat. We stayed here a couple of days, a simple, poor, beautiful place. The people in Nagayantok are all migrants, Bisayan speakers in Tagalog land, many of whom come from our very own Kawayan. Their livelihood there is catching aquarium fish from the coral reefs offshore for export. They use oxygen tanks with hoses attached that they simply bite on to as they dive into the deep to earn their bread. Isn’t that dangerous? Do people ever die?
More than I can count, one fisherman replied with a smile. Apparently there’s also a lot of fishermen in Nagayantok who are now paralyzed... my baby's got the bends.
But they still seem to enjoy life while it’s theirs. I’m learning this is a general Filipino maxim. We spent an entire day at the beach cooking fish over a coconut fire and drinking rum. A couple of men disappeared and to return later with two sacks full of sea urchins they had gathered, which were spilled on the beach and eaten up raw with animal-like passion.
When we left Nagayantok we brought with us Joy-Joy, the 11-year-old daughter of Edgar’s brother. They are too poor to care for her, so Edgar happily agreed to raise her. A few tears of goodbye to the only home she has known were shed as we landed on the other side of the bay, but that was about it. Separation and moving on is also what being Filipino is about.
Pax et bonum!
WE just back from 2 weeks in Manila. (If Jersey is the armpit of America, what is Manila to the Philippines? hmmm...) It took about 50 hours by bus to get there from Kawayan. About 15 minutes into the trip someone started vomiting in the back. Awesome. The road trip usually takes about 24 hours, but crossing from Samar to Luzon, there was a bagio (typhoon) which prevented the ferry from leaving for a whole day. Thankfully there is a Franciscan school near the port where we were able to call on and seek refuge. They had some plywood and cardboard we could spread out on the floor and lay our weary loins. The whole trip was actually fun for me... Watching the scenery along the road, listening to tunes, and sleeping, seemingly endless hours, the body processes having slowed down and gone into hibernation mode.
The Pastoral Assembly of all Franciscan parishes in the country, which is held every 3 years, took place just outside of the city. The content was kind of boring, something about the PIME system (planning, implementing, monitoring, evaluation) of pastoral programs which the Province is spending a lot of money and time to “install” in the parishes (like we are computers or something.. we're not, we're flesh and blood, man!). Anyway it was good to meet many of the other friars around the country. Most would agree I think that the highlight was seeing our parish priests dressed up in drag and strutting around (see pics).
We spent a couple nights afterwards in downtown Manila sleeping cramped in the upper room of store which sells junky toys and other junky junk. We then had retreat for a couple of days which was the spiritual refreshment I was thirsty for. I really connected with Fr. Nonong who lead the retreat with his East meets West spirituality, integrating John Campbell, St. John of the Cross, Buddhist meditation, and other good stuff. The retreat was followed by a “field trip” to Baguio, a bustling city high in the mountains to the north of Manila. We stayed in a large, extravagant house which was donated to the Franciscans, located deep in a leech infested wood. We arrived later than expected and had to brave the 30-minute hike in the dark when the leeches come out to feed. Shreeks and stomping of feet when we entered the foyer. I was bitten twice between the toes. I felt a bit woozy afterwards, it taking a long time for the bleeding to stop. Maybe it's what I needed, a good bleeding.
Edgar, Betty, Bebie, and I then headed to Subic to seek out Edgar and Betty’s long lost brothers. Subic is where the American Navy base was located before it was shut down shortly after Mt. Pinatubo erupted. One of the gifts the Americans left behind is a lot of toxic. Another is the thriving prostitute industry in Subic which still exists today. Creepy, overweight white dudes are everywhere, as are the mestizo kids in rags mixed in with the other native street children.
We found Edgar’s brother who he hasn’t seen in over 20 years ago when he left home to seek greener pastures. Betty’s brother too was there, living in the same small fishing village of Nagayantok about 30 minutes away from the city, only accessible by boat. We stayed here a couple of days, a simple, poor, beautiful place. The people in Nagayantok are all migrants, Bisayan speakers in Tagalog land, many of whom come from our very own Kawayan. Their livelihood there is catching aquarium fish from the coral reefs offshore for export. They use oxygen tanks with hoses attached that they simply bite on to as they dive into the deep to earn their bread. Isn’t that dangerous? Do people ever die?
More than I can count, one fisherman replied with a smile. Apparently there’s also a lot of fishermen in Nagayantok who are now paralyzed... my baby's got the bends.
But they still seem to enjoy life while it’s theirs. I’m learning this is a general Filipino maxim. We spent an entire day at the beach cooking fish over a coconut fire and drinking rum. A couple of men disappeared and to return later with two sacks full of sea urchins they had gathered, which were spilled on the beach and eaten up raw with animal-like passion.
When we left Nagayantok we brought with us Joy-Joy, the 11-year-old daughter of Edgar’s brother. They are too poor to care for her, so Edgar happily agreed to raise her. A few tears of goodbye to the only home she has known were shed as we landed on the other side of the bay, but that was about it. Separation and moving on is also what being Filipino is about.
Pax et bonum!
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