Yes, it is indeed now Sunday afternoon in The Philippines, although I won’t be able to post this until Monday at earliest.
I am so many things at once right now. I’m a student, a guest, an explorer, on my way to becoming a volunteer. I am living two or three lives at once. Let me explain.
At 8am Cebuano lessons begin. We are expected to reach an intermediate level by end of PST (Pre-Service Training) which is mid-April. The class is held in a wall-free hut, taught by Eliezer, a recent college graduate. Justin and I are the students. If history has any say, learning a new language will be an uphill battle for me. You’d think being immersed in the language would help, but it ain't exactly immersion yet. For one thing, the majority of my day is spent with Americans. Only 14 out of 41 of us study Cebuano, and it’s not as if we 14 speak Cebuano amongst ourselves. Furthermore, although Cebuano is the native tongue of the locals, most people I’ve encountered speak pretty darn good English, and they’re eager to use it. And even if I felt like sitting in front of the TV to soak up Cebuano, tough luck. There’s only one Cebuano soap opera, and it’s on while I’m at the farm. The majority of TV is in Tagalog, with some random English phrases thrown in. In most countries, advertising is in the local tongue, so at least you get a language lesson out of the man trying to sell you stuff you don’t need, but here a good chunk of clear skin commercials are in English. (Isn’t it obvious I have a host sister?)
Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on for so long about language, but to paraphrase Mr. Nelson Mandela, if you talk to people in a language they understand, you speak to their mind, if you speak their native language you speak to their hearts. I’m here to help as much as I can, and it’s frustrating to not be able to beg “Please teach me how to flush the toilet.”
We’ve also begun technical training where we learn how to do our work better. Current volunteers will come tell us about their experiences thus far. Ambet is the BAYD tech trainer. He is an amazing person. In his early life, he became a street child in Manila. He imagined bluer skies, and educated himself enough to get off the streets. Then he went back to the streets, where he taught spontaneous lessons. If the kids were interested enough, he offered to show up again the next day. But he was only reaching a tiny portion of the population who are denied formal education, and he wanted to make a bigger dent. He harbored decidedly anti-American sentiments at the time he was tricked into working for the Peace Corps. (A friend only told him it was a Youth Development project.) Now, a few years later, he’s totally gung-ho, and teaching us about asset-based community development.
Essentially, it’s accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative. We will not search for problems, rather accept challenges. We will not assume we know what the people need. (Tom, the associate director told of his experience in Africa, where he decided the people needed airtight storage for their grain. He set himself to work, digging holes and sealing them with cow dung. Word got around, and more and more people requested the holes. One day he asked a neighbor if the people liked the program. He replied “well, at least they find it amusing that someone is so eager to spend his days covered in cow dung.”)
Rather, we’ll help the community identify their local resources as well as dreams and aspirations. When they get the job done, they’ll feel they did it all themselves. Which will be the truth. I’m merely a facilitator. Of course this is easier said than done. There will be a lot of people expecting me to solve their problems for them, and it will be tough to not get swallowed up in trying.
My host family is cool. Mama and Papa both have siblings numbering in the double digits. They met when they were janitors together at their college. Papa was brave enough to “court” her for an entire year before she showed any interest. Long story short, they only had three children themselves. The youngest, Riza, is 21, and still lives at home. She is an special education major and a waitress at the pizza shop. Mama is a teacher for deaf high school students, and sometimes she hires them to come do yardwork. Papa had aspirations to be a seaman, but after schooling, decided he didn’t want to be away from his family. He became a peanut vendor. From 4-10pm seven days a week, he mans his stand outside McDonalds--right where the jeepneys stop, selling sugar-coated and garlic fried nuts to ever-snacking Filipinos. The other day I brought him some business from the Peace Corps. His English is a bit rusty since he doesn’t have much occasion to use it, but it’s quite poetic. The other day I asked him if he sees a lot on the street. Instead of telling me he ‘saw a fight’ he explained sadly that he ‘witnessed a rumble’ the day before. Mama told me Riza’s dream is to get a job paying enough to free papa from the consequences of breathing muffler grime day in, day out.
Yesterday my dirty old, sturdy old Nalgene bottle fell out of the jeepney I was riding in (jeepneys vary by locale, the ones I ride are converted pick up trucks with two bench seats facing one another.) I didn’t see it happen, but someone told the driver to stop, and I ran back fifty feet or so, while everyone waited and stared. It was embarrassing.
Love and geckos.
Posted by dbs at February 16, 2004 03:07 PM