We waited for the torrential rain to stop. It stopped. We gathered in the lobby, ready to make the five-minute hike to the bus stop. The downpour resumed. We decided to wait again. This happened a few times, but in the Philippines waiting is a pastime…to an extent…finally, when had no more patience for the fickle elements, we bravely hit the road.
Over-air-conditioned buses are no place for wet-clothed folks, but we had no choice. After all, we are professionals, and we had people to meet in Manila. The bus didn’t break down, and traffic was not the worst it’s ever been, so we arrived in the City of Brotherly Smoke-Belching within the two-hour estimated timeframe.
Blair had arranged for us to stay at the Congressman’s house. (Peace Corps volunteers are prohibited from getting involved with politics, but explicitly told to arrange courtesty calls with politicians, and this was a perfect opportunity.) We waited again. The congressman had dispatched a van to pick us up. The van was stuck in the sprawling parking lot that is Manila. While waiting, I a man unbeknownstly entertained me from twenty stories up, acrobatically hanging off the side of a building, welding. Macy's fireworks and Cirque du Soliel combined ain’t got nothing on this guy.
The van arrived, and we spent another two hours in traffic. We picked up my fellow Peace Corps volunteer Chuck at one of the many, many malls that are as distinctly Manila as traffic jams. He’d been waiting for us for quite some time, passing the time window-shopping. We ate dinner at the congressman’s place. (There’s always free dinner and lodging for constituents who are in town looking for work.) Then Chuck announced his friend was waiting for us to go sing karaoke. Mind you I’d been out way past my bedtime three nights straight. So what’s one more night? We hurried to find a nice cheap place to karaoke. And we waited for Chuck’s friend to arrive, singing all the while. (Perfect Day with no singer listed is indeed the Lou Reed version! You don’t always get so lucky.)
By the time Chuck’s friend arrived, I was ready to call it a night. But what fun is that? So another bottle of beer, another small sheet of paper and pen almost out of ink with which to jot down song selections. Finally, after a 2am purchase of taho, a creamy tofu pudding, we were on our way home.
The next morning, we work early to visit the Books Across the Seas (BATS) warehouse. It it not easy to find such a place, especially when the Fortune Tobacco compound, where it is supposedly located, has relocated…so Chuck and I were treated to an extended tour of Quezon City, Manila, seated in the comforts of the back of a flower delivery truck.
The lostnessess (to borrow from President XLIII) was worth the wait. BATS is da bomb! In the name of tax-deductions and/or plain-old goodwill, textbook publishers donate boatloads of brand-new unsold books to 3rd world countries. Some school districts donate books too. (I saw a stack of math books I used in elementary school, and checked to see if my name was on the inside cover. It wasn’t, but how nostalgic to think of those first days of school, writing my name and year and condition of book, and looking to see who’d used the book in years previous.) Because the lingua franca of education in the Philippines is English, the Philippines is a major beneficiary of donated books. We were able to fill a dozen boxes with math and science books for Mama Ramos’ deaf high school students (who currently have no textbooks) and for a bunch of elementary schools around Bohol. We loaded them into the flower truck and dined at a shopping mall food court for lunch. Then I took a nap.
When I woke, it was already dark. It’s a good thing I got my good deed done in the morning, because there were plenty of Peace Corps in town, hungry for some Happy Hour. I can honestly say I was dreaming again before sunrise.
On Monday, the good congressman invited us to Congress for Gloria Macapagal Arroyo’s State of the Nation Address. Blair had helped me do some shopping and ironing, so I was looking spiffy in my barong tagalog. We left the house at 1pm for the 4 o’clock speech, allowing time for traffic jams. However the driver astutely observed that there were barely any cars on the other side of the highway. Riding in a van with special “8” license plates, we passed over the median and sped down the highway, dodging any oncoming vehicles. Just like in the movies!
Arriving in congress early, we found our comfortable 3rd gallery seats in the clouds, and were able to watch all the important folks file in, looking ant-like. For a few hours I felt like I was not in a 3rd world country. (It happens at the mall too.) The Oscars came to mind. Red carpet. Paparazzi. Congressmen’s wives dressed in every color of the rainbow. Everyone who was anybody was there. Even Imelda Marcos. (Her and Ferdinand’s daughter is a congresswoman now.) And from the vantage point of my seat, I could keep my eye on Imelda throughout the speech, though I could not see her shoes. After the president’s speech, the president’s husband left the chamber, carrying their 2-year old granddaughter. The media hounds shoved dozens of mics in the cute baby’s face, eager to get a reaction to grandma’s mostly-English 40-minute speech. We watched the Presidents light blue helicopter (to compliment her yellow dress) struggle to take off in the rain, waited for the congressman to finish up his work, and went home for dinner.
The congressman is fresh off a scholarship to an executive program at Harvard, and seems to be genuinely interested in making his country a better place to live, work, breathe, visit, and dream. At dinner, he helped me solve a great confusion. I told him that in the Lonely Planet Best & Worst section, the only thing it has to say about Tagbilaran is “the air pollution is sobering.” Anyway, his concerned reaction was “it’s really that bad?” (Fine, maybe it’s not true all the time, and much more breathable five minutes from downtown, but tourists ain’t gonna come if that’s what they read in what many consider their bible.) What I realized is that Filipinos don’t seem to mind the pollution because it’s become such a part of their lives that they don’t even NOTICE it anymore. And it’s happening to me too. I could barely breathe my first time in Manila, but now I go to bed there without taking a shower. That can’t possibly be healthy…for people, other living things, or the planet in general.
Now I’m home sweet home. In my absence, Inabanga’s pageant contestant won Miss Sandugo (Bohol’s month-long fiesta, you’re all invited next july) and the province-wide street dancing competition. I never knew I was living amidst such talent!
Last night, Nang Juaning went to visit her nephew at the beach. I told everybody that the American thing to do would be to take advantage of her absence and throw a disco. Everyone was keen. An amateur electrician hooked up an old radio to an even older speaker. I brought my blinking LED bike lights, and a party was in session. Nobody felt like paying a door charge, so we announced FREE entry. We had half a dozen takers. The music was questionable, and often interrupted by commercial breaks.
This morning I spilled the disco beans to Nang Juaning. She hopes to be here next time, to get her 73-year old groove on. I realize I haven’t touched upon the customer service nightmare, and that I haven’t mentioned my project or dirt-court basketball in a while, but that’s all I feel like writing today.
Posted by dbs at August 2, 2004 05:40 PM