I have been without internet connection for nearly two weeks. Not by choice, although it hasn’t been half bad. The internet here in Inabanga just done gone and broke. Apparently the ports or cabinets are being uncooperative. (I am now in Tagbilaran City, where the internet is alive and well.)
In terms of email concerns, there are two, albeit minor. First, Hotmail deletes my Junk Mail after it has sat there five days, so if anything got misdirected here, it’s probably gone now. (Unfortunately for the mortgage lenders and porn purveyors, their kind solicitations have fallen on deaf ears since my internet ceased to exist.) Second, my Grandma Lili just got on the internet bandwagon. She is planning to come here, and wonders if she needs any inoculations. I didn’t write her back while I had the chance. I fear she might decide to cancel her trip AND stop using email if she gets no response. (Fortunately, she’s a pretty patient lady, and on top of that, might very well assume it takes two weeks or a month to arrive in my inbox all the way in the Philippines.)
In terms of the World Wide Web, no internet sadly means no update of www.danielbowmansimon.com, and no keeping up with Indecision ’04. (I don’t believe in polls anyway, and wish the pollsters would just be outsourced to New Guinea or Greenland, and thereby be eaten by cannibals or freeze to death.) There are also drastic research limitations with no internet. For example, I’m been waiting patiently to Google “twenty-four harness handlooms.” The introduction of such looms here could allow for much more intricate weaving designs, which could command higher prices. (The standard looms here are two-harness. How anachronistic is that?)
But I still have tons of stuff to do outside the virtual world. Like read about the history of roller coaster fatalities, the unique qualities of ketchup, W’s long term tax gimcrackery, and the ridiculously complicated tragedy in Sudan. All in the New Yorker. (It’s definitely easier on the eyes than staring at the internet, and equally as random. As if that weren’t enough, it’s well written, nicely edited, and comes with ads for all sorts of luxury goods I’d otherwise forget about here in the Philippines.)
Like going for a swim in the sea, just beyond the fishponds, when the tide is high. Swimming laps in the sea is what I imagine those “endless pools” advertised in the New Yorker. It’s probably not the cleanest sea, but if I position myself just right I can see nothing but trees, clouds and a couple small islands in the distance. Usually I’m the only person around, so I can enjoy the sound of nothing but the sea. The other day some kids came along, and I swear they must have thought I’d swam in from another planet or at least from the United States.
Like watching movies. I have a small collection of DVDs but never get around to watching them. But recently I’ve checked out three awesome films. My Life Without Me, directed by Isabel Coixet, with a rambunctious supporting role by the lead singer of Blondie, is about a young mother who learns she has terminal cancer, but doesn’t tell anybody. Paris, Texas is about a guy who doesn’t know what to say (directed by Wim Wenders, with a brilliant, drifting acoustic soundtrack by Ry Cooder.) Loves of a Blonde is an old black and white Czech film about a dirty old men and a stunningly gorgeous (blonde) girl who goes looking for a boy she met the week before, and gets an earful from the boy’s mother. Director Milos Forman (who also directed my all time favorite, Hair, scouted out the mother character on a crowded bus. What a catch!)
Like call up customer service and try to get the internet up and running. Customer service here is all about calling the customer “sir” or “ma’am” at least twice per sentence, reciting such phrases as “don’t worry, sir, I will be sure to tell the repair department about your concern, sir,” and “I suggest sir, that you try rebooting your computer, sir.” It’s the sad state of affairs here that the job market is so bad that call centers can be very selective. They generally only hire college graduates who have a functional command of English.
While I wish I didn’t have to call customer service, I do enjoy their adherence to the scripts. When I decide that the call isn’t going anywhere, I request to speak to the manager. There’s a brief moment of silence (perhaps confusion) then I hear a rustling through a script, and then, in perfect textbook English, read at a steady pace “I’m sorry, sir, but the manager is unable to speak with you at this time, sir, because he is speaking with another customer, sir.” (I wouldn’t doubt the “sirs” are in the script.) What really throws them for a loop is when I tell them I’m prepared to hold “for a while” for the manager. I get the feeling customer service folks here are used customers who have an endless supply of patience, who don’t expect their problem remedied anytime soon.
I don’t want to give the impression that all I do is read, swim, watch movies, and wait on hold. No, sir. I am a professional, and professionals are put on this planet to get work done. We have finally gotten within a step of releasing funds for the massive weaving project. All this waiting has allowed us to rethink some facets of the project. For example, we were planning to construct a comprehensive center for raw material preparation, dyeing, and loomweaving. One of the main reasons for this center is consolidation of quality control. (Quality is a recurring concern with handicraft livelihoods aimed at the tourist and export markets.) The original plan was to build fifty looms in the center – to accommodate fifty weavers simultaneously.
Along the way, it came to light that a similar setup was recently been on nearby Panglao Island, and that it is largely unused because the fare to get there eats into the salary, and anyway, the women need to be near their homes and children. We got to thinking the same fate could arise here. There are plenty of far-flung barangays (neighborhoods), from where it is expensive and time-consuming to reach the center.
Therefore, we are focusing on developing small satellite weaving centers, housed in barangays where the women live. If we provide the skilled weavers with high-quality looms and give them a good understanding of quality standards, so as to minimize rejected goods, we will all be in a good place. After all, quality control is most effective when there are no rejects. No rejects means getting paid for everything you’ve produced, with no muda (that’s Japanese for waste) of time or materials. As a bonus, we will locally hire a municipal quality assurance dude (or dudette) who can ride around on a motorcycle, to do spot-checks and make sure everything is running smoothly.
Now, we are at the stage of identifying interested barangays. We will set up meetings with the weavers and barangay officials, to assess their exact needs and current capabilities, instead of just showing up with a prefab weaving center and telling them to get to work. Wish us luck.
International Coastal Cleanup week is here. Inabanga has plenty of coast, so I will join in and do some cleanup. (We are even supposedly going to separate biodegradable and non-biodegradable “waste,” although I’ll believe it when I see it.) This event has been going strong for eighteen years, so if you’re anywhere near the coast, care about water and the future, and don’t mind getting a little wet and dirty, get involved!
Coming up: Filipino stereotypes of foreigners, and some of their absurd concepts of life in America.
Posted by dbs at September 15, 2004 02:36 PM