I brought an old Highligths for Children magazine to some little kids who hang around the loomweaving center.i figured they’d give it a quick glance, and be done with it. After all, the stories are all englsih, and most of the games and puzzles need to have the (English) words explained before they can be played.
But the kids were all over it, not fighting, but battling to flip through the pages and point to photos and drawings, exclaiming what sounded to me like “mine” at every stab. I tried to explain a game or two (like “here are five pretty pictures, try to find them all somewhere else in the magazine” and “find the carrots and toothbrushes hidden in this drawing of people at the bowling alley.”) But they were quite happy to ignore my funny voice, (and a mother’s voice pleading with them not to rip the pages) and just focus on the magazine. Plus, there’s no bowling alley on this here island.
I also gave Galo, the dad, a 2004 Lakers calendar. (I brought over in January for a gift since I heard Filipinos love basketball, and just found it at the bottom of my suitcase the a couple weeks ago, when I was searching for my calculator.) Galo already had a calendar, and realized it’s already August, so he just cut it up and tacked the photos to the ceiling of the bus he drives. In return, he gave me a free ride to Tagbilaran last week, cuz he wanted me to see all the passengers staring at the ceiling.
To my surprise, and even in the Philippines I’m not easily surprised, when I returned a few days later, it was as if I’d never left, or maybe it was déjà vu. The kids were still flipping through the magazine, and a few pages had been colored in. The mom told me there are no other books in the house. And the day-care center doesn’t have a budget for books either. (Sometimes the nice day-care workers bring a book from home.)
The kids I meet around here have really vivid imaginations and can make a toy out of anything, at least the ones who don’t sit in front of the boob tube at every possible chance. (It ain’t as bad as America, they still haven’t yet found out that each and every American kid has a TV in his or her bedroom.) Fortunately (whether or not they know it) for the family I visit most often, their TV broke a while ago, and they have no budget for its repair.
I’ve just been invited to go spend a few days up in the mountains. A few loomweaver friends of mine are leading a basic training on loomweaving. Should be fun. Last time I was up there, in June, I was definitely the center of attention with the pint-sized set. (Lucky for the loomweavers the training will be during school hours, so they should be able to do their training without hordes of kids standing at the door, staring at the white guy with the long nose.)
Therefore, I say goodbye for now. I have to pack and take a bucket bath before dinner so I can hit the sack early and be nice and chipper for my trip.
Sounds like New York is about to get hectic, huh?
The world of my dad and the world of my college buddy John Griffin collided briefly in the parking lot of a Phish show last week. (This phenomenon has only occurred once in the history of time, and will 99.9 percent with a bar over it not repeat.) John explained to my dad that he’s been “keeping up with Daniel’s webpage, but I still have no idea what he’s supposed to be doing in the Philippines.” John is a smart, perceptive guy, so if he’s confused, I assume he ain’t the only one.
So I spent an hour Monday trying to put together a coherent analogy comparing my Peace Corps service to John’s prior experience in St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands. Through his wit, charm, and good looks, he found gainful employment as a bartender at a make-your-own-drink-bar. In other words, the customers made their own drinks. (In John’s tenure, the bar received visits from such luminaries as Kid Rock and Mr. And Mrs. Griffin.) Needless to say, I couldn’t do it. There’s really no analogy. We all make mistakes.
But down you worry John, someday you’ll figure out what I’m supposed to be doing in the Philippines. Hopefully, I’ll figure it out too!
A few days ago, I watched Regine (Nang Juaning’s 19-year old helper and 1st year high scoool student) spend literally ALL her free time looking up twenty five words in the dictionary, copying the definitions into her science notebook. The next day she was still at it. I observed her flipping page-by-page searching for words.
I took a peek in her notebook. For the word “compound,” it looked something like this:
“1n1.something made by the combination of two or more different things2.a word that is formed from two or more identifiable words, for example, “blackbird,” “cookbook,” or “bullheaded,” or, in some analyses, “mother-in-law” or “fire drill” adj 1.made by the combination of two or more different things 2.used to describe a word that is made up of two or more words or word parts3.used to describe a leaf that is divided into two or more parts (leaflets) attached to a single stalk. See also simple v 1.vti to add together, or add one thing to another or others, to form a whole2.vt to make something by the adding together of different parts3.vt to make something more extreme or intense by adding something to it4.vt to accept a bribe in return for not prosecuting or informing about a crime5.vti to settle a debt by paying a lesser amount owed, typically right away in a lump sum vt to calculate or pay interest based on both the principal and the interest that has previously accrued on it” (Cut and paste courtesy of Bill Gates' Encarta.)
This was for science class. If you are reading this webpage, you probably know how to use a dictionary. You know that if you’re looking up the word “compound” for science class you’d copy down the part of the definition relevant to science. If you looked up “sublimation” and the dictionary advised “see sublime,” you’d look down a word and find the definition there, instead of just copying down “see sublime” and memorize “see sublime” for the test.
But Regine told me she had never, in her entire life, used a dictionary. And the one she’d managed to borrow from a neighbor, and pour over for hours, was moldy with a stench. I tried to explain to her that she didn’t have to copy down every word of every definition, but she was baffled. (I was doing my best to explain in Cebuano, a language I can’t really speak.)
The language in schools debate in the Philippines has been going on for at least a hundred years, but the fact is, science is taught in English. Regine doesn’t speak English, nor does she have basic English comprehension skills. I wouldn’t say it’s a waste for her to be in school, but I see her losing an interest quickly, being so frustrated at not being able to figure things out.
Anyway, I asked Regine if she could get her hands on a science textbook. I figured the definitions might be in there, in a more organized fashion, without irrelevant definitions. Two days later, she came home with the science textbook. She’d rented it from her school (the school has five copies to be used by a large number of pupils) at a fee of one peso (roughly $0.02) for the evening. So she had all intentions of maximizing the use. I helped her hand-copy pages and pages from the science textbook, including all the definitions she needed to memorize, 'til both of our hands hurt and it was past bedtime.
And she’s one of the lucky ones. I don’t know the statistics, but a large percentage of Filipino never get past elementary school (or even go to school in the first place), because their family can’t afford the fees for textbooks, uniforms, pens, paper, etc. Or they need to work instead of go to school. There are many fortunate instances where an older sibling will sacrifice his or her education to earn money to pay for the education of the little brothers and sisters.
Next time, probably: Highlights for Children and what makes a Filipino laugh uncontrollably.
I haven’t said all I want to say about traffic in Manila. I forgot to bring up the main reason I started grumbling about traffic in the first place. The drivers are just a little insane. In Manila, there is a “need for speed” which unfortunately cannot be satiated.
In America, when I find myself in the happenstance of a traffic jam, this thing called “stop and go” occurs. Here, it’s more like “step on the gas and SLAM on the brakes.” Makes me sick to my stomach. Worse than riding a banka (pump-boat) in a typhoon.
I got to thinking that I complain a lot on this here webpage. But I am having the time of my life. What’s going on? I suppose this is my outlet. The good stuff, I can talk about with my Filipino friends, live, and in person. The bad stuff, well, it ends up here. Still, I’ll try to accentuate the positive for your reading eyes, too.
Here’s something positive. The congressman’s wife gave me a great compliment up in Manila. She remarked she could understand my English, as compared to many other foreigners. I’ll let you in on my secret: I speak very slowly, and don’t use too many big words or idioms. Like, I wouldn’t tell Filipinos to “shake what your momma gave ya.” They might nod their heads, but they’d be completely clueless. It takes patience, and a little thinking ahead. If I am making the effort to talk to someone, and vice versa, it’s in both of our best interests to have a clue of what’s going on. (My slow English encourages them to speak slow Cebuano, and by the way, I would never talk to a Filipino about “having a clue” either, cuz really, what does that translate to in Cebuano?) Even though Mrs. Congressman didn’t know it, that was the nicest compliment given to me in a good while (besides the “gwapo” hollers I hear wherever I go!)
On my last two visits to the loomweaving joint, the looms have been gathering cobwebs, for if there are no orders, there’s nothing to make, nor is there any money to make. But while I was there, an order arrived, so back to work, bring on the pesos!
(And I just had a thought: Usually the weavers make 10 meter rolls. The variation is generally only the color. I’m gonna find out if it’s possible to weave first, dye later. Then they wouldn’t be sitting idle, with no income, when there are no orders, and wouldn’t be in such a gigantic hurry when the orders come in.)
Nang Juaning’s granddaughter just won some kind of award, and she’s heading for the mountains of Baggio to claim it. So it looks like she’ll be borrowing my winter jacket, which I haven’t worn since San Francisco.
I’ll leave you with a link to Radio Expeditions NPR audio reportage. Part Two features no less than the Project Seahorse of Bohol, Philippines! (If you listen close, you'll catch some Cebuano.) Coral Reefs in the Balance
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.