My Foray into the Philippines: Pt. One
Arrival
The flight from Minneapolis to Tokyo was long and uneventful, which is the best one can expect really on a 12-hour flight. I was sequestered into the window seat, which is my least favorite seat considering my desire to move around and the awful natural urge to go to the bathroom (I like to remain hydrated!) At least it was the sweetest Japanese couple that put me there. I did not mind too much. They gave me a couple Japanese treats and even these cute little Hawaiian t-shirt toothpick holders as a parting gift. It was really cute. I guess I made a good impression with my smile and asking them how to say “thank you” in Japanese then actually using it with them. It always helps to try to identify with different cultures. The flight was almost completely restless. I slept maybe an hour, so I read a very good book, called “A Woman’s Journey Through the Philippines.” I will share some of her insights in later blog posts. I am thinking that I might write a book one day about this time in my life, but we shall see if I do anything that is book-worthy within the next five years. I hope so.
I remained in the Tokyo airport for two hours as I waited for the next flight to arrive. It is always interesting going to different airports; I like to look at the small nuances that exist, such as the change in language or the food that is offered at the various restaurants, even the bathrooms tend to change quite significantly depending on where you land. Tokyo’s bathrooms were equipped with bidets, although I did not avail myself of them since I did not really understand the directions. I did not want to be squirted where I shouldn’t be touched ☺ Even in France, I never tried them…they just seem a little strange to me despite the fact they are supposed to be more hygienic than any other method of cleaning oneself. Well, I will leave that method for others.
When I reached Manila, it was very late, nearing midnight and I was a little disoriented from the lack of sleep and the late hour. There is always a feeling of trepidation when I sit in front of the luggage carousel, wondering if my bags made it safely to my destination. I waited for what seemed forever, but was in reality only 20 minutes or so. I was continually comforted by the fact that there were many other passengers waiting for their bags. I felt so relieved when both arrived safely with no visible damages and tampering. Thank God!
Out into the unknown, I passed through customs, quickly and with no troubles. In Manila, they have an interesting exit system. I had to exit the airport following the signs for the letter of my last name. There were two ramps (one for the first half of the alphabet and the other for the second half) which people took to get to the person picking them up. I found my stepbrother, Erik, right away because he was the tallest person in the crowd, towering over the Filipinos by at least six inches. Erik flew into Manila on Tuesday, October 13th, while I was able to switch my flight to accommodate those who could not get to Manila to pick me up because of the landslides. He was blessed to be connected with a pastor in Manila who took care of him, also helping Erik to get to an orphanage in Lucena—south of Manila—where he stayed and volunteered for the week he spent waiting for me.
Mayette, the director of the Bible school in Baguio City found me. I noticed her, but I was unsure of whether it was the woman from the pictures I had seen or a lookalike, because honestly, at that point in time, all the Filipinos looked the same. She was looking for an American girl, and she was certainly right to look for a nationality and not a face since I was the only American on the flight from Tokyo to Manila. It is amazing how quickly one becomes a minority when one travels to a country in Asia, Africa or South America—the places where people no longer appear like European. Mayette’s sister took us to the bus station because Mayette wanted to travel immediately to Baguio and avoid any traffic jams that usually occur in the morning hours in Manila. We were able to get a very comfortable bus right away, the 1:15 am bus direct to Baguio City. It took us five hours to get to Baguio, which is a fairly large city, about 500,000 plus, and the gateway to the north of Luzon, the island where it is located.
I slept a couple hours on the air-conditioned bus, and was able to at least pay attention to the places we passed on our drive from the Victory Liner, equivalent of Greyhound in the U.S., bus station in downtown Baguio. The students had already eaten breakfast, so Mayette took us out to breakfast at none other than the 50’s Diner. What a hoot! There were pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Casablanca and other 50’s movies and music posters. I had oatmeal and coffee: a welcome sight after airplane food. I was told that Wednesday would be a rest day, so I took advantage of the opportunity and slept the whole day, refusing food and drink. I woke up at 9 pm, after sleeping soundly for 11 hours, but I told myself to go back to bed to avoid feeling the difference in time zones. You see, when you allow yourself to think about the time at home, it takes your body much longer to adjust. I let the real fatigue of travel sink in and went to sleep a few more hours, waking again to read a little before getting up before dawn to join the other students for their morning Bible devotion with one of the staff members.
I really like the school and its location away from the town. It is in Barangay Outlook Drive. Barangay (Brgy. for short) is the smallest governmental unit like a village in the U.S. where there is no post office, but there are some special governmental jurisdictions). Erik and I walked from the center of town back to the school, and it took us about one hour, passing many pretty parks and small forests, even the Baguio City botanical gardens. The streets are filled with vans and jeepneys that are small buses that are the main form of public transportation. The back door remains open, and there are two benches inside where the people sit. About 20 people fit in the jeepney comfortably; however, it is common for more people to squeeze in and even ride on the back outside of the vehicle. The road goes down steeply to the Bible school, which itself is built into the side of the hill area. Baguio City is located in the mountains, so the road are very much up and down, making a difficult time for the traffic that seems to manage well enough. I am always surprised by this fact, how beat-up vehicles can transport people and things so proficiently. I suppose they are only going about 30 miles an hour, but still, there is something to be said about their amazing capacity to keep going.
I have been given two weeks to adjust, after which I will start to teach Bible lessons, English lessons, and put together presentations from the students’ experiences and their involvement at the Bible school. I will get to use my interviewing skills and my talents as a researcher for this task. I am really excited for all three, but for now, I must allow myself to be served, which is a hard thing for me. I am used to serving everyone else, so it is difficult to watch the students clean and cook and pick up after my meals. I don’t do anything. They regard me as a guest teacher, who must be accorded respect. I want to serve them, which I will eventually do through my teaching and record keeping.
The Mission--- Nueva Ecija (Lupao and San Nicholas)
On Friday, we prepared ourselves to go out on our first mission. The students are all training to be pastors, church workers, or missionaries, which they have been doing for almost four months. A pastor in the Nueva Ecija province, which is southeast of Baguio City, asked the students to come and evangelize in his area, helping him to show a film called The Bridge to the local people who had never heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ before. The students prepared one drama and two songs to perform for the crowd that would gather. We were supposed to leave at 9 am, but did not leave until 1 pm because the pastor who was coming to pick us up was delayed by the typhoon, Ramil, that was wailing in our area. I read in the newspaper that Benguet, our province, was only under a “Storm Signal No. 1” meaning the primary and secondary schools were cancelled for the day, but the college was still open; seven other provinces were also under this same warning. The most northern province of Luzon was under No. 3 while five other northern provinces were under No. 2. I read that the San Roque Dam was preparing to release water to preempt the typhoon and prevent really severe flooding from occurring in the surrounding area.
The rain was pouring down, casting a grey fog over the whole region. We packed two vehicles full of our belongings and supplies for the weekend. The students went in the jeepney and the staff traveled in the van. We were told that we would be sleeping on floors and dealing with much more rural conditions than the comforts of the Bible school. I did not know what to expect but was ready for anything. When you tell yourself that you will be content in anything, the unknown is not so unpleasant.
The traveling was rough in the beginning. I have to say I was tense the first two hours because we were constantly gripped in the throws of the fog, threatening to overcome us. The rain was not so strong, but its effects were quite evident. We passed many places that had been ravaged by the last typhoon, Ketsana, and were being cleaned up by a government-employed disaster control agenc y. The roads were windy, and we even saw places where the road had fallen away. We could not see more than a yard in front of us, so the going was very slow. I kept praying for our safety, but I was calm and no one else seemed worried. Again, I think when you prepare yourself for whatever may come, even death, you are less likely to be so concerned it the imminent possibilities.
While going through the typhoon, Ramil, Mayette told us a story of a pastor who was recently killed on this road by a falling boulder that crushed him instantly and left his wife in critical condition. She told this story in a very Filipino fashion, laughing at the horrendous account. Filipinos laugh when there is nothing else to do, when life has gotten so tough that you can either cry and collapse or laugh and deal with it. I have decided to adopt this strategy. There is no sense in getting angry or depressed about things one cannot change. It is so much more productive and positive to laugh about it and move on.
Finally we moved through the typhoon on our way to Lupao, the first of two barangays that we would visit. We arrived a little after 5 pm, and the students immediately started to set up. We showed the film at a school, so there were kids all around. We had made treat baggies for them the night before, and they were so thrilled to get a snack of chips, cookies and candies. They had never seen Americans before, so Erik and I got a lot of attention. The kids would not stop staring at us and the older ones were brave enough to ask questions. I could not stop smiling, even when it hurt to continue to smile. They were so precious and so curious. I could only imagine being a little kid and seeing someone so foreign that you can’t stop looking at them because they are so unusual to the normal day-to-day occurrences. These were rural people, some of whom have never even traveled to a big city, much less seen people like us. What an interesting position to be in! I felt like an animal at a zoo. That’s why I don’t like zoos. I don’t like the concept of staring at something that is living and should be accorded its own privacy, but I was happy to oblige the kids. It was the only thing I could do while the students set-up and prepared to reach the people in a meaningful way¬¬—stand still and look pretty ☺
The pastor introduced us foreigners including the Vietnamese students. I told everyone why I was there: I said that I am here because I want to serve Jesus and be a part of the body of Christ in the Philippines, to give them encouragement and to share things from the American culture while learning things about the Filipino culture. I told them that my life is meaningful because of Jesus, that each day I wake up with a sense of purpose because I follow him and know that he is there to care for me and keep me from following after the shallow things of this world. Seeing all the people there and knowing that we were there to tell them that there is more than just the pain and problems of this world, that there is someone, Jesus, who loves them and wants to care for them and bring them into an eternal life with him, was such a blessing. Sure we offered them some diversion for the night, and we gave the kids a treat, making a good impression on them, but we were leaving them with so much more, and that is the hope for spiritual peace and hope in Jesus’ faithful love. There is nothing more concrete and important than that.
We were given great hospitality by a family in the brgy. that was also donating some of their land to build a church. It was a rice-farming family with larg e rice fields that are just about to be harvested. We ate late, being served snails from the river, rice, and a vegetable and chicken broth concoction. I tried the snails, but at 10 pm at night, they were not the most appetizing things I could think of. I indulged my hosts in trying one, but escaped from eating more, filling my plate with rice and the vegetable dish. I have amended my vegetarianism: I will eat dishes with vegetables and meat together, but I will not eat large pieces of meat or fish (which is unappetizing anyway because there are so many bones in them). This type of vegetarianism is very acceptable in every household because they do not cook with a lot of meat. Normally, there are a lot of vegetables with a small addition meat pieces, like chicken or beef. I saw some meals where there were large pieces of meat served on the side of a vegetable-based sauce for the rice. I have eaten more rice in one week than I ever ate in my whole 23 years in the states. It is kind of funny how rice is such a big part of their culinary customs. It made sense, though, that we had rice in this region where rice fields surrounded us as far as the eye could see. Talk about eating local! After dinner, we cleaned off the tables, then used them for beds ☺ I slept on a table for the night. I had a nice sleeping bag, so it was quite comfortable and probably good for realigning my back! I slept well, despite the mosquitoes and the fact that I was awoken by the sounds of singing voices and roosters at 4:45 am. I slept maybe five and a half hours and was not too ready to wake up. Instead of c ursing the singing students, I got up and started the day, but I did not join in ☺
The bathrooms are interesting. They are called CR’s after “comfort room.” I don’t know who named them, but they were sure minimalists. I went to one CR that was only a cement floor! I should have just gone in the bushes. I peed all over myself because the cement did nothing but repel the urine. Yuck! I am good about dealing with most things, but peeing on myself is one of those things I cannot easily tolerate. The other CR’s were more practical. There was a small porcelain bowl stuck in the cement, so I went in the bowl, then used a large water ladle to ladle water into the bowl for the “flush.” These CR’s were also where you took your showers. Now, the temperature was between 85 and 90 degrees, so I was happy to ladle cool water over myself. The same bucket full of water and the same ladle I used for the “flush” was what I used to bathe myself. I kind of liked it. It is a lot less wasteful than the way Americans take their showers. Gallons upon gallons of water for a 15-minute shower when you can get yourself clean with about three gallons of water and ten minutes in a cement CR! I don’t think these will catch on in the states, but maybe when I have a house, this is the method I will use. I hate the way we waste in America, without any thought towards conservation.
The next family we stayed provided nicer accommodations for us. I slept in a room, equipped with a fan, with the three other female staff members. Hien, the Vietnamese staff member, and I shared the bamboo bed, and the two others opted for the floor. They lived close to the church, where we had all our meals. The church members fed us so well, and they offered us such wonderful hospitality. I am always blessed when I travel to poor areas of the world because they are so willing to give whatever they have to make their guests feel comfortable. This is on e grand difference between the U.S. and the developing world: we are so unwilling to accommodate strangers. I have learned hospitality from the poor. Give the best for your guests, sacrificing what you normally have in order to provide for others.
Some of the female students and I took a ride on a trailer connected to an interesting looking tractor. One of the male students drove the diesel-fueled contraption that had a rudimentary method of steering and only three wheels on the main body. It was so much fun even though the fumes from the diesel were pretty strong. I got to see the countryside and all the rice harvesters at work. They actually dried the rice out in the road. On one side of the road they spread out their rice, and on the other side of the road, the vehicles passed; however, the vehicles would ride over the rice when they needed to pass. I thought that was the strangest thing that the harvesters would dry their rice in such an inopportune place. I suppose, though, the cement road is good for reflecting the sun. I also saw rice harvesters dry the rice on an abandoned basketball court near an empty school building. This was a little more practical and afforded the workers with more space to work. I loved watching them work; they are such hard workers, moving the rice around in the sun, scraping and gathering, then placing the dried rice back into the gunny sacks and sewing them shut. Apparently, they watch the rice market very closely and will sell the rice bit by bit according to the highest price they can get.
The pastor was such an inspiration; he tirelessly serves the Lord, serving the people and praying for them ceaselessly. He and his wife, also a pastor and leader of the children’s ministry, are seeking only the spiritual fulfillment of the people can they reach. It was refreshing to be with two people who had no desire for earthly comforts, serving a higher purpose. I learned a lot from them and hope to emulate them as I continue in the Philippines and beyond.
The flight from Minneapolis to Tokyo was long and uneventful, which is the best one can expect really on a 12-hour flight. I was sequestered into the window seat, which is my least favorite seat considering my desire to move around and the awful natural urge to go to the bathroom (I like to remain hydrated!) At least it was the sweetest Japanese couple that put me there. I did not mind too much. They gave me a couple Japanese treats and even these cute little Hawaiian t-shirt toothpick holders as a parting gift. It was really cute. I guess I made a good impression with my smile and asking them how to say “thank you” in Japanese then actually using it with them. It always helps to try to identify with different cultures. The flight was almost completely restless. I slept maybe an hour, so I read a very good book, called “A Woman’s Journey Through the Philippines.” I will share some of her insights in later blog posts. I am thinking that I might write a book one day about this time in my life, but we shall see if I do anything that is book-worthy within the next five years. I hope so.
I remained in the Tokyo airport for two hours as I waited for the next flight to arrive. It is always interesting going to different airports; I like to look at the small nuances that exist, such as the change in language or the food that is offered at the various restaurants, even the bathrooms tend to change quite significantly depending on where you land. Tokyo’s bathrooms were equipped with bidets, although I did not avail myself of them since I did not really understand the directions. I did not want to be squirted where I shouldn’t be touched ☺ Even in France, I never tried them…they just seem a little strange to me despite the fact they are supposed to be more hygienic than any other method of cleaning oneself. Well, I will leave that method for others.
When I reached Manila, it was very late, nearing midnight and I was a little disoriented from the lack of sleep and the late hour. There is always a feeling of trepidation when I sit in front of the luggage carousel, wondering if my bags made it safely to my destination. I waited for what seemed forever, but was in reality only 20 minutes or so. I was continually comforted by the fact that there were many other passengers waiting for their bags. I felt so relieved when both arrived safely with no visible damages and tampering. Thank God!
Out into the unknown, I passed through customs, quickly and with no troubles. In Manila, they have an interesting exit system. I had to exit the airport following the signs for the letter of my last name. There were two ramps (one for the first half of the alphabet and the other for the second half) which people took to get to the person picking them up. I found my stepbrother, Erik, right away because he was the tallest person in the crowd, towering over the Filipinos by at least six inches. Erik flew into Manila on Tuesday, October 13th, while I was able to switch my flight to accommodate those who could not get to Manila to pick me up because of the landslides. He was blessed to be connected with a pastor in Manila who took care of him, also helping Erik to get to an orphanage in Lucena—south of Manila—where he stayed and volunteered for the week he spent waiting for me.
Mayette, the director of the Bible school in Baguio City found me. I noticed her, but I was unsure of whether it was the woman from the pictures I had seen or a lookalike, because honestly, at that point in time, all the Filipinos looked the same. She was looking for an American girl, and she was certainly right to look for a nationality and not a face since I was the only American on the flight from Tokyo to Manila. It is amazing how quickly one becomes a minority when one travels to a country in Asia, Africa or South America—the places where people no longer appear like European. Mayette’s sister took us to the bus station because Mayette wanted to travel immediately to Baguio and avoid any traffic jams that usually occur in the morning hours in Manila. We were able to get a very comfortable bus right away, the 1:15 am bus direct to Baguio City. It took us five hours to get to Baguio, which is a fairly large city, about 500,000 plus, and the gateway to the north of Luzon, the island where it is located.
I slept a couple hours on the air-conditioned bus, and was able to at least pay attention to the places we passed on our drive from the Victory Liner, equivalent of Greyhound in the U.S., bus station in downtown Baguio. The students had already eaten breakfast, so Mayette took us out to breakfast at none other than the 50’s Diner. What a hoot! There were pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Casablanca and other 50’s movies and music posters. I had oatmeal and coffee: a welcome sight after airplane food. I was told that Wednesday would be a rest day, so I took advantage of the opportunity and slept the whole day, refusing food and drink. I woke up at 9 pm, after sleeping soundly for 11 hours, but I told myself to go back to bed to avoid feeling the difference in time zones. You see, when you allow yourself to think about the time at home, it takes your body much longer to adjust. I let the real fatigue of travel sink in and went to sleep a few more hours, waking again to read a little before getting up before dawn to join the other students for their morning Bible devotion with one of the staff members.
I really like the school and its location away from the town. It is in Barangay Outlook Drive. Barangay (Brgy. for short) is the smallest governmental unit like a village in the U.S. where there is no post office, but there are some special governmental jurisdictions). Erik and I walked from the center of town back to the school, and it took us about one hour, passing many pretty parks and small forests, even the Baguio City botanical gardens. The streets are filled with vans and jeepneys that are small buses that are the main form of public transportation. The back door remains open, and there are two benches inside where the people sit. About 20 people fit in the jeepney comfortably; however, it is common for more people to squeeze in and even ride on the back outside of the vehicle. The road goes down steeply to the Bible school, which itself is built into the side of the hill area. Baguio City is located in the mountains, so the road are very much up and down, making a difficult time for the traffic that seems to manage well enough. I am always surprised by this fact, how beat-up vehicles can transport people and things so proficiently. I suppose they are only going about 30 miles an hour, but still, there is something to be said about their amazing capacity to keep going.
I have been given two weeks to adjust, after which I will start to teach Bible lessons, English lessons, and put together presentations from the students’ experiences and their involvement at the Bible school. I will get to use my interviewing skills and my talents as a researcher for this task. I am really excited for all three, but for now, I must allow myself to be served, which is a hard thing for me. I am used to serving everyone else, so it is difficult to watch the students clean and cook and pick up after my meals. I don’t do anything. They regard me as a guest teacher, who must be accorded respect. I want to serve them, which I will eventually do through my teaching and record keeping.
The Mission--- Nueva Ecija (Lupao and San Nicholas)
On Friday, we prepared ourselves to go out on our first mission. The students are all training to be pastors, church workers, or missionaries, which they have been doing for almost four months. A pastor in the Nueva Ecija province, which is southeast of Baguio City, asked the students to come and evangelize in his area, helping him to show a film called The Bridge to the local people who had never heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ before. The students prepared one drama and two songs to perform for the crowd that would gather. We were supposed to leave at 9 am, but did not leave until 1 pm because the pastor who was coming to pick us up was delayed by the typhoon, Ramil, that was wailing in our area. I read in the newspaper that Benguet, our province, was only under a “Storm Signal No. 1” meaning the primary and secondary schools were cancelled for the day, but the college was still open; seven other provinces were also under this same warning. The most northern province of Luzon was under No. 3 while five other northern provinces were under No. 2. I read that the San Roque Dam was preparing to release water to preempt the typhoon and prevent really severe flooding from occurring in the surrounding area.
The rain was pouring down, casting a grey fog over the whole region. We packed two vehicles full of our belongings and supplies for the weekend. The students went in the jeepney and the staff traveled in the van. We were told that we would be sleeping on floors and dealing with much more rural conditions than the comforts of the Bible school. I did not know what to expect but was ready for anything. When you tell yourself that you will be content in anything, the unknown is not so unpleasant.
The traveling was rough in the beginning. I have to say I was tense the first two hours because we were constantly gripped in the throws of the fog, threatening to overcome us. The rain was not so strong, but its effects were quite evident. We passed many places that had been ravaged by the last typhoon, Ketsana, and were being cleaned up by a government-employed disaster control agenc y. The roads were windy, and we even saw places where the road had fallen away. We could not see more than a yard in front of us, so the going was very slow. I kept praying for our safety, but I was calm and no one else seemed worried. Again, I think when you prepare yourself for whatever may come, even death, you are less likely to be so concerned it the imminent possibilities.
While going through the typhoon, Ramil, Mayette told us a story of a pastor who was recently killed on this road by a falling boulder that crushed him instantly and left his wife in critical condition. She told this story in a very Filipino fashion, laughing at the horrendous account. Filipinos laugh when there is nothing else to do, when life has gotten so tough that you can either cry and collapse or laugh and deal with it. I have decided to adopt this strategy. There is no sense in getting angry or depressed about things one cannot change. It is so much more productive and positive to laugh about it and move on.
Finally we moved through the typhoon on our way to Lupao, the first of two barangays that we would visit. We arrived a little after 5 pm, and the students immediately started to set up. We showed the film at a school, so there were kids all around. We had made treat baggies for them the night before, and they were so thrilled to get a snack of chips, cookies and candies. They had never seen Americans before, so Erik and I got a lot of attention. The kids would not stop staring at us and the older ones were brave enough to ask questions. I could not stop smiling, even when it hurt to continue to smile. They were so precious and so curious. I could only imagine being a little kid and seeing someone so foreign that you can’t stop looking at them because they are so unusual to the normal day-to-day occurrences. These were rural people, some of whom have never even traveled to a big city, much less seen people like us. What an interesting position to be in! I felt like an animal at a zoo. That’s why I don’t like zoos. I don’t like the concept of staring at something that is living and should be accorded its own privacy, but I was happy to oblige the kids. It was the only thing I could do while the students set-up and prepared to reach the people in a meaningful way¬¬—stand still and look pretty ☺
The pastor introduced us foreigners including the Vietnamese students. I told everyone why I was there: I said that I am here because I want to serve Jesus and be a part of the body of Christ in the Philippines, to give them encouragement and to share things from the American culture while learning things about the Filipino culture. I told them that my life is meaningful because of Jesus, that each day I wake up with a sense of purpose because I follow him and know that he is there to care for me and keep me from following after the shallow things of this world. Seeing all the people there and knowing that we were there to tell them that there is more than just the pain and problems of this world, that there is someone, Jesus, who loves them and wants to care for them and bring them into an eternal life with him, was such a blessing. Sure we offered them some diversion for the night, and we gave the kids a treat, making a good impression on them, but we were leaving them with so much more, and that is the hope for spiritual peace and hope in Jesus’ faithful love. There is nothing more concrete and important than that.
We were given great hospitality by a family in the brgy. that was also donating some of their land to build a church. It was a rice-farming family with larg e rice fields that are just about to be harvested. We ate late, being served snails from the river, rice, and a vegetable and chicken broth concoction. I tried the snails, but at 10 pm at night, they were not the most appetizing things I could think of. I indulged my hosts in trying one, but escaped from eating more, filling my plate with rice and the vegetable dish. I have amended my vegetarianism: I will eat dishes with vegetables and meat together, but I will not eat large pieces of meat or fish (which is unappetizing anyway because there are so many bones in them). This type of vegetarianism is very acceptable in every household because they do not cook with a lot of meat. Normally, there are a lot of vegetables with a small addition meat pieces, like chicken or beef. I saw some meals where there were large pieces of meat served on the side of a vegetable-based sauce for the rice. I have eaten more rice in one week than I ever ate in my whole 23 years in the states. It is kind of funny how rice is such a big part of their culinary customs. It made sense, though, that we had rice in this region where rice fields surrounded us as far as the eye could see. Talk about eating local! After dinner, we cleaned off the tables, then used them for beds ☺ I slept on a table for the night. I had a nice sleeping bag, so it was quite comfortable and probably good for realigning my back! I slept well, despite the mosquitoes and the fact that I was awoken by the sounds of singing voices and roosters at 4:45 am. I slept maybe five and a half hours and was not too ready to wake up. Instead of c ursing the singing students, I got up and started the day, but I did not join in ☺
The bathrooms are interesting. They are called CR’s after “comfort room.” I don’t know who named them, but they were sure minimalists. I went to one CR that was only a cement floor! I should have just gone in the bushes. I peed all over myself because the cement did nothing but repel the urine. Yuck! I am good about dealing with most things, but peeing on myself is one of those things I cannot easily tolerate. The other CR’s were more practical. There was a small porcelain bowl stuck in the cement, so I went in the bowl, then used a large water ladle to ladle water into the bowl for the “flush.” These CR’s were also where you took your showers. Now, the temperature was between 85 and 90 degrees, so I was happy to ladle cool water over myself. The same bucket full of water and the same ladle I used for the “flush” was what I used to bathe myself. I kind of liked it. It is a lot less wasteful than the way Americans take their showers. Gallons upon gallons of water for a 15-minute shower when you can get yourself clean with about three gallons of water and ten minutes in a cement CR! I don’t think these will catch on in the states, but maybe when I have a house, this is the method I will use. I hate the way we waste in America, without any thought towards conservation.
The next family we stayed provided nicer accommodations for us. I slept in a room, equipped with a fan, with the three other female staff members. Hien, the Vietnamese staff member, and I shared the bamboo bed, and the two others opted for the floor. They lived close to the church, where we had all our meals. The church members fed us so well, and they offered us such wonderful hospitality. I am always blessed when I travel to poor areas of the world because they are so willing to give whatever they have to make their guests feel comfortable. This is on e grand difference between the U.S. and the developing world: we are so unwilling to accommodate strangers. I have learned hospitality from the poor. Give the best for your guests, sacrificing what you normally have in order to provide for others.
Some of the female students and I took a ride on a trailer connected to an interesting looking tractor. One of the male students drove the diesel-fueled contraption that had a rudimentary method of steering and only three wheels on the main body. It was so much fun even though the fumes from the diesel were pretty strong. I got to see the countryside and all the rice harvesters at work. They actually dried the rice out in the road. On one side of the road they spread out their rice, and on the other side of the road, the vehicles passed; however, the vehicles would ride over the rice when they needed to pass. I thought that was the strangest thing that the harvesters would dry their rice in such an inopportune place. I suppose, though, the cement road is good for reflecting the sun. I also saw rice harvesters dry the rice on an abandoned basketball court near an empty school building. This was a little more practical and afforded the workers with more space to work. I loved watching them work; they are such hard workers, moving the rice around in the sun, scraping and gathering, then placing the dried rice back into the gunny sacks and sewing them shut. Apparently, they watch the rice market very closely and will sell the rice bit by bit according to the highest price they can get.
The pastor was such an inspiration; he tirelessly serves the Lord, serving the people and praying for them ceaselessly. He and his wife, also a pastor and leader of the children’s ministry, are seeking only the spiritual fulfillment of the people can they reach. It was refreshing to be with two people who had no desire for earthly comforts, serving a higher purpose. I learned a lot from them and hope to emulate them as I continue in the Philippines and beyond.
Comments