When we first arrived in the Philippines we spent a week in an introductory training. A lot of volunteers talked to us about what we could expect as far as cultural integration etc. Without fail almost all mentioned how many weddings we would be going to. It’s now been several months and I have yet to go to a wedding, but I have been to numerous funerals. So many funerals. At least one or two a week. I’ve been in countries ravished by killing diseases like AIDS, TB, malaria or cholera, but my island doesn’t suffer from any of those, yet death is an ever present part of my life here.
I have yet to see a person cry at a funeral or viewing. As far as I have heard and observed most Filipinos don’t like to express emotion that makes them appear anything other than perfectly happy and content, but it still surprises me every time I arrive at a funeral. When a person dies his/her body is kept in the house for seven to ten days and guests can come pay their respects. Often during these times I try to sit back and observe, although I’m frequently given one of the chairs closest to the body as my skin color and nationality are held in high regard. I feel many times that I am the most expressively solemn, but you can always see in the eyes of the most immediate family member that their snack giving and their laughing doesn’t completely let them escape from their loss.
There’s so much I’m trying to learn and understand, but here are some of my observations up till this point in time.
The diet here is not particularly healthy, and by that I mean it’s terribly unhealthy. Diabetes, high blood, and heart disease seem to affect at least 1/3 of every family unit, and have also been the causes of too many of the funerals I’ve attended. People can’t afford medications and/or surgeries so there are few chances for improvement or even stabilization once a person has been diagnosed with one of these diseases.
Once a person dies, their body is sealed in a casket. The casket remains open for viewing but there is a layer of glass protecting the body, and all the caskets I have seen are white. The body is displayed in the main room of the house. There is a white alter-like thing that holds the casket and there are large candle sticks in front of the caskets with thick white candles. Behind the caskets are gold lamp posts, the kind of lamp posts you see in winter wonderland Christmas village sets, and below the alter-like stand is a carpet no matter if the floor is a mud floor or a tiled floor. On the open lid of the casket is the name of the deceased as well as the names of their children. These are usually printed from a computer and then cut out and pasted on colored paper. Across the top of the casket is a verse from the Bible printed and showcased in a similar manner, but in a larger and bolder font. There are a row of chairs facing the casket. Near the door way is a podium with a box for donations to help pay for funeral expenses as well as a board of some sort displaying the name, birth date, and the date of death of the deceased man or woman. Outside the entrance of the house are many more chairs for visitors.
Men usually sit and drink and gamble with the other men, while the women pass out snacks and sit and catch up on chika chika with each other. Sometimes there will be a videoke machine to occupy the children and drunk men. It seems there are a group of people that are always present (maybe closer family relatives) and then other people that just stop by to pay their respects. The people who stop by look at the casket, and when they look at the body beneath the glass they have a different expression than the people I’ve seen in the U.S. look at a body in the casket. It seems to have less grief and it seems that many people like to look to see how good or bad the body looks. It’s almost like an artifact in a museum (that’s just my read of the expressions) and then they leave the room and sit down and wait until the immediate family of the deceased brings them a snack. The snacks are usually Pop Cola, Fudgee Bars, Tang-like drinks in pouches, ice-cream, or other chip-like snacks. I have watched dozens of people come, look at the body, eat their snack, throw their wrappers on the floor or on an empty chair and then leave. I never see hugging or hear comments of support. The teachers at my school all go together to funerals that are for family members of a student or other teacher and when this happens the day is cut short so I hear comments of excitement that the work day will be shortened and afterwards I hear more commentary on the snacks provided by the family than on the concern for the family members. The family hosting the funeral/the family of the deceased is expected to clean and do all the dishes. Anytime I’ve offered help I’ve been told by non-family members that it’s the families job to do it.
I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. It’s just a different thing than I’m used to. Actually, many social interactions are very intriguing to me. For instance, a couple weeks ago I was told my host-dads sister would be coming by. Her first time to visit in many months. So I thought her and her family might spend the night or at least spend a couple hours here. My host mom and host sisters prepared a big marienda of pancit and all day we were waiting for them. When the sister arrived, her friends and family ate the pancit and then they left. They stayed for maybe thirty minutes after not seeing each other for several months, and it was the first time my host sisters met their new baby cousin. But, it’s not that the two families have a bad relationship, and my host family was very glad they stopped and they talked about how nice it was to see the sister. It’s just different than I’m used to.
Today was my first barangay fiesta. During a barangay fiesta you travel to the different houses in that barangay and they are supposed to feed you. each house makes a huge variety of different meats and you visit as many houses as you can in one day. I traveled around with my supervisor, and never did we ask how anyone was or have a conversation about anything other than the fiesta iself and the food. Again, it’s not bad, but it’s very different than the parties and family gatherings I’m used to.
Back, to the problem with Diabetes etc. I absolutely love the pastor’s family of my host family’s church. I feel very comfortable with them, and like my host family, they have welcomed me regardless of any of my weird American habits or bizarre personal characteristics. They are truly kind people who really care about the people in their lives. When I came back from a new years trip to bagio several people asked me how my trip was. I told everyone the same story. Two of my friends had dengue fever and one had hepatitis so we spent a lot of time in the hospital. Only three groups of people asked how they were doing: my host family, another family that I spend a lot of time with, and the pastor’s family. I think again it’s just part of the culture not to ask questions but I was surprised that no one else asked how they were doing considering both of those diseases are deadly. But, that level of intimacy, of knowing how the people of someone’s life are doing, demonstrates just how close I feel to this family.
Last night my host mom got a text from the pastor’s wife. I’ve helped with a few minor injuries (and by minor I mean really minor like wasp stings and burns and rashes) and small sicknesses for a few people, and somehow word made its’ way to the pastor. He has severe diabetes and was loosing feeling in his foot. It was greatly swollen and was difficult for him to walk on. Because he can’t afford the proper medical treatment (either insulin or the amputation to a few toes I’m sure he needs) he went to a “clinic” on my island and had a surgery performed by someone who isn’t really a doctor. The surgery made things worse and his foot is now terribly infected. The pain is too great to stand on, but he needs to stand on it for several hours each day. He is a school teacher and is required to go to school every day. If he misses a day he doesn’t get paid, and if he misses a day of pay he won’t be able to feed his family. So, without option, he stands on it, which only intensifies the problems.
Back to last night. My host mom got a text asking if there was anything I could do for it. I don’t have penicillin and I don’t have nearly enough knowledge to know how to handle the infection. If I were to make a guess I would say that he needs to have the foot reopened and have the infection cleaned up, but I don’t know. It was such a moment of helplessness. There is nothing I can do and day after day the people in his life watch his pain become greater and greater. I talked to his wife the other day and she said that today they would go to the nearest city and have a doctor look at it. I’m still waiting to hear what the doctor has to say. Maybe a surgery was performed, maybe a prescription was written, but I know that this won’t be the end of his problems concerning the medication he needs costs at least 8,000 pesos a month. When I heard this price I couldn’t believe it. this is more than a months salary for a majority of the people on my island. Sometimes the injustices of life seem overwhelming. Why is healthcare so expensive? Why do multinational corporations take advantage of the poor (research the importation of fatty processed foods from developed countries to developing countries as well as companies like DOLE and their influence on the nutrition of the countries they grow produce)? Why is it so difficult to teach that saving 5 pesos a day for an emergency medical fund instead of spending it on cookie crunch is a good decision for so many reasons? There are so many tragic things about so many of the systems we have established, and while the systems aren’t human the individuals who are affected by them are.
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