return to olongapo

There’s a beauty to going someplace new—someplace you don’t yet know that doesn’t know you, where anything can be.  But, there’s also something beautiful to returning someplace familiar where people know you, where people have shared moments of their lives with you and you with them. 

Olongapo has to be one of the worst cities you could imagine in the world.  Just think what would happen if you allowed thousands of, mostly young, military men desperate to escape conflict and in need of female companionship to lay out a city.  That’s what Olongapo is.  Since it’s creation is has grown and expanded without, it appears, a hint of urban planning. One club in top of the other for streets upon streets. Said streets are filled with so many exhaust pouring vehicles that within literally a few minutes of my arrival (while I was still on the bus, but it had open windows) my fingernails were filled with black something or another.  There is garbage everywhere and it’s impossible to escape the, often sour, sounds of videoke spilling from the grungy clubs through flimsy house walls into your space.  Girls are displayed on the street prepped for auction and the smell of cheap alcohol suffocates you anytime a man you’ve never met comes near you to serenade you with a song.  The city is hot, it’s all the cement and the lack of trees, and shit river reeks of a stench that accurately describes its title. 

Yet, there was something peaceful about being getting off the bus and fighting against the all too aggressive offers for a trike ride.  There was something safe about weaving through this ally and that to reach a jeepney stop.  There was something refreshing about driving down Magsaysay Ave and inhaling the amount of toxins a cigarette addict might ingest over a years time in only a matter of minutes.  I was back to the place that first welcomed me to, or forced me to accept, the Philippines. 

Before I went to my host families’ house I admit I ventured across the bridge into SBMA in order to get a vegetabe sandwhich.  It was worth the trek through the eerie establishment.  I was astonished how much has changed in just four months.  There is a market where the entrance to SBMA used to be. The old mall is torn down. A new mall is built. The lady I would give food every time I walked to SBMA was gone.  I met an American woman, my first one that isn’t in the peace corps or a missionary (actually she made me pretty upset cause she dropped 45 pesos in the jeepney behind the seat cushion and instead of trying to get it she said “don’t worry about it, it’s only some change.” That change could buy me lunch for a week at my site.  She then talked about how her husband gambles 10,000,000 pesos a day at the casino.  That’s more than I earn in a month and certainly more than many Filipinos make in a month, yet she had no sense of gratitude for the money or realization of what  they were taking for granted and throwing away). 

I then ventured to my house. I have no idea how many people live in Olongapo, but it’s a decent sized city.  By decent, I mean it’s pretty large.  The point is, as I was walking I ran into two people I knew.  It was so nice to see their faces and to see that they remembered me. then the pandasal lady I would always buy from saw me walk by and asked me a lot about my site and how I’m doing there and what not. It was such a good feeling to see these people again.

I continued walking and noticed more changes. There used to be a house next to ours. It was just a shanty, but still, someone lived there. It has been destroyed to build a large apartment complex.  This made me sad, but luckily later in the night I saw the little boy who used to live there.

Then I got into my house and was welcomed by my host sisters and host mom. I really missed them and couldn’t believe how nice it was to see them again.  I then was informed that my host mom is pregnant. 4 months.  That means right after I left.  They have asked me to be the godmother, so in October I’ll return for the baptism. I can’t believe it.  my host dad wanted to have a son but my host mom had said no more kids. I figured there would be no more kids. I never even imagined she would be pregnant the next time I saw her. They are all thrilled and have decided to name him (I don’t know what they’ll do if it’s a she) Renz. My host dad’s name is Randy and my host mom’s name is Liza, so they took the R and the Z to get Renz.  There are also two new families in my house, both of which are very friendly and comfortable people for me. My host dad now also sells French fries, my old room is empty.  And on a walk I saw the lady from the bridge now sleeps a few blocks away.  She was surrounded by cats as she was sleeping. It reminded me how incredible the relationships between animals and people are.

The biggest, and most heartbreaking, change for me is that one of the girls who stays in one of the other rooms is no longer here. If I remember correctly she is about 18.  Everyone is excited cause she got a job in Subic as a dancer.  Subic is not a good place for a girl as stunning and young as she is to be a dancer.  She apparently works at a place called the white rock and I’m not sure anyone realizes what she is doing there. They say she dances and models, but I’m afraid the truth isn’t as simple as that.   All I could imagine are all those gambling old drunken white men.  It makes me disgusted, and it makes me want to freeze my host sisters in their young ages where they still jump around and laugh and sing.  I pray that they will never be in the same position. 

I think I just wanted to write this because it’s all crazy. So much has changed and happened in such a short period of time. I feel I’m in a coma of time on Anda. I never know what is happening anywhere in the world, let alone anywhere else in the Philippines.  And not that the destruction of one mall and the creation of another is really all that noteworthy, but it makes me realize how much other things will probably change before I come back to the states.  Several friends have gotten married, and will continue to get married before I return. Babies will be born and little kids will grow up.  Things as simple as music will change.  The places that once looked familiar to me will be different. That’s a strange thing to realize. 

I get angry when people say they joined the peace corps cause they weren’t ready for real life yet.  I hate those words. Real life.  of course this is real life. it’s real life for so many people.  It’s not some fictitious place with imagined people and stories and events.  But, it’s true to an extent.  If real life means the life you can talk about with other people, the life you live and work through with other people, then this isn’t exactly real.  Actually, I’ll save this for a different post.

The other thing I realized is maybe being in a place you become immune to realizing the change around you.  maybe Olongapo changed a lot while I was here but because it happened day after day I didn’t notice it. it was subtle.  How much is happening around us everyday that we don’t notice, that we don’t take the time to observe?


but at the same time things are the same. Jo-el still sleeps under the stairs. the toilet still leaks all over the cr floor.  i still wake up to basketball games outside my house. i still sneak into mdonalds to steal their wifi.  


Time is in constant motion but always still

a little this and a little that

Mr. Benigno Simeon Aquino

15^th President of the Republic of the Philippines

Malacanang Palace

Dear President,

            I want to congratulate you sir because of your good performance as our president. Thank you sire for slowly changing the corrupt Philippines into a good one and a good place to live. I wrote this letter because I want to say my opinions and wishes not only for me, but also for the sake of everyone around me. 

            Sir, I want to tell you that my family is in a poor condition right now. My father doesn’t have a permanent job, and my mother is only a housewife who has a small sideline of making beads to earn money. I am the first child of them and I am doing bad in my studies because we don’t have much money to buy and pay my responsibilities and some fees in school.  in short, if possible sir, I wish every head of the family will have permanent jobs to support their families needs and to help their children go to school. I am indeed lucky because even if we don’t have money they are still capable of sending me to school.  Sir, I feel so much pity for the children I see in the busy cities here in Pangasinan. I wish education will be given to them. I wish there will be more teachers, or even volunteers, who will teach even the street children, and help them realize that there is still hope behind every suffering and loss.

            One more thing sir. I am already in high school, and I admit I have grown enough to understand these things. My father was nearly killed by our relative who came from Manila whom we have heard had been in jail before. I fear that he might do it again because he is an alcoholic, and he has done it before.  Another is, my faither is also a politician in our barangay and he always looks for the good things and not the bad things, just like what that man has done to him. I wish every prisoner, before being set free, must have education about what they will have to do after getting out. And also, to be a little more strict in releasing drugs and alcohol.

            Maybe this letter is only trash for the rich who can defend themselves from tehse things but for us, this is an important paper that must be heard and read by every man in the world.

            Thank you for reading my letter.

                                                Respectfully yours,

                                                Queenney Grace Ceduera

One day in class I asked my students to write letters to the president about issues they would like him to address.  President Aquino was elected last year and has symbolized hope for a large percentage of the Filipino population, much like the way Barak Obama does for so many Americans.  I’ve read that the Philippines is the most corrupt non-communist Asian country, and the decrease of that corruption has been portrayed as one of the many focuses of Aquinos’ term.  While many are convinced President Aquino has made giant strides forward in the fields of education and the elimination of corruption, the population seems to be getting anxious. Again, similar to the American population.  It is hard to completely transform a country overnight when so many of its systems have been in place since independence.  Most of my students voiced their frustration with his administration by asking questions such as, “what are you doing about the massacres in MIndinao?” “Why are there so many bus bombings and car jackings now?” “How come our parents don’t have jobs?” “My family is malnourished because the price of food is too high, please lower it,” “Please brings jobs to the Philippines because the OFW’s (Over Seas Foreign Workers) are being mistreated and some are even being killed in other countries.”

I think all of these questions and concerns are very important, as they are the questions and thoughts and words and concerns of Filipino people.  They are being written by the next generation of Filipino leaders.  And, these words display the hearts of the students I work with on a daily basis.  They bring up many important things I’ve wanted to share for a long time, but haven’t known where to begin.  This will be another long rant about this and that, but all issues very relevant to the future of the Philippines.

First, countless students mentioned the massacres and bombings.  The Filipino media is a powerful powerful device, especially for those people who don’t have access to the internet.  Every night the news, which is watched by everyone (if you’ve seen Slumdog Millionaire, think of the scene at the end of the movie scanning over various neighborhoods and homes throughout India), the rich and the poor, the villagers and the city dwellers, depicts bizarre and extreme stories.  There was a bus bombing last week. I still don’t know how many people were injured, but in comparison to some of the worlds’ violent conflicts it wasn’t an overwhelming number of people. I don’t mean to say each life isn’t valuable or that I condone bus bombing or think it’s not that big of a deal, but the way the story was shared  portrayed this one isolated event as if the state would fail within the next 24 hours and chaos would consume the streets of the entire country. 

I don’t’ know how to express my thoughts on this issue, and I don’t want to sound inconsiderate or harsh, but I’m going to attempt to say a few things nonetheless. I worry that my students are developing this image of the Philippines that suggest the country is hopeless and worse than any other country in the world, which is concerning.  During the same time of the bus bombing in Manila, North Africa began to crumble.  This was not an issue any of my students had any knowledge of.  I’m not undermining the significance and tragedy of bus bombings and terrorist activity in the south, BUT, if the Filipino youth grow up perceiving the problems of the Philippines to be out of control and impossible to prevent, if they think the entire country is facing the potential threat of bombs and killings, they will see little hope for the future, and thus little potential for their involvement in the improvement of the Philippines.  They know that they are the sons and daughters of rice farmers, they think their fates are limited, and now they are becoming fearful because of the media’s exploitation of a few isolated incidents of violence.  I think this is a dangerous equation.  What they know jades their ability to dream of a strong and successful future not only for themselves but for their country.  It sounds strange for me to be saying this because I’m not the biggest advocate of nationalism, but at the same time I tend to have communistic tendencies and believe the government should protect and care for its’ people, and similar to the purest form of democracy I feel the people should be the government. 

Moving on.  In regard to a government protecting and caring for its people, one of the biggest problems I see facing the Philippines is the combination of its’ education system and fledgling economy. A significant percentage of the money being earned by Filipinos each year is being earned abroad (I don’t remember the statistic).  These workers are referred to as OFW’s (Overseas Foreign Workers).  Many work in the Qatar, Dubai, Bahrain, Tapai, Hong Kong, Korea, Singapore, the U.S. and Canada.  A majority of these workers work as bar tenders, waiters/waitresses, or maids in various hotels.  In order to qualify for such a position one needs to have a college degree.  Some of these OFW’s have been educated in law and medicine and economics, yet there are no jobs for them here in the Philippines, so they find themselves sweeping hotel carpets in another country.  It is true that a waiter in the Middle East can make more money than a lawyer here in the Philippines.  Problem Number 1 with OFW’s: it creates a huge brain drain in the Philippines. I don’t mean to say that the people who are still here aren’t intelligent, but I mean to say that a significant number of Filipino college graduates end up leaving the country. 

This means there is no internal investment in the country, and the economy is completely reliant on remittances, which creates a very week system with no foundation for self-created evolution.  According to Aquino the Philippines is ranked 67^th on the list of world economies.  This includes the economies of failed and fledgling states.  Unless the Philippines starts providing incentives for people to stay here to work their entire economy is going to be in the hands of other countries, countries that don’t care about the well being of the Philippines.  It will also leave this physical country open for future control by economically stronger states and MNC’s, which, I fear, would create the bottom rung of the economic ladder—sweatshops and inhumane work conditions.  As far as I can perceive this will only further deteriorate the image the average Filipino has of himself/herself, which will continue the system of complacency and acceptance of injustice.  Problem Number 2: I’m fearful that a mentality of service will overcome the country.  While there is no problem with wanting to be hospitable and wanting to help other people, I worry that if an entire countries population find their identity in serving the richer, the more educated, the more powerful, the better, then this mindset will plague the nation until the point where few people view themselves as worthy and capable of education and economic gain and life saving health care.  They will see themselves as servants, and that will become their role in the world.  I think that once a group of people from such a mentality they are easily manipulated, exploited and oppressed and until their situations get unbearable little changes.  Then, when the breaking point has been reached there is often a mass violent reaction and the recovery process for a country after such a scenario is long and filled with a lot of space for more corruption and failure.  Now I don’t think the Philippines will undergo a violent revolution or coup anytime soon, but I do worry that the people will potentially be taken advantage of and will identify themselves as servants, thus dehumanizing themselves. 

Problem 3:  OFW’s make a lot of money by Filipino standards.  A lot.  They sacrifice a lot. They live in strange unfamiliar countries, risking violence and abuse, without seeing their families (something very important in Filipino culture) for potentially years at a time.  They work long hard hours and have little say in anything about their lives.  Most of their money, form what I’ve heard and observed, is sent home to families that then build imitations of Barbie dream mansions, curtains, cars, clothes, gadgets etc.  From what I’ve seen a lot of the families receiving such remittances don’t actually work. They don’t need to because they make more than enough money to live a nice life.  So, we have one person in another country slaving away, and then a family spending that hard earned money, but not pursuing higher education or working to get a job that might potentially strengthen the justice system of the country, or the medical care of those too poor to afford it, or the industry/economic prosperity of the country.  So much money seems to be wasted, and I try to remain culturally sensitive, but I can’t understand this mentality of not working while you are spending someone else’s money.  I guess that shows just how American I am, because the money isn’t one persons, as the family unit here is one.  Everything is shared.  And, I’ve never lived a life of poverty, I’ve never lived under a regime that sends thousands of people “missing,” I’ve never been a servant.  I’m sure if this is the life I had lived at one time I might also take the money, sit back and gamble all day on the balcony of my new house.  It’s a lifestyle that symbolizes freedom. I find this worrisome though for the future of the country.  If such a lifestyle is defined as freedom, then there will be little pressure on the government to give its’ people true freedom. 

I think education is power.  An educated population demands justice, demands freedom, demands truth, demands rights. Look at Iran and North Africa.  Aquino’s agenda targets education.  Currently the Philippines is one of three countries in the world with a 10 year public education system.  Most countries have a 12 year system.  Not only does this mean students graduate from high school at the young, and generally speaking still immature, age of 16 years old, but it also means that two years of curriculum is missing and/or condensed to fit into the shorter time frame.  Interestingly enough the minimum working age in the Philippines is 18 years, unless of course a person is working on his/her families’ farm or vending things on the street.  For people who can’t afford to go to college this leaves them without many options for two years.  That’s two years of no income, and two years of time to get lost in the system. 

Another interesting fact about the education system is that the Department of Education has declared no student can receive a grade lower than a 65% on any assignment or in any class.  This seems strange for a number of reasons.  1) Anything above a 50% is considered passing, and 2) most teachers, at least at the school I’m working at, won’t give a grade higher than a 95%.  This means students who work endless hours to perfect their work may end up receiving a grade just 30% higher than students who may never actually turn in an assignment.  In my mind this seems to create little incentive for students to work.  Similar to communism ( I really do love the system on paper, but history has shown us it’s a greatly flawed system).  Also, how does one determine if a student holding a 65% is holding that grade because he/she did no work, or because they did a lot of work and tried their hardest and that’s the passing grade they earned?  It seems to belittle the work of those who take their studies seriously, and it seems to belittle the students who do no work. If I was a student who did no work and earned a passing grade of 65%, I would feel like the educational system had no hope in me and just wanted me to move through the motions so they could spit me out sooner than later.  I would feel they wouldn’t have faith I would be capable of earning a grade for myself so they were “gifting” me with their pity.  This would make me discouraged and possibly even more apathetic. 

The point of this rant is to say Aquino has passed a bill authorizing a 12 year education plan.  It’s called K-12.  People have been debating the issue for a while.  The rich argue this is a great system, while the poor argue that they can’t afford two more years of school for their children so their children will need to drop out early, thus they will no longer have the ability to hold a high school diploma.  A lot of the parents here on Anda are those that fear the system will dig the pits of poverty even deeper for their families.  And, it’s probably true.  At least for a few generations.  School is expensive here, even public school.  The books and uniforms and project supplies need to be bought, but there are also payments in order to take an exam, there are payments for the physical maintenance of the school, all students pay in order for the school to send a select few high achieving students to various conferences in different places, and there are the random “donations” students are expected to pay for various events.  Parents are already struggling to keep the kids of the family who are attending school registered. 

While I have the advantage of having enough money for food and shelter and internet, a lot of people I live with do not.  While I can say, “hold on.  just wait. This will benefit your family and your country in the future,” most people can only say, “my family will have no future if we have no money to build a house safe enough to stand the typhoons,” or “we already go without the medicine or food we need. Two more years of high school for each of my children is too much for me to afford.”  Both they and I are living for the future, however when I envision my future I see myself years from now still without a family to worry about.  They see themselves struggling tomorrow to fight the cruel shackles of life with an entire family dependent on the success of their battles with typhoon after typhoon.  I believe in education and I believe the implementation of k-12 will greatly benefit the people of the Philippines, but who am I as the white American girl who’s leaving in a year and a half to tell my neighbors to increase their stakes in this gamble with fate they face on a daily basis? 

On paper everything is simple. It all makes sense.  In your head the world is clear.  You can theoretically lay it all out.  But, when it comes to real life and real peoples’ lives, the world becomes twisted, blurring all lines are pens have drawn.  I can’t say if I had a family I wouldn’t go abroad to work as a maid if I knew it would give my family the money they need to live a healthy, safe, and stable life—even if that meant as a lawyer or doctor I’d be neglecting the needs of my neighbors.  I can’t say if I were a typical Andanian parent I wouldn’t too be furious and fearful about the new K-12 program.  I think too often in the United States our universities act as bubbles segregating us from reality.  We read and write about real issues. We debate them over coffee and we watch documentaries showing us what’s beyond our walls.  But, there are some things academia doesn’t teach us.  For instance, it doesn’t teach us how to respond to a crying parent worn thin by poverty and a love for her children.  It doesn’t teach us how to hold hands with the victims of failed economies.  It doesn’t teach us it’s nearly impossible to tell people there is such a big vast world beyond a minor bombing in a way that doesn’t demean a persons’ concerns and feelings.  I have no answers, but I do have the words of another wise student I pray will hold onto her vision and passion no matter where her life sends her. 

To the Youth

By: Venus C. Orlando

Wake up young man and rise

There is much to do for the wise

Do not forego the precious chance

The gift of life comes only once.

Why do you quiver, why don’t you stand?

Everything around you is at your command

You are strong, articulate, and bright

Defend, protect, exercise your right.

Our country waits for you to create

Sculptures and paintings that are great

The best songs, poems, dramas to portray

Scientific inventions to play.

The nations and country’s needs are too many

Our people call for you to give

Honesty and loyalty to duty

A lean and happy life to live.

Wake up young man and rise

Who are you waiting for?

Your beloved country cries

Serve her forever more!

anger to hope i hope

***Warning: this is just a a typical kaitlin mcgarvey nonsensical angry/confused/hopefully hopeful but maybe just exhausted rant***

I don’t know how to start.  There’s a lot on my heart.  A lot my being is trying to understand and talk out.  When you are in a place that speaks a very different language than yours, both of which you’re regressing in, you realize sometimes life makes the most sense when words aren’t verbally spoken, but you also realize other times without anyone to ramble and rant and process with, pieces of the world fill you until there’s nowhere left for tomorrow to go.  And thus, we get pages of confused thoughts and feelings and words.  It’s funny though, because in order to help me figure out what words I’m struggling with internally, I turned on one of my favorite songs, “Kothbiro,” which is in a language I don’t speak, Swahili.  It brings clarity to the world and cleanses me of worry. 

And so I begin.

I’m a runner.  I think I’ve always ran.  Not physically jogging around the park or straining my knees on a treadmill, but I run and I don’t stop.  I like to think I’m always running to something, but in reality most of my life has been running away from things. I like to think I put on this facade of being afraid of nothing, but as everyone who knows me can surely tell, I’m afraid of everything real, everything true, everything that really matters.  I’m not afraid of death or being beat up or getting a disease or of spiders or of getting lost on a train in a new country. Those things mean nothing. People say the worst that can happen is death, but I’ve always thought death is sort of the nice easy way out of things.  I don’t mean that I think death is great and everyone should start killing other people so we can all go live in peace in some other world, but I mean when you see a person slowly starving to death or meet a person who has watched and participated in the killing of their family or hear the silence of a baby suffering of AIDS you almost wish death would come and free them from their suffering. And when you realize that you are too weak to help them escape their agony, you start to wonder why we were given life. the world becomes to much to bear, too real and harsh, and you think even if there is no life after this one, at least the suffering will also turn to dust and be scattered by the gracious wind. 

I lack strength, and this is one of my greatest fears. I also fear that I lack love. I fear I have no contribution to transforming the world’s hopes into realities.  And as my running has taken me to some of the most tragically beautiful places in the world I see, hear and feel things I know I can’t stop.  And so I run.  I convince myself that the more I run, the more knowledge and experience I’ll have to help someone somewhere in the world. 

I ran to the Philippines.  I am now here. I’ve reached the physical destination, but each day the emotional, mental and spiritual destination have yet to be realized. 

I’m in one of the most peaceful places I can imagine.  The Philippines struggles with corruption and an increasingly restless population and a plethora of other problems related to crime and economic crisis, however, Anda is an oasis of peace.  It’s a life I enjoy living, a life shared with people I enjoy living with. 

Even though I selfishly ran here for my own purposes of discovery or experience or whatever else it could be, it is the first time I feel I might be impacting a person or two.  A friend used to tell me to slow down and stop worrying about all the social and political problems of the world.  No one could change every corrupted man made system.  He told me to focus on the individuals, and take every smile and every word with a single person as a step towards changing the world, for it’s only through pure genuine human relationships that the world will be changed.  While I believed this statement in theory and told other people to live by a similar philosophy, the hypocritical part of myself told me I needed to end every war, every case of poverty, every disease, every moment of abuse. 

I don’t know why the world was created or why we are here. I don’t believe in religion, but I do believe in a divine presence, a supernatural creator of some sort.  Some call it God, others the Universe, others The Supernatural.  Whatever It is, I think It did create us for a purpose.  And that thought continues to wrestle with itself inside of me.  I get so angry at It so often.  The world is full of so much hatred and pain and anger and aggression and violence and injustice and greed and selfishness.  It’s a terrible place. I like to believe that this Divine Presence is more knowledgeable than any human being, and due to my Christian upbrining I think I’ve come to adopt the concept of an all-knowing Divine entity.  Nothing angers me more than this thought.  It’s a juvenile frustration, but I’ve never been able to move beyond the problem of evil.  How is it that an all knowing, all powerful, all present God could/would create such a world where She/He/It would know it was creating life only to be destroyed time after time again?  This struggle defeats me and more often than not leaves me with immense grief.  What are we supposed to do? What’s the purpose of all of this? If there’s something better after this, why not just fast-forward, why even have this world?  if the problems will only continue, and our work makes no headway, what’s the point? 

My host family noticed I’m thoroughly entertained by animals, so a few weeks ago they gave me a puppy.  As you would probably expect from a dog of mine, he’s a little handful.  He’s become a pretty tough little man, he has to be to survive, but he can’t sleep unless he’s snuggled in this bizarre contorted manner across my stomach and through my left arm.  He rests his heart right where my heart beats.  Intertwined together we sit under the stars like this for a while and when he is completely sound asleep I put him on his blanket so he can sleep for the night. 

One night as I was putting Todd to sleep I had a little epiphany. Not a huge discovery or anything, but something reaffirmed my belief that we were created to love each other.  We were created to connect and share life with other life.  I’ve been here for six months, and in those six months I can probably count the times I’ve had physical contact with another person on my right hand.  That’s, of course, excluding all the super awkward and uncomfortable touching of my love handles or non-existent butt form my co-workers, but it made me incredibly grateful for Todd.  Just having that physical contact with another living, breathing being makes me feel more whole, more complete.  I don’t know why the world is so terrible and messed up, but I do know we are here to share it with other living things.  We are here to feel each other’s pain and joy. We are here to support and love each other. And we are here to question and mourn and hate the injustice together. 

I started a writing club several weeks ago, and I was sure it would just be another one of my many failures in life. I was sure instead of creating an environment that would allow people to discover their love of writing; I would somehow instead make them resent writing, and thus their feelings and thoughts.  I was sure  students would stop coming after the first week or so.  A miracle has happened there is a huge group of students who seem to thrive off of this opportunity to write and express themselves every week.  I hold 5-6 hour long sessions a week, divided by class section, because there are too many students for me to work with in just one session. 

I’ve never been a mother, but I feel so connected to these students and so protective of them that my heart breaks and my heart rejoices on a daily basis.  I ran here having no idea what I was getting myself into, and I’m so grateful that this is where I found myself because the students I work with are absolutely amazing, and I so badly want to help them. Unfortunately, because I was running I fear that I’m not the right person for them. I’m not qualified and I don’t have the experience they could use to help them improve their school-work.  But, for some reason the students have started opening up to me. I’m so full of gratitude for their willingness to share their lives with me, but I’m ashamed to say such a thing because so many of them have so much suffering in their lives. 

Some of the best people in the world are some of my best friends, and they are working on a fundraiser to get money so we can get some books at my school.  I told my writing club about it and they wanted to write pieces that could contribute to the fundraisers.  There is one section of students several people at the school told me would be a waste of time to focus on for the club.  They told me these students wouldn’t take it seriously, and that there was no possibility of improvement for them.  I was working with them earlier this week, which will lead me to two stories.

The first:

I was explaining some of the editing I had done on a story written by one of the students. The story was about the lives of her grandparents and her parents.  When it is completely finished she told me I could share it with people in the United States so I’ll post it on here.  Until then, you’ll have to trust me when I say there is something about this story of her family that elicits such a strong emotional response that you don’t know what to do.  You want to heal the world, but you know you can’t, so you simply sit in awe of the courage and strength and resilience and desperation of her family.  The thing is it’s not a story that stands out from the other stories of students’ families.  It’s not an unfamiliar story for me. it’s the story of the family I’m living with and the story of my neighbors. It’s the story of your average Filipino family living in poverty.  I think that’s why it’s so profound. The words and the sentences are simple. Her English isn’t advanced enough for much more, but the sentences and words mimic the lives of her family. Short and sharp and predictable.  The story is all-too familiar and all-too real.  It is the story of people battling each day for survival. The desire for survival doesn’t come from an abundance of wealth that can be spent on travel and adventure and good food and technology and a safe house.  it comes from the desire for human connection and a desire for companionship. 

This same girl wrote me a thank you note for helping her gain strength as she’s dealing with a very very difficult home situation at the moment. She said she has been using writing to help her release her feelings, and she thanked me for telling her that her writing was good because she was always scared to write because she’s in the lowest section. She said it inspired her to think it might be possible to have a different life than the one she was before expecting to have.  I have no idea how this happened simply through the writing club, but I’ve never received a more meaningful thank you note. I was overcome with pride for her and her accomplishments and I was filled with anger towards life for hurting her in the ways it has.

The second:

In that same group, I have found that the girls are willing to make mistakes and experiment with their words. They are much more willing to write than the boys are, but the boys continue to come to every meeting.  I want the boys to start expressing themselves too, and I want them to gain confidence in their work. I decided to do a little experiment. Most boys here love violence. They love war and they love fighting.  I think war is just an “exotic” topic for them as they spend all their time fishing or in the rice fields.  It’s something “manly” and adventurous.  This kills me a little inside, but I decided it would be an opportunity to get the boys to write. 

I have the movie Blood Diamond on my computer, so on Monday I told them we would be watching a move about a war.  They were thrilled. I started the movie for them and they were mesmerized. They were impressed with the guns and the jeeps and the alcohol and drugs.  They would cheer at different points of brutality.  I then paused the movie and pulled out my map to show them the very real country where the war had taken place, and I told them the stories of the child soldiers I met and worked with in Uganda to give them perspective on the lives of the boys drinking and doing drugs in the movie. 

Now, before I had pressed play I was not entirely convinced this would work. I was fully aware that they might just think I endorsed such insane behavior, or that they still wouldn’t do the writing assignment at the end of the movie, or that they might start fighting more at school.  The negative possibilities were endless in my mind, but I also thought that it might possible compel them to write. 

Blood Diamond is a three hours movie, so on Monday I had to stop it after an hour and I told them that I wanted them to start writing about the war in Sierra Leone from the perspective of a child soldier.  I wanted them to explain what they felt and saw and tasted and heard. I wanted them to explain the things they did and didn’t do and the things they missed about life before war.  

The next day that group of boys came to me during their vacant to see if they could watch more of the movie even though it wasn’t our club meeting time. I put it on for them and this day explained the trade of conflict minerals, diamonds and oil.  I explained how developed countries and MNC’s sponsor these wars in countries very similar to the Philippines to become richer.  I talked about the current war in Congo and how countries just continue to turn a blind eye decade after decade.  The boys became solemn and quiet and were writing in their notebooks as they were watching.  I wasn’t sure if they were writing for the assignment I had given them or if they were doing hw for another class, but I just let them write. 

There was no more cheering, and there were a lot more questions after I stopped the movie on Tuesday.  I was worried that this might be too brutal or harsh for them, but I feel they’ll be okay in handling it. They’re about to graduate are seeking information about the world beyond Anda.  I’m also sure to follow every negative writing assignment with something more positive that way the negativity isn’t the only emotion being manifested through their words.  As they were walking out of the room they each came up to me and showed me what they had been writing.  Each of them had an entire notebook page written (I haven’t seen them write more than 5 sentences for any in class writing assignment, so this is huge). They told me they weren’t finished yet, but that they were working hard on ideas and that they were writing their own words/not copying (another huge success).  They said thank you for sharing with them about this war. I’ve never seen them act so mature and so responsible with their work. It’s as if me treating them as intelligent people who are able to hear and think about complicated issues despite their poor grades and school comprehension, completely transformed their attitudes towards themselves.  Keep in mind these same students spent todays’ class reading the poem humpty dumpty. I have no doubt if I was about to graduate high school and was treated like a child unable to comprehend real issues, I too would be discouraged and unmotivated.  

Today in class I gave my second year classes the option of two writing assignments.  The first was to write a mythical adventure about a hero who undergoes a personal transformation.  The second was to write a letter to the president about world issues they want they president to address.  I was sure most students would write the first option because they love fictional stories that involve magic and unkown creatures and power etc, but many students wrote the letter.  So many students wrote about poverty and asked the president to get more jobs for their parents and to lower the prices of food because their families are all malnourished. 

I feel like I live this blissful life here. I walk with the cariboua as the sun is setting, I find peace in the rice fields, I love the simple yet complex lifestyle.  But, the truth is I’m not living in poverty.  Not truly. Maybe compared to life in the United States, but not really compared to my neighbors.  I get to leave in two years.  I know every month that your tax dollars will be sent to feed me and pay for my rent.  Even though I have many moments of hunger I get enough calories, and if I really wanted to I could go to the market to get more food, and the peace corps sends me vitamins and minerals to supplement the ones my diet doesn’t have.  I’m spoiled. I go to school all day but when I come home I just have to grade papers and read and write and bathe and wash my clothes etc, but so many of my students have to take care of their siblings and work in the fields and do a plethora of other things necessary for survival. 

Poverty is a tragic thing, and it’s something that affects such a significant percentage of the world. I have many thoughts on this issue as I’m reading more and more books on economics, but that’s for another time. 

I guess I wrote all this to say I don’t understand life. I don’t understand why suffering exists, and why it exists on so many levels. I’m on this beautiful island where life is peaceful compared to war torn countries, but there is still great pain and great despair. There is hunger and there is poverty.  There is abuse and there is depression.  All of these things are interconnected just like all people are.  I think suffering is felt on different levels and a person suffering from poverty and malnutrition is affected more extremely by it than, say, someone like me, but I also believe that the suffering of a single person is felt by the whole world. As long as one person is hungry the world can’t reach its’ fullest potential, thus all life is affected.  Until we take the time to realize our humanity is the direct result of protecting the humanity of other people, we will never know really know why we are here on earth or what life means.  We will never understand the Cosmos, for God is most understood when move beyond ourselves and see the whole image of creation, when we realize how little and insignificant we are, but how vital each breath of every human being is to our enlightenment, to our purpose, to our communion. 

writing words

I tell my students to write. Write any words you know. Any words you see. Any words you feel.  Any words you smell and hear. Any words you don’t yet know.  “Just write. And be amazed by the intricacies of life your soul perceives.  Live in awe of the worlds your mind crafts. And most of all never stop writing. Your song needs to be written for the histories you will be creating.  Your words are the one thing no one can steal. They are the translation of your thoughts and revelations of truth.  Words resuscitate your lungs with air to breath, air to speak, air to think, air to love. Without words you are a robot forgetting the gift of humanity and the power you posses. Weave words through every ounce of your being until every heartbeat is a word forever engrained as a piece of your story.”  And then they write and they dance and they laugh and they cry and they dream and they fear and they grow angry and they desire and they struggle and they hope and they are blessed and they know and they question and they love.  I can only hope they will never forget their words, and I pray that in days yet to come they reread their stories and find themselves to be real.  Capable of transforming the world, they are real just as every person is real. 

And some say, “but ma’am, I don’t know how to write.”

And to them I ask, “what do you see outside?”

And one replies:

It’s a strange sky out there. The clouds are threatening rain. The brids are preparing for the storm. They are making noise. Warning noises.  They are flying for safety.

And another replies:

The sky is growling and dark, but we will be safe in here.  It’s beautiful when it storms because everything is silent before it gets loud.  And the leaves on the trees blow but they still stand tall and strong.  The birds are safe in the trees. 

“Do you like the storms?” I ask.

A student answers:

yes ma’am.  They are powerful and beautiful.  but sometimes they scare me because they are too powerful and they destroy my father’s crops.  And ma’am, it’s so sad when that happens because we have no money, and sometimes my brother’s and I have no lunch.  But the storms make my heart beat fast as if I’m in a race about to win.  And I like when my heart beats like that.

Another student says:

No, I do not like storms.  My grandmothers house was blown away in a storm and my grandfather is dead and she is too weak to build a new house.  Ma’am it is so sad.  But I guess I do like them sometimes. When they don’t ruin the houses.  I like them then because they water the fields and fill the wells.  That is a good thing ma’am. 

And some say, “ma’am hindi puede sumulat ako ng English.”

And I ask, “are you speaking right now?”

And they reply, “yes, ma’am.”

And I ask, “what are you speaking?”

And they reply, “tagalog.”

And I ask, “is tagalog a language?”

And they laugh, “of course ma’am.”

And I ask, “what are languages made of?”

“Words ma’am.”

“You say, words?”

“Yes, of course ma’am.”

“hmmm. So can you write words of the Filipino language?”

And they laugh again, “Ma’am, of course we can.”

“Sige.  Words are words. Every language has words, and every language needs to be spoken and honored and heard and written and expressed.  There is no hierarchy of language.  No language that should be heard more than others.  All language has value and all languages need to be celebrated.  Be proud of the words you have.  Make your own words.  Just use words and know that they are yours and they can be shared to help other people.”

And some say, “ma’am I don’t know the words in even Tagalog to say what I want to say.”

“do you dance?” I ask.

“I love to dance,” one responds.”

“do you sing?”

“yes ma’am. I am a very good singer.”

“do you watch the clouds float through the sky?”

“I do,” one hesitant student says.

“Do you cry?”

“No ma’am. Never.  But sometimes.  Only sometimes though. But mostly no,” and the class laughs.

“Do you laugh?”

“Always ma’am.”

“Do you dream in colors?”

“I like to dream ma’am.”

“Do you get scared or happy or sad or angry or filled with such a good or bad feeling that no words can describe it?”

“yes ma’am.  That’s what I mean. I can’t describe it.”

“But, you know you feel it?” I press.

“I think so.”

“I think you know so.  And that knowing is true. And that knowing needs to be felt. And that knowing is the greatest language you could ever hear.  It contains the most powerful words the world has ever known, because those are the words that compel action. Actions that sometimes hurt people and actions that sometimes strengthen people. Actions that dictate the events of the world.  Those are the words you must never forget.  Those are the words that you will be the first to hear, and the one to interpret their meaning. Those are the words that will determine what you do with your life and who you share your life with.”

The storm rolls in and the trees begin to chant. 

“What are the words of the trees right now?”

One student replies, “ they are waiting for a fight.  Ready to defend the birds against the wind.”

Another student says, “but that one over there is just standing straight and tall. Not blowing.  Just accepting the wind and rain.”

A different student rises to say .”I think that baby tree is crying because it is so small and weak and the storm seems so big.  But, it doesn’t know yet the storm will leave and it doesn’t see that it will be able to live through the storm.”

A student interjects, “I see a tree dancing ma’am! It’s happy. It’s singing and dancing and is showering in the rain. It looks so elegant and graceful.” 

“ma’am I’m sad for that tree,” a student says pointing to a tree affected by a parasite of some sort.”

Why?” I ask.

“It is mourning. It is being hurt in the wind and it isn’t strong enough to keep its’ leaves.  Its’ skin is falling off.  It is giving up. It is accepting death.”

“So, every tree is expressing different words right now?”

“Of course ma’am because no two trees are the same one tree.”

“And each of you hear the words of different trees?”

“Maybe ma’am.”

“Interesting.”

“What is interesting ma’am?”

“Do any two of you have the same words? The same stories?”

“No ma’am, we are not the same person as our other classmates,” they say as if this is a new and fragile discovery for me.

“So, what will happen if one of you doesn’t write your words? Or what happens if we only listen to the words from a few of you?”

“That would be sad ma’am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know ma’am.  It would just make my heart hurt.”

After a few seconds of silence a student stands to say, “it is sad like the kind of sad with no words.  How sad to not see one of the trees and never know the story.”

shantaram

I recently read the novel Shantaram.  I don’t know how to explain it any other way than saying so much of its words resonated deep within me.  I may have liked it so much because it described some places that I have seen, and a culture I’m progressively more and more interested in.  Or, maybe so many of the philosophies discussed are thoughts I’ve been having over the last few years but I’ve been unable to articulate them as eloquently as the author. It’s almost like he wrote about his life just so I would have the words to express my perceptions and beliefs.  Or, it’s even possible, that I just fell in love with the author and his courageous honesty.  He observes everything and notices every person with beautiful detail.  The moral of the story is, I highly recommend the book, but if you never get the chance to read it here are a few of the quotes that really struck me.

p.s. Shantaram means “Man of God’s peace.”

“The soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no color or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one.” 

“There’s a truth that’s deeper than experience. It’s beyond what we see, or even what we feel. It’s an order of truth that separates the profound from the merely clever, and the reality from the perception.  We’re helpless, usually, in the face of it; and the cost of knowing it, like the cost of knowing love, is sometimes greater than any heart would willingly pay.  It doesn’t always help us to love the world, but it does prevent us from hating the world. And the only way to know that truth is to share it, from heart to heart.”

 “Ask any man with a long enough experience of prisons, and he’ll tell you that all it takes to harden a man’s heart is a system of justice.”

“The truth is that an instant of real love, in the heart of anyone—the noblest man alive or the most wicked—has the whole purpose and process and meaning of life within the lotus fold s of its passion. The truth is that we are all, every one of us, every atom, every galaxy, and every particle of matter in the universe, moving toward God.”

“[true] justice is not only the way that we punish those who do wrong. It is also the way we try to save them.”

“The surest way to hurt someone you like, is to put all your trust in him.”

“Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope. Sometimes we cry with everything except tears. In the end that’s all there is: love and its duty, sorrow and its truth. In the end that’s all we have—to hold on tight until the dawn.”

“It’s forgiveness that makes us what we are. Without forgiveness, our species wouldn’t annihilate itself in endless retribution. Without forgiveness, there would be no history. Without that hope, there would be no art, for every work of art is in some way an act of forgiveness. Without htat dream, there would be no love, for every act of love is in some way a promise to forgive. We live on because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.”

“Prisons are the temples where devils learn to prey.  Every time we turn the key we twist the knife of fate, because every time we cage a man we close him in with hate.”

“Fear dries a man’s mouth, and hate strangles him.  That’s why hate has no great literature: real fear and real hate have no words.”

“Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they’re not alone and causing pain is how they grieve.”

“The worst things that people do to us always make us feel ashamed. The worst things that people do always strike at the part of us that wants to love the world. And a tiny part of the shame we feel, when we’re violated, is shame at being human.”

“We are never perfectly objective about anything, that is true, but we can be less objective, or we can be more objective.  And when we define good and evil on the basis of what we know—to be the best of our knowledge at a present time—we are being as objective as possible within the imperfect limits of our understanding.”

“At the moment, most of our ways of defining the unit of morality are similar in their intentions, but they differ in their details. So the priests of one nation bless their soldiers as they march to war, and the imams of another country bless their soldiers as they march out to meet them. And everybody who is involved in the killing says that he has God on his side.  There is no objective and universally acceptable definition of good and evil. And until we have one, we will go on justifying our own actions, while condemning the actions of others.” 

“Love goes on forever because love is born in the part of us that does not die.”

“Personality and personal identity are in some ways like co-ordinates on the street map drawn by our intersecting relationships. We know who we are and we define what we are by references to the people we love and our reasons for loving them.” 

“Tears begin in the heart, but some of us deny the heart so often, and for so long, that when it speaks we hear not one but a hundred sorrows in the heartbeat.  We know that crying is a good and natural thing.  we know that crying isn’t a weakness, but a kind of strength.  Still, the weeping rips us root by untangled root from the earth and we crash like fallen trees when we cry.” 

“You can’t kill love.  you can’t even kill it with hate.  You can kill in-love, and loving, and even loveliness. You can kill them all, or number them into dense, leaden regret, but you can’t kill love itself. Love is the passionate search for a truth other than your own, and once you feel it, honestly and completely, love is forever.  Every act of love, every moment of the heart reaching out, is a part of the universal good: it’s a part of God, or what we call God, and it can never die.”

 “When you know you’re going to die, there’s no comfort in cleverness. Genius is vain, and cleverness is hollow, at the end. The comfort that does come, if it comes at all, is that strangely marbled mix of time and place and feeling that we usually call wisdom.”

“There’s only courage and fear and love. And war kills them all, one by one.  Glory belongs to God, of course; that’s what the word [glory] really means. And you can’t serve God with a gun.”

“The cloak of the past is cut from patches of feeling, and sewn with rebus thread.  Most of the time, the best we can do is wrap it around ourselves for comfort or drag is behind us as we struggle to go on.  But everything has its cause and its meaning. Every life, every love, every action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance.”

“Nothing in any life, no matter how well or poorly lived, is wiser than failure or clearer than sorrow.”

“Every human heartbeat is a universe of possibilities.”

“For this is what we do. Put one foot forward and then the other. Lift our eyes to the snarl and smile of the world once more.  Think. Act. Feel. Add our little consequence to the tides of good and evil that flood and drain the world. Drag our shadowed crosses into the hope of another night. Push our brave hearts into the promise of a new day. With love: the passionate search for a truth other than our own. With longing, the pure, ineffable yearning to be saved. For so long as fate keeps waiting, we live on.  God help us. God forgive us. We live on.” 

funerals and social observations

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.