This week, I continued to get to know the people and places with whom I live in Babatngon. Sunday I went fishing with Jorge Pontillas, better known as Don Don. We hopped in a neighbor's boat, boat a liter coke bottle full of diesel, and set out with 2 pesos of hooks, 10 pesos of fishing line, and one squid. We didn't have much luck, but I'm getting better at finding rocks concave in the middle and thick on the ends to use as weights, and I'm learning how to keep throw my line with the flick of a wrist to make a cast of more than 10 feet, (they don't use fishing poles, just the line in your hand) I asked Don Don what would happen if I hooked a big fish, wouldn't it hurt my hands, the line tearing at flesh? Don Don replied, "Oo, bangin mga samad." (Yes, maybe multiple cuts." Well, I didn't get any cuts, we didn't have much luck at all except for my one fish, the most beautiful rainbow colored fish I've ever seen, the name of which I still don't know.
On Monday, I spent most of my time at the municipal office in the morning, before going to teach my science class at Juan S. Tismo National High School, the 'Orchid' section of 57 first-year high schoolers, hungry to learn. Although I like a lot of things about the work here, the class has to be the single most inspiring part of my day. There is always a smiling face, a furrowed brow trying to understand the mumbling gringo in front, someone squinting to understand my horrible handwriting on the board.
Tuesday, I went with a fellow volunteer and visitor from California back to Sohoton park. Only this time, we had time to go further past the cave, the the natural bridge, the likes of which I have never seen. It is incredible, and although I am a loyal Virginian, proud of our handsome Valleys and ancient forests, Natural Bridge south of Lexington doesn't hold a candle to this one. We swam in clear water, under the bridge of gnarled stalagtites and cave sparrow nests, the only three people there. It was truly a religious experience.
Wednesday started at 6:00 with my first noticible earthquake. It shook the house, cabinet doors opened, creaked, people downstairs shouted at the abruptness of it. It was really different from what I have ever felt before. After it was over, no one asked the specific magnitude, no one looked for structural damage, no one called family to check on their safety, they just went on about their day. It surprised me how little it affected others. I asked if they felt the earthquake, and some would look puzzled, try to remember, and say, "Oh, yes! I remember that!" Later on in the day, I took an impromptu hike with the municipal environmental planner to the mountain to look at a proposed site for a new mountain trail, funded by the German Technical Cooperation. We went through a few low-lying rice paddys, terraced on the low slopes, then through a banana plantation, sewn with pineapples underneath, walked past Guava and Santol trees, and then started up into the jungle, or the closest thing to it that I have ever seen. we walked past families harvesting coconuts and avocados, Santol fruit, and wood for cooking. The foliage was so thick that our leader, a local, no shoes or shirt, just jean shorts with Machete tied around his waist, would hoop! like an owl, and in the distance, we would hear a like reply, and round a bend to see a companion of his harvesting something else, for some other reason. At one point, it began to rain, soaking all of us through. In time to get back to my science class in the afternoon, I let our leader know that I would have to turn back, and he let out a hoop, and friends of his emerged from the foliage 20 yards away, and would be my escorts back down the mountain. One of the men, the one in front, carried an ancient .22 caliber, for harvesting salamanders, snakes, whatever else they could on their travels. The barrel was old as the hills, every bit of 50 years old, with a stock of familiar oak grain, (I have come to miss the tight weave of oak) and on the barrel, it said Fargo, North Dakota. We continued down, met a friend of his who had gotten stung several times while harvesting honey from wild bees, and I realized again, that there is much more to the Philippines than I have learned thus far.
Thursday was a somewhat normal day, except for the fact that, at the end of the day, I went searching for a barber, and asked for a recommendation from Mano Ted, the father downstairs at our rented residence. He referred me to a friend of his whom had obviously never dealt with facial hair before (filipinos don't have facial hair for the most part, and those who do, never have full beards), so the first move he made was to cut my sideburns, a clean shave down to my jaw. Now, this would not be an issue if I did not have a beard. So to make a long story short, I am sitting here in tacloban, writing this blog, with an odd mess of facial hair, my beard full except for between my jaws and top of my ear, nobody seems to care, since it looks no more odd to them than does a beard in the first place.
Friday, I conducted educational games with students from rural barangays, delivered some textbooks to another high school, and talked with the Parish priest about future projects with his Catholic High School. He says that although I am a protestant, he will still work with me...just as long as I don't support divorce. I thought that was fair.
I'm attaching some pictures of the week, hopefully they fill in some of the gaps where my explanation falls short.
No comments:
Post a Comment