The Problem

After our vacation last week to Kuala Lumpur and the unexpected night aimlessly walking like a zombie through the Singapore Airport (long story), I made the seemingly 200-year leap back in time to Babatngon. It's easier now than in used to be to come back here after time away to other, more developed places. The more I get to know the people and places of Babatngon, the harder it is to categorize the place. It only 'felt' like the third world here when I didn't know Lolo Teting at the waiting shed, or little Joshua who never seems to tire of saying 'Hello Tito Peter!' over and over again, alliterating the consonants every time. It just feels like, deep breath… home..well, not HOME, home, but it feels like 'a' home. I've criticized the length of time of our service a lot, mainly because 2 years seems like too long a period for the vacation that some people see this service as, and too short to make a real difference in the lives of the people we are trying to help. However, I've come around to believing that 2 years is just right, long enough to make a lasting impression on the people here, get into a working rhythm, but short enough that you only go crazy so much. Although my bad balance and pointy nose will never blend in all the way, the fishermen that I work with every day have gotten over the fact that I'm always around. Their hyper vigilance at my every move has subsided, so that I can go off swimming, cleaning seaweeds or walking through the island jungle when there's a lull in the work. At times, I would like the attention, like when I sliced my finger on a machete sticking out of a tree the other day. (After I got the guys' attention, they brought a boat around and took me back to town where I ran to the rural health clinic to get bandaged.) Most times now, I can just sit and talk, or listen to the hum of voices, laughter, and work. Our senior member is Mano Manning, aged 77. He is constantly mumbling about something or other, and for the first few months of working with the men, I didn't pay him any mind. Then one day, he came up to me, talking, and I tried to hear him for the first time. He just kept mumbling in an English/Waray mix that I really didn't understand. At one point, I thought that I understood him to say 'Global Geopolitics.' I knew that couldn't be right, since Mano Manning has a 5^th-grade education, and, let's face it, we're in the middle of nowhere. When it was apparent that I wasn't getting whatever it was he was saying, Mano Manning hobbled slowly over to the shade of a banana tree where he had left his tattered Nike backpack with a Tupperware of rice. From it he took a plastic folder, and brought me the contents. He showed me a book. "The Iraq Report" – by somebody Hamilton and James Baker. I was dumbfounded, and just looked at Mano Manning who, unfazed by the look on my face continued mumbling about Weapons of Mass Destruction and troop surges and the like. I still don't know why Mano Manning cares about these things, or where he even got the book from. Since that day, we spend time discussing some of the larger issues in the world. The other fishermen are focused on the work at hand, with very little concern for other matters, at least as far as I can tell. I now try to be more in tune with Mano Manning, and more appreciative of his older perspective. Sometimes he just won't stop rambling, driving the other guys crazy with his chatter. They don't say anything to him, no matter how irritated they are, and maintain respect for him no matter what.

Today, while all the fishermen and I stood in a circle at 7 a.m. discussing purchasing more large bamboo from a local for the fish cages, I saw a sour look on Mano Mannings old face as he sat quietly talking to himself, hunched on the beach in the circle of men. While I talked business with the men, about how they need to speed up their work to adhere to the grant guidelines, the conversation got a little heated (Filipinos don't like being emphatically told to speed up work), and Mano Manning sat, slowly shaking his head. Mano Manning has been around for a while, and I thought that he probably could see a rift happening within the group that I just didn't pick up on. As the others continued talking, I walked over and sat beside Mano Manning, and asked him if there was a problem.

"Conflict," he said, concerned look on his face.

"What conflict is there? What is the problem, I would like to know." I pleaded in whispers so the others wouldn't hear while we both sat, hunched on the shoreline.

"Big problem between the two groups. May ada ang dako nga problema na (There is a big problem now)"

I was getting worried now, I really didn't want to have dissent among the members, at such a critical moment in the project, when we're almost done with the first big phase.

"Who are the two groups?" I asked in Waray Waray.

Mano Manning just looked down at the sand, shaking his head, and slowly continued, "China, invading Philippines waters, lots of Oil, big conflict. Navy warship there."

I suppressed a laugh of relief, nodded understandingly, rose to my feet and smiled. I took a step back from the crowd and just listened to the discussion, where to get bamboo, how many sheets of plywood we need, how many more kilos of nylon we need, all the while, Mano Manning stayed put, staring into the dark sand, slowly shaking his head.