I spent the beginning of the week in Manila for our close-of-service medical visit where we submit blood and gut samples one last time to find out what all critters we have crawling around inside, what new ailments we've managed to pick up in our travels, and spend some time with the rest of the volunteers from our initial batch who will also be leaving shortly. At the end of 3 last days saying goodbyes, getting checked out, finalizing logistics for the trip home, I flew back into Leyte one last time. Over the past couple years, I figure I've made the return trip from Manila to our Island in the Visayas about 20 times and I'm blown away at how my perspective on the place has changed. When initially flying into Leyte in August of 2009, the place was exciting, almost overwhelmingly so, with lots of taxi drivers at the airport gates, yelling for us to take their particular vehicle, the smell of Leyte Copra Oil in the air, sun beating down on our heads. We were so disoriented. This last trip was different, I've gotten to know the lay of the land, and when we begin our descent, I can now pick out the little roads and houses of Babatngon, my site, as we swoop into Leyte. I can see Punta Hill, at the tip of town, flanked by a tight cluster of nipas and concrete houses, and I can make out Kilangawan Island where I have worked with the fisherfolks to make the fish cage and seaweed culture. The little buoys are too small to pick out on the shiny water, but I have come to peer every time over the busy jet engines on our descent to see the tiny nipa roof of the guardhouse on the water. It seems so insignificant, so infinitesimal on the monstrous expanse of water, but at the same time, I'm proud to have something to show on that expanse, some sort of proof that somebody came, and sweated with the people to try and make something work, make their lives a little easier.
I liken the cultural divide between Manila and my site in Babatngon, Leyte to the cultural divide that you would see between Millboro, Virginia, and New York City, New York. (For those who haven't been to Millboro, it's basically in the middle of forest, at the convergence of a couple roads that most people don't take unless they live, hunt, or fish there.) So, given the cultural divide, you usually need to take a day or so at site upon return from business in Manila resting, not interacting too much with folks, easing back into the swing of things. I think most of the volunteers would agree that this is a pretty good attack plan for re-acclimating. However, Thursday, my first day back from the trip to the city, I was just sitting around, French press with sub-par coffee in one hand, water filter in the other, when Mana Bea came up from downstairs and told me that I would be eating lunch with her family today. I tried for some clarification on the event but didn't get very far, and got a rough idea of where I was supposed to go at 11:45. As instructed, I got cleaned up and rode my bike up to the venue at 11:45 as promised. When I got there, I saw a huge banner mounted on bamboo poles above a big spread of local food that said, "Happy 75th Birthday, Mana Ester." I paid respects to the birthday girl herself then, dressed in bright colors, friendly, with reddened face, proof she had already been sipping on the tuba, as she came out of the house, confused as to why I was at her house (the family failed to tell her that they had invited me.) She definitely hadn't expected me to come, especially since we don't really know each other at all, but covered well, and led me by the forearm over to a table and put a couple beers in front of me, told me to, basically, stay put. I looked around and found myself flanked on both sides, in front, and behind by a bunch of old women, the cohort you would expect at the birthday for a 75-year-old Filipino lady.
I was very out of place. One of the few males at the event, her son who had come down to attend the event from Manila periodically came over to reprimand me for not drinking quickly enough, that the beers were getting warm. Well, I sat there for an hour or so, and finally Mana Bea, squealing children in tow, arrived. They acted surprised that I was already at the party, even though it was 1 pm at this point. 
I ate the birthday food, went and skipped flattened coral stones across the glassy smooth ocean with kids, and then quietly got on my bike and slipped out, those warm sweaty beers still full, waiting for me to drink them.
I liken the cultural divide between Manila and my site in Babatngon, Leyte to the cultural divide that you would see between Millboro, Virginia, and New York City, New York. (For those who haven't been to Millboro, it's basically in the middle of forest, at the convergence of a couple roads that most people don't take unless they live, hunt, or fish there.) So, given the cultural divide, you usually need to take a day or so at site upon return from business in Manila resting, not interacting too much with folks, easing back into the swing of things. I think most of the volunteers would agree that this is a pretty good attack plan for re-acclimating. However, Thursday, my first day back from the trip to the city, I was just sitting around, French press with sub-par coffee in one hand, water filter in the other, when Mana Bea came up from downstairs and told me that I would be eating lunch with her family today. I tried for some clarification on the event but didn't get very far, and got a rough idea of where I was supposed to go at 11:45. As instructed, I got cleaned up and rode my bike up to the venue at 11:45 as promised. When I got there, I saw a huge banner mounted on bamboo poles above a big spread of local food that said, "Happy 75th Birthday, Mana Ester." I paid respects to the birthday girl herself then, dressed in bright colors, friendly, with reddened face, proof she had already been sipping on the tuba, as she came out of the house, confused as to why I was at her house (the family failed to tell her that they had invited me.) She definitely hadn't expected me to come, especially since we don't really know each other at all, but covered well, and led me by the forearm over to a table and put a couple beers in front of me, told me to, basically, stay put. I looked around and found myself flanked on both sides, in front, and behind by a bunch of old women, the cohort you would expect at the birthday for a 75-year-old Filipino lady.
I was very out of place. One of the few males at the event, her son who had come down to attend the event from Manila periodically came over to reprimand me for not drinking quickly enough, that the beers were getting warm. Well, I sat there for an hour or so, and finally Mana Bea, squealing children in tow, arrived. They acted surprised that I was already at the party, even though it was 1 pm at this point. 
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