Abstract: New Methodology for Eradication of Closet Room Dilemmas in Developing Nation, Barlow P.H. et. al.

In addition to leaving the heat, the aggravating rainstorms that get your clean laundry wet, the periodic blackouts, and sketchy public transportation, in about 8 weeks I'll be leaving a non-functional toilet behind that has plagued me for 2 years now. Indoor plumbing is less than dependable here in the Philippines, and about 80 percent of the public establishments still have toilets that you have to flush with a bucket of water, not with a handy little lever as we are accustomed to in the developed world. Whether you are in a hospital or a coffee shop, restrooms will have A) no toilet paper, B) a bucket of water and C) a big dipper to wash off your you-know-what when you get done with you-know-what.

Anyways, I would love to be blessed with that situation at home, but instead, we have a toilet that cannot even be flushed with a bucket. That's right, every single trip to the bathroom, you have to plunge everything away. I don't understand it, it's like they put a 1-inch pipe on the bottom of a toilet, like anything would go down that, and then, to top it off, they encased all of the pipes in concrete so that even if you wanted to fix something, there is little chance that you ever could. I'm serious, not embellishing this situation one single bit.

I broke the plunger about 5 months ago. Since then, not being able to plunge directly with the jagged broken plastic end of the apparatus, I have been using a wooden spoon over the top, to dissipate the force of the broken handle and make it easier to use, since I can never remember to just buy another plunger at the market, what with all the people looking at me and asking me, "Sir, do you want Bananas?" or "Sir, do you want fresh fish?" or, "Where are you going, Sir?" or "American!" or "Hey, Joe!" I usually find that no matter how long, the market experience has taken long enough, and I hurry back to Bag End where the hobbits hide away waiting for another adventure.

Moving on, I remembered to buy a plunger today. It's a locally made plunger, from tire rubber and with a wooden handle. It cost me 70 pesos, (I bargained it down from 75.) It's a good plunger. Now, instead of broad, decisive blows to the toilet bowl, I have been utilizing the rescue breathing ratio of 5 soft blows and then I step away for 3 seconds and listen for breathing. It's been working so far and I think that I might have a system now to last me for my final 8 weeks of dealing with my irritable toilet.

Fish!!

If you have followed this blog in the past, you will have seen several posts about the Integrated Aquaculture Project here that has occupied most of my working time for the past year or so. It's a project where we are growing seaweeds in concert with Bangus Fish, the Philippine national fish, to generate the livelihood for 35 families in the coastal area here as well as improve understanding and enforcement of local environmental protection laws for a marine protected area. Seaweeds filter water; they utilize nutrients like nitrogen and phosphorus to grow carrageenan, an important cash crop the world over. It's known in the environmental field as a bio filter, one of the things that yield a double return, cleaning the environment while producing a useful material. Carrageenan, as I've mentioned here before, is used in laboratory supplies, as well as jelly, Jell-O, toothpaste and many other vitally important products. We can sell seaweed at a local factory, where they pay a base price for the dried product, the profit which is then split up and given back to association members for working every day to clean and harvest the seaweeds. Thus far, the fishermen have made around 8000 pesos ($175) from the seaweed harvests and the stuff is still growing strong. The seaweed is a new idea to most of the members who consider themselves fishermen first and foremost, and farmers of this slippery, slimy stuff second. Despite their reservations, the men have gotten into the habit of going to the ocean every day and shaking algae and dirt off of the seaweed, trimming it, and drying the harvested pieces. At times it has been hard, keeping these men interested in a project with seaweed that they never really asked for. At the outset of this project, I promised the men that I would find them funding for a fishcage project, (something more of the cultural norm in these parts, a much more tangible project) if they would be willing to try growing seaweeds, a lower return, more environmentally-friendly crop. They obliged and ever since, we have been working the seaweeds, waiting with baited breath for the arrival of their hallowed fish, the 'real' livelihood project.

 

This past week, the project finally came together in its entirety. After lots of heated texts and rousing speeches about fortitude and project goals by the resident persistent American (me), the municipal dump truck showed up Wednesday with hundreds of bags filled with little fish fry from the local nursery. In all, we received 5000 little Bangus fingerlings and now the 35 fisherfolk association members are beneficiaries of a 'legitimate' livelihood project, raising fish. They are changed men, what can I say. There are certain cultural litmus tests that have to be passed for the members to feel real pride in this project, I've found. One test is the association boat. For two months we borrowed boats, used private boats, even paddled out to the seaweed project to work, but once we bought an association boat, members were changed. I found that here, to be a bonafide association, you have to have your own boat. That makes you legit. Period. I don't know how to explain it, but there is a palpable change in the men since we have gotten an association boat, it seems to give the group a common, tangible bond that they didn't have before. The fish cage is the same. The members would be willing to work on anything that brings profit, but when they are raising fish, a crop they know and others recognize, the project has a certain credibility that wasn't there before.

Earlier today, Selena and I went out to the project site with a Peace Corps supervisor, Philippine government workers, and association members and sat with association officers while they fed the squirming, writhing fish, and they were able to talk as authorities about their project, the feeds, how they are doing, the condition of the nets. If nothing else happens, if the project were to die tomorrow, the fish were to escape into the surrounding ocean, if seaweed were to suddenly die, I can be sure that the members of the fisherfolks organization have pride, and I did as much as I could to help them achieve their potential. As this experience winds down, and I pack to go home, taking what memories I can fit onto a hard drive and in my mind, leaving the children, dogs, neighbors and friends I have met, it is a sound consolation to know that I've done what I could to help.

What really matters?

A good friend recently lent me the book "The Art of Happiness," a series of interviews and excerpts from speeches by the Dalai Lama. I haven't finished it yet, not even a half an inch through it, but something that I found meaningful for me in the first hundred pages was a very clear distinction that The Dalai Lama makes between pleasure and happiness. Pleasure, he articulates, comes from attainment of the perfect body, possessions, and soul mates of our dreams, the gratifying albeit fleeting satisfaction that we get them all. Happiness is the lasting satisfaction that comes from a cultivated compassion for every other human being, the satisfaction that comes from finding intimacy in every encounter, and every relationship we may find ourselves in. Intimacy of course, as is defined in the book, is whenever any two beings come into bodily contact, not our western view that intimacy must be an erotic encounter between lovers. While reading this explanation for the distinction between pleasure and happiness, I began to think about the wide chasm of difference between my native culture and the one that I have come to embrace here. Anyone who has the chance to spend a couple weeks living among Filipino people would most likely attest to the fact that people here, although living lives devoid of the 'pleasure' we have in America, are much 'happier' than persons in our corner of the world. Filipinos are much more tactile people, always touching your leg or rubbing your stomach or arm while they talk to you. Oftentimes, I'll be sitting with a group of middle-aged men, drinking tuba (coconut wine) and eating little bits of squid and raw fish, and one of the guys will turn to me and start talking about something or other, whether I understand him or not, and he'll put his hand on my thigh the whole time while he tells me some local joke or story, and laughs a hearty laugh. Now just think about what would happen if that kind of intimacy occurred in the states, if some guy at a bar put his hand on another guy's thigh while he joked with him and talked about a football game. It's been one of the weird things to get used to here, and although I've been uncomfortable at times, I see this affection, this tactile nature, as one of the things that makes these people so happy despite their need for so many material possessions that we take for granted. Of course it's not just their aptitude for touching each other's thighs that make Filipinos happy, but this is just one facet of the culture of unconditional affection, compassion, for each other, that I've come to appreciate. This culture of affection can be infuriating when you wish to hold people accountable for wrongdoing, when you wish to confront someone who has gone against the grain, stolen goods, not done their duty cleaning seaweed, stolen your precious tomatoes from Virginia, but at the same time, this nurturing, amiable culture creates a higher level of happiness among people. There are definitely many things that this culture could learn from ours, indoor plumbing, road right-of-way laws, traffic enforcement, basic sanitation, natural resource management, but I think many of these pale in comparison to what we stand to learn from the culture here: Happiness.

Ang Kalikasan (Tag. Nature)

We have broken down most natural processes that used to be anomalies. Photosynthesis and other types of metabolism are understood, the cell has been parsed out to its many organelles, the human genome mapped, chemicals broken down, new ones created, crops engineered to withstand nature's wrath, we've taken long carbon chains from the bowels of earth and put them to use powering cars and lighting our homes, space shuttle launches have become commonplace, and our exploration of the solar system and deep oceans continues, breaking down every bit of life into their infintismal parts and on, and on, and on. In the midst of all this understanding, I wonder sometimes if we have become so myopic that we cannot see the mystery that still exists in every little detail and their synergistic conclusions. In and of themselves, the chloroplasts within leaves aren't that baffling, and neither is movement of air, or the chitin and nutrients that make up insects, but together, a mystery still exists when a Butterfly sets to fight against a breeze to perch on the leaf of a cottonwood. Just like us people, one man, his blood, bones, and skin, is just that, a man. But when you put people together, working, creating cultures and civilization in concert with other animals and plants, a mystery of synergy unfolds. I don't pretend to know who makes these things happen, if the being is Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Panantheist, Hindu or a little bit of all of them, but I do know that just because I understand the inner workings of a blade of grass or flowing stream, I may never be able to understand the miracle of this creation. I'm okay with that.

Construction

This is a short post, but something that I found really interesting this week. I was waiting for a meeting, an inspection really, where the Department of Labor and Employment would come out and review our progress on the fish cage project that they're funding. Well, seeing as how we haven't really done much on the fish cage yet, the 'inspection' turned into a halfhearted 10 minutes at the actual site, sitting at the new guard shack, and then 2 hours eating seafood and drinking coconut wine upon our return to town. That's about how 'important-people-visits' go here, not much substance, but way too much eating a drinking. This is something I lamented for 18 months of this experience, but have come to expect as a part of the culture, the way things get done.

Anyways, so I was waiting for the meeting, which, true to form would end up being 2 hours late, and came across this construction site where guys were hoisting cement up on top of the building that was going up, a bucket of liquid concrete at a time. They were using a bamboo system of ropes and pulleys to hoist it all up, and, for me coming from a construction background of boom lifts and skytracks, it was really interesting to get a feel for how things got done before all of our technology was available. I've added some pictures for explanation.

Old Habits

The fellows check out some United States fishing tackle my cousin Matt sent last year. They were amazed at the odd thing, kept turning it in their hands, talking about how it would swim through the water.

Birthday for Jimmy, (Right) He was 44 years old and we celebrated with Barracuda, huge shellfish, crab and coconut wine.



The crab we later ate for Mano Jimmy's Birthday




Shark the fishermen caught on thursday. It was really young, but tasted very good.

The lazy afternoon while we relaxed and then later would follow Mano Juin's lead and chase out illegal fishermen (read below)

The group of men that I’ve been working with here are like any other group of young and old men in a small rural community of the world, in that they have ingrained habits and are sometimes very opposed to changes in those habits, especially when those suggestions to change are coming from a young, ‘inexperienced’ volunteer from the United States. I liken these fellows to a group of bear hunters in the mountains of Western Virginia where I come from. Bear hunters are notoriously a rough lot, deeply entrenched in family and community cohorts, who stereotypically follow hunting laws loosely. They’re the guys you don’t want to cross when you’re too far from a forest road and they’re out running dogs. If you know what I’m talking about and have a hard time imagining the fellows I’m working with, just think ‘bear hunters’.
Anyways, these guys are fishermen, who have been taking what they want, when they want, where they want for years. They fish in waters that their fathers and grandfathers fished. They know where to get the huge Conke-like ‘Binga’ and they religiously know the deeper channels where one can hopefully net a blue marlin on good nights and small tuna on others. When these guys aren’t fishing, they’re either drinking coconut wine, sleeping one off, or painting epoxy on the hulls of boats that should have been retired years ago. This is what they do, what they know.
That’s why it is such a change of courses for them, for me to be asking men who only know fishing and only really want to fish, to be growing seaweed and learning to save and invest resources. To say the least, they don’t really cherish the change of schedule, and would rather be fishing from 7pm to 7am for fish they know are there, than sitting at a guardhouse overnight ‘protecting’ seaweeds, this strange new crop, for a harvest that might or might not happen, depending on the next typhoon that rolls through. I don’t think I have explained fully the leap of faith the project is for these men, who really don’t have much trust in any livelihood but the one they’ve grown up with.
The seaweed/fishcage site is beside the municipal fish sanctuary, an area off-limits to fishing and collection of shellfish. Mano Juin, one of the fishermen was collecting shellfish in the sanctuary one day as we prepared seaweeds, tying the little shoots to long nylon lines that would float through the water. I talked to him, surrounded by other members of the association who smirked at the idea of actually enforcing the sanctuary laws. In our town, nobody really monitors protected fishing areas, the mayor doesn’t seem to care, and it is really farse to try and uphold the laws, but, I continued with my shpiel about how these are Philippine laws, how they should care, how it’s about their children and their way of life, not mine. They just laughed it off, and I counted it as a loss and walked off in a huff.
Then last week, Mano Juin, along with another member of the organization were blatantly fishing with nets in the sanctuary as we were boating into clean seaweeds for the morning. I turned to the boatman I was with and angrily told him to steer us toward Mano Juin’s boat. We pulled up alongside, and I let out a diatribe about not respecting laws, how it is for everyone’s good that we have laws and regulations for fishing, ‘if they don’t change, who will?’ all that kind of bleeding heart, environmentalism sap. The boatman and I sat waiting while Juin took up his nets, not speaking, eyes averting my stare, I took pictures, threatened to give them to the mayor, (like that would do any good), and waited until he paddled his small boat home, out of the sanctuary, properly shamed for his indiscretion. The other members of the association just laughed about the encounter the next time we were working together, joking about ‘naughty Juin.’
It’s been that way every time we discuss fishing laws or why illegal fishing is wrong. It’s hard to get these guys to see it any other way, but I figure for the next three months, I’ll keep on trying, not really anything to lose.
Yesterday, all of the association members and I got together and had a work day. Together, we used old nets and knives to scrape barnacles off of the guardhouse drums. It was a good time, we ate papaya and chicken while sons of members fished with squid for little puffer fish and other fishes that inhabit the coral reefs below. At one point, as I sat with my back turned to the open water of the ocean, Don Don, president of the organization pointed out to the water and said ‘mga illegalista’ (illegals), shaking his head, and pitying chuckle. Everyone looked at me and asked in waray, “Will we go get them?”
Somewhat defeated at the issue, I just shrugged, “It’s up to you all. I’m not Filipino, why should I care? It’s your fish, your ocean, not mine.”
They all laughed, nodding, and looking out, hissing through their teeth, (Filipino nonverbal for ‘no good’) We continued to sit for a while, and then out of the corner of my eye I saw a small canoe skirting across the water, a man furiously paddling. Now, I have to explain, you don’t usually see Filipinos moving quickly unless there is imminent danger or if they’re playing basketball. Additionally, we had several motorized boats sitting idly by, why someone would be paddling so quickly when they didn’t need to was a quandary.
I then asked, “Who is that?”
“Ahh, Mano Juin will get them.”
I looked back around and he was about a third of the way to the illegal fishermen, around 250 yards away. It was quite an expanse of wavy water to be paddling across, but he didn’t let up, and continued paddling, unrelenting.
I then realized the gravity of what I was seeing. Mano Juin was making amends, showing me, without words, without apology, that now he understood. To a lot of these people, words mean nothing, smiles mean less, but sweat, and work, you can’t fake that. As sinewy Mano Juin paddled across the rolling water by himself, he showed me that he understood.
When the other men saw the gesture Mano Juin was making, they all decided to pile into the motorized boats and follow his lead. Our deputized members put on their Law Enforcement shirts and we went out into the water and chased the fishermen out of the waters, taking pictures as a warning that we had evidence were they to come back.
A couple of years ago, the scene wouldn’t have made much impact on me. Just a bunch of guys in a boat, trying to enforce laws. Now, however, I understand how hard it is for people here to enforce rules, single each other out and reprimand. A communal culture like this one makes it really difficult to be objective and enforce laws for people who are probably cousins, or drinking buddies, or classmates in school. I’m just a foreigner asking a bunch of older fellows to change their ways, their schedules, 40-year rituals. Usually I’m not very emotional, but as we all put-putted across the water in a unified effort to begin enforcing laws for everyone well-being, and Mano Juin continued paddling by himself, I was choked with gratitude.

Kina-iya (ww. Essence, Nature)

Part of the role of an Environmental Sector Volunteer serving with Peace Corps Philippines is to educate locals about the environment and advocate for responsible use. This means that we give lectures or presentations about the web of life and mangrove deforestation, about global climate change and soil erosion. As the impending worldwide environmental disaster looms, this is what environmental sector volunteers in the Philippines are doing help in the battle. While taking canoe rides through mangroves, we point out trees that have been cut by a local for firewood for his family, and critique the illegally harvested tree, or, when we go fishing with the locals, we vilify the use of fine mesh nets that harvest young immature fish. Although this is all good stuff to talk about, it really feels like a waste of time to talk to locals about single trees and candy wrappers when huge tracts of land are being cleared for fishponds and commercial fishing vessels illegally trawl waters for a huge number of fish while the locals strive for a livelihood. We tell kids to pick up their candy wrappers to keep from littering, and to get fruits like mangos and bananas for snack instead of potato chips to decrease their packaging waste. It reminds me of school programs when I was in elementary, singing about turning off the tap to save water, picking up cans, recycling, reusing, reducing, blah blah blah.

These are all well and good. It's great to talk to kids and locals on the grassroots level about changing attitudes and habits to live in a more sustainable way. 'Pick the low-hanging fruit', as they say, and get to the easiest people and places first. These past months, as I've been reading about our national environmental policy over the past few decades, I've begun to see that we've been picking the low hanging for over 30 years now. Even here, politicians target locals harming the environment in small ways instead of growing backbones and going after those who have an incredibly larger role in environmental degradation. I've come to believe that if one is having fun working to save the environment, they're probably not doing anything that meaningful, since real progress will come from doing the hard things, having the hard conversations, making the hard choices. In the arena of environmental change, I think we're past being able to make meaningful change while compromising. Some things simply can't be compromised. Back in the 1960's, the U.S. was able to pass huge environmental bills with democrats and republicans working together, but since then, our love of corporations and respect for money has greatly superceded our love for the environment and respect for quality of life. The constitution gives great power to corporations and the private sector, and has greatly influenced our collective hold (or lack thereof) on the power of big oil and multi-nationals. Thomas Jefferson said that we should retain the ability to revise the constitution every generation, to meet changing needs, but I think too many people see the constitution as some sort of static Bible-type document, that's laced with proverbs that somehow will relate to the human condition for the rest of eternity.

The fact is, that our founding fathers had no inclination that one day we would have huge corporations in charge of fossil fuel reserves in foreign lands and in our domestic waters, leading us to flatten mountains and dredge up sands. Founding fathers had no idea about greenhouse gases, solar radiation, dynamics of polar ice caps and the like. We were able to live for the first hundred years of the industrial revolution like the economy and economic growth were the only things that mattered. No longer is that the case. Environment will have to take president over economics in the next phase of the human experience if we seek to continue to live in any sort of balance. There is no way to maintain the current priorities of growth and economics and maintain environment too. Something has to give, and yet, us humans continue to live as if we can save the environment and decrease consumption while simultaneously chasing that dream that everyone has for monetary prosperity and unlimited growth. It's time to rediscover satisfaction.

Personally, I don't think it will ever happen. I don't see anyone on top making the changes that will actually make a dent in the environmental dilemmas we face. As politicians continue to play politics and the loophole games in air conditioned chambers, the ecosystem outside continues to react to the degradation of missed opportunities just like any other sickened system would. We have created a world within our world, where our heads are shaded by some sort of roof most of the day, except for 15 minute breaks before we go back to stare at electronics and paperwork. The further we distance ourselves from the environment, isolated within cubicles, the easier it will be to let millions of years of living history all slip away. In our 200 years of extreme 'progress,' we've inflicted a mass extinction on earth that rivals that of the Ice Age. Nature will go on with or without us, there will be microbes and insects left even if we wipe everything else out with a devastating heat wave. The only problem is that we will have erased the human species and many other higher vertebrates from the history of the planet, and wasted billions of years of evolutionary brilliance.

Answer these questions: When was the last time you slept out under the stars? When was the last time you held a fish? A bird? What are the names of 7 birds that fly in your backyard? How many trees are in your backyard?

Now answer these: When was the last time you slept in a hotel? When was the last time you held a shopping cart? A steering wheel? What are 7 types of cars that you have seen drive by? How many channels do you have on the cable plan?

We're becoming increasingly detached from what used to be the real world, and are spending too much time inside our spaceship-type cocoons.

This is the point in the blog where I give my answers to all of the problems, explain how I live differently, am more 'in-tune' with things, and implore everyone else to be like me. However, I'm living in my cocoon just the same, staring into my electronic screen, enjoying the electricity and rare-earths that put my computer in my lap. I don't know what the future holds or how to solve these problems, but feel that whatever the cure for this sorry state we're in, it will require lots of sacrifice and for us to refocus on where we came from, and not where we are going. Our shared origins, and not a manifest destiny.