PI Trip Blog 3: Seen, Heard, Done and Reconsidered

SEEN: There are ubiquitous signs, banners, advertisements on storefronts, as well as religious or philosophical messages painted on building walls that are primarily instructive. The most common is bawal umihi dito (no pissing here) and bawal mahiring diri (no pissing here). Perhaps there will be an Ilocano version that I’ll see when I go north. In Palo, on the side of whitewashed building a piece of art in big red letters alerts drivers that “An honest man is the noblest work of God.” It makes me wonder at the urgency of such a proclamation. At a college campus, posters remind students to WATCH, which stands for We Advocate Time Consciousness and Honesty. So, were there a lot of tardy and dishonest students who necessitated this acronym?

Speaking of morality instruction at the schools, at an elementary school in Cabanatuan there was a gruesomely graphic image of the naked human hermaphrodite body depicting the adverse effects of smoking cigarettes—varicose veins, brown lungs, shriveled ovaries, bad skin, low sperm count depicted by a limp penis, gangrene toes, etc. I am certain American parents would object to the poster if it were their children seeing it. So, I’m assuming that there must be a really bad smoking problem with the adults. In Manila, it seems that everyone smokes. In Davao, we were greeted by signs that said Davao is a smoke-free city. Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing smokers there in any public places.

In addition to many thought-provoking images, there also seems to be a love for wordplay and puns with the English language. Get your Sexy Baboy (pork bbq sticks…that are seductive? The pig had long curled eyelashes) and God’s Wheel Tire Shop are among the funniest. I’ve posted some others on my Facebook page. Some phrases, when translated are also very revealing. For example, a discomfort bag = barf bag on the ferry ride. An escape route = exit doorway on the ferry ride. For awhile = Just a minute.

WYSIWYG—what you see is what you get. Sometimes not. R says my hotel in Manila is ghetto, but he came over to visit anyway. I love Malate bordering on Ermita. It has an eclectic, bohemian feel. Yes, the street and the pollution stink, the homeless beg in the street, the sidewalks are uneven and circuitous, but the people have an upbeat jive energy that says live and let live. Ah, the people. There was a Friday night concert at the college next door that went on long and loud until 12:30 am this morning. It was great music, including imitations of Springsteen, The Clash, metallic, punk, Cyndi Lauper, you name it. Screaming girls, yelling singers, hardcore drums, appreciative audience wafted up to the 5^th floor where I was pretending I was trying to sleep. I would never have imagined St. Paul’s Medical College was that hip.

HEARD: “I am glad for martial law. Those in Manila who are protesting do not live here. They do not know what it is like to be so close to the terror. It’s a good thing president Gloria has done. The father, the senior, is here in Davao. You should see their houses here. My God…” That sentiment was uttered by a Davao matriarch when I asked her what she thought of Ampatuan senior being taken away that day from the Davao General Hospital and brought to custody in Manila.

I also heard that this month’s Cosmo magazine, Philippines edition has some good advice. In addition to the usual advice about not having sex on the first date, Cosmo offers boyfriend advice. For you young ladies out there, Cosmo says to call your boyfriend’s parents Sir or Ma’am until they tell you it is okay to call them Tita and Tito. Got that?

DONE: Yup, I was game. Just had to satisfy the curiosity of attending a cockfight in the Philippines. Strange does not even begin to describe what the arena was like. Man sweat. Cigarette smoke. Diesel fuel smell. Dirt floor. Wooden bleachers. Loudspeakers overhead. Men yelling. Frying oil. Children selling snacks. Women half price admission. Man sweat, cigarette smoke, money waving, hand signals, yelling to a crescendo and subsequent wane of shouts, rhythmic cheering. Had my fill after an hour. Will try anything once. Will post pictures when I learn how.

RECONSIDERED: Now I know why my father was such a crazy driver. I finally get why he so loved beeping his horn. As a resident of Manila and a car aficionado, he must have been some kind of driver in his day, wending through alleys, around buildings, people, pedicabs, tricycabs, jeepneys, motor scooters. And I thought he was just reckless or brave. Now I can appreciate that driving in Manila is a valuable skill. Stop signs, individual driving lanes, and green lights are mere suggestions. Rules are optional. Pedestrians definitely do not have the right of way. Whoever gets to the designated spot first doesn’t have the right of way either. Driving in Manila is elevated to an art form. Best of luck and best wishes to the woman and her child in that Osmena circle who were trying to cross the road as cars swarmed around them. Sorry, but we had to go around you too so I hope you and your anak made it.

In addition to my father's driving, I've also reconsidered the art of dropping names. Namedropping, especially when done in an inimitable Filipino way, has always been such a turn off for me. However, as I experience more and more Filipinos drop names galore—in an over the top manner that is thoroughly, shamelessly unabashed—I’m seeing it in a different light. Dropping names when discussing politics, within various social circles, in an intimate setting, with total strangers, or in storytelling and entertainment may have a dual purpose. Namedropping seems to underscore the value this society places on establishing a bond. If you know someone and mention that relationship to your listener, you are laying the groundwork for the obligation and responsibility the relationship implies. If, for example, I mention to you that I am a classmate, relative, town mate, AND godchild of a mayor who did not fix the pothole on my father’s road, then you the listener are supposed to be horrified at the bad manners of the mayor. But then again, you the listener are supposed to cry foul if I tell you that the same mayor fixed the potholes on the road where his friends and relatives live. Now what was I saying about living with dichotomies and contradictions?

PI Trip Blog 2: Knowing Your Place

The poor here are so very poor—it’s criminal. The rich are so rich—it’s obscene. Those in power must know this and pretend not to see. Why and how does mass poverty get perpetuated for generations? What will it take for a country like the Philippines to build a strong middle class? The tired old dogma of land redistribution hasn’t broken up much of the traditional family monopolies and corporate inbreeding. And what about jobs and the economy?

The Philippines graduated 90,000 nurses this year but the country can only absorb 10,000 of them. That means the remaining 80,000 graduates are unemployed, underemployed, or go overseas as guest workers. It’s the same story for engineers, doctors, teachers. The government encourages outsourcing of its human resources. In fact, the government has a policy of finding other overseas employment for 30,000 Filipinos who have lost their jobs in Dubai due to the global economic downturn. Minimum wage here is 400 Philippine pesos a day, the equivalent of $8.88 US dollars. (It puts in perspective the 300 pesos I tipped the porter for 3 pieces of luggage at the Manila airport) And what about commerce and transportation? The smaller towns and cities we pass through have a proliferation of sari-sari stores and roadside vendors. Many residents walk directly on the roads because there are inadequate sidewalks. Cars seem a luxury reserved for the rich, as motorized tricycles, motorcyles, mopeds, cabs are the vehicles most seen at petrol stations. Would it really help the masses if the economy undergoes structural change as one presidential candidate (out of a total of 89 candidates) vows to do?

The Philippines is not made for an American-style democracy, R tells me. And the people are fine with knowing their place, he concludes. R says that maids are grateful to have a job and that drivers are highly valued as the highest paid domestic help. One of our drivers has a wife and children who live hundreds of miles away in the province. He sends money home regularly and sees his family once a month. He is happy with his lot, R insists. He knows his place in society and accepts it. Perhaps I am just wearing my American perspective on my sleeve, but it bothers me that children and senior citizens beg on the streets. That homeless families live on the sidewalks. That many go without clean water and basic shelter. They can't all be happy knowing their place in society. That's the outdated myth of the happy brown peoples of Oceania. From Manila, to Leyte, to Cebu (and probably Davao, Palawan and Ilocos, too) the dichotomy of the very poor and the very rich is glaring. The politicians must see this. Do they pretend not to see? Or they do see it, but choose to live with the people's familiar place in society?

Footnote: As a Philippine-born outsider, a westernized Filipino-American female, what should I know about "my place" in Philippine society? Our American group has stayed at some of those very rich people’s homes and have been waited on by their maids and drivers. We’ve experienced the expanse of green lawns and high walls topped with glass shards to keep others out. We’ve also stayed at hotels that are steps away from the everyday life of the very poor. We’ve also felt at home in clean and simple abodes and bonded with middle class families. BTW, every pig needs to hide when we’re in a town because inevitably someone will throw a party for us featuring lechon, no matter how upscale or humble the venue. Whether we are in a town or a city, whether the people are rich or poor, we have been met embraced with open arms and hearts. The friends, neighbors, kinfolk connections, students, dignitaries, families and staff we encounter have shown incredible hospitality and generosity. But I cannot fully buy into the notion that everyone is happy knowing their place in society.

There is an undercurrent that makes me want to raise my fist and foment revolution. Or at least help stir up some good old fashioned discontent.