Walking Thoughts...

Jacques' thoughts while walking the streets of Dumaguete, collecting change:

The language Alana & I are learning is Cebuano.  At the time Tagolog was chosen to be the national language, 2001, more people spoke Cebuano than Tagolog in the Philippines, yet the president spoke Tagolog, so it won out.  Although Cebuano is a cool language and we are enjoying learning it I have two issues with the language itself.  

First, Cebuano only has 19 letters in it's language.  It does not have Z, X, V, Q, F, J, or C.  How can the first letter in the spelling of a language not be in the alphabet of that language.  "Cebuano" is spelled with a "C" and "c" is not a letter in the "Cebuano" alphabet.  Confusing.

Second, the word for "walk," "leave," and "go" are all the same.  The word is "lakaw" and means all three.  So when I say that I'm "walking to class"" (which is 3.5 km away) the local people hear that I'm "going to class" and probably assume I'm talking a trik ride.  My problem is that I really want the credit for walking since I walk about 10.5 km a day.  I don't want them to think I'm "going" 10.5 km and taking trik rides! (whine)

I feel like I'm needing an adjustment in my "walking attitude."  When I got to Dumaguete, I originally made an adjustment because of the heat to walking very slow in order not to be a sweaty mess when I arrived wherever it was that I was going.  It was also helping to depart very early because Peace Corps has high (unculture like) expectations of us about being on time.  So I'd give myself plenty enough time to stroll on in as dry as possible (not achieved often).

Today, I didn't have class until 10am.  I piddled around and didn't get going until 9:30am.  When I really take my time it takes about 45 minutes to walk to class.  Since the temperature was at least 5 degrees cooler, there was cloud cover, and I thought I was late, I was passing Filipinos walking the same direction as me like they had blown a gasket and I had hit the nitro button.  It will be nice, and I will more confidently know I have "arrived" in the Philippines when I'm late, the temperature is cool, and I'm still able, especially unconsciously, to stroll instead of speedwalk.  Can one truly leave their "type A" behind?

I pick up change that people have left on the road.  When I say change, I'm talking sentabos.  They come in 25, 10, 5, and 1 sentabos coins.  25 sentabos is 1/4th of a peso and worth half an American cent.  A 5 sentabos coin is worth 1/10th of an American cent.  I can't even compute what 1 sentabos coin is worth in American terms.  Anyway, it's fun to be walking everywhere and in a big city like Dumaguete it is fun to be picking up change off the street that people obviously don't want.  Sometimes I have to pry the coins out of the tar on the road with my leatherman because people have dropped them, getting payments out of purses and pockets for trik rides no doubt, and the vehicles have ground them into the road.  I can make 45-60 sentabos of tar coins on 2 kilometers of Rivera any given day.

After other Peace Corps Trainees found out I was saving my pesos by walking many of them started walking also.  When a few of them found out I was picking up change off the street, they started picking up change and giving it to me.  Mostly it has been Alana, Trish, Blake, and Evelyn.  Seems like they love celebrating with me that they've found money on the street and we are willing to bend down to pick up such small coins when it is not even worth the time or effort for others.

The big scores;

Alana and I were walking to the mall many weeks ago and she made the first big score when she found a 10 peso (20 cents) coin on National (the big main road through Dumaguete).  A few kilometers later she found a one peso coin also.

A couple of weeks ago we were snorkeling for the day at Apo Island, a beautiful 1/4 square mile island with amazing protected reefs right off the coast of Negros, and as I was waiting for Alana to get in the water I decided to dive down and touch the bottom.  We were in about 8 meters of water.  I took a few deep breaths, held the last one, and headed for the bottom.  While clearing my ears about every 5 feet and about half way down I noticed I was headed for a little round shell on the bottom.  I stayed my course and barely made it to the 5 peso (10 cents) coin, grabbed it in disbelief like it was sunken treasure, and pushed off for the surface eager to show Alana, Trish, and Evelyn my find.

Last week I thought I saw an old 25 sentabos coin and when I picked it up I was amazed to discover it was a good old 1985 American penny.  Wow, I'd love to know her story, her adventures for the last 25 years, and how she made it to the streets of Dumaguete.

My language instructor, WenWen, asked me today, in Cebuano (the local language), how much I had picked up so far and I estimated about 25 pesos (50 cents).  

Then . . . on my way home today I had just gotten on Rivera in front of the day care center where Lucy, Melda, Edna, and Maria work and I looked down and almost stepped on a 20 peso bill.  I picked it up and looked up and down the street to make sure someone wasn't looking for it yet I was all alone.  Unbelievable!!!  The biggest find yet!!!  That almost doubled my total findings!

I was so excited I stopped at the corner store where Ralph (the dog) lives to buy load for my phone.  How do I explain load?  You see, our cell phones work differently than American cell phones.  The phone only cost say $10 and we get to keep it . . . it is ours, and almost everyone has one here.  Then we buy pesos worth of load to make calls and texts.  We receive calls and text for free.  To send one text cost one peso.  To send one text to the US cost 15 pesos.  To make a call costs 7 pesos a minute.  No clue what it would cost to call the US.  I knew Alana and I were both low on load and had less that 5 pesos left on each of our phones and once one of us has load we can transfer it to the other's phone.

So, to celebrate finding the 20 peso bill I stopped to get load.  I thought I'd send it to Alana's phone as a surprise then I could tell her the story about how I found the 20 pesos.  When I got home she hadn't gotten the load on her phone and of course I was suspicious that they hadn't sent the load after I paid them.  Then I realized I sent the load to the wrong area code!  Life seems to be a series of circles; things come and things go.  I did text the wrong number I sent the load to and asked for the load back.  Maybe there are very nice Filipinos who can have compassion for confused a foreigner like me . . . magkita kita (we'll see).

Who Let the Dogs Out?

After much observation and a few experiments, I believe I'm finally figuring out the dog scene here in the Philippines.  Stats:  Of the few hundreds of dogs I've come across, about 60% run free in public yet seem to belong to someone or at least some family.  Of those 60%, I only notice about 15% having collars on.  Many of those look like they have think plastic fishing line around their necks attached to a tag.  Since I've arrived I've probably seen 6-8 dogs on a leash and most of those had a non-Filipino person on the other end.  Who dogs get their food from, if they get food at all, seems to be their mental leash and the reason they hang around a store, house, or neighborhood. Some dogs, around 15%, seem to be living their lives inside gated yards, a fence that surrounds many people's houses and property.  These are the locals with a little bit of money.  These dogs are usually the best looking as far as the conditions of their coats and if they have weight on their bones.  I've seen very few well fed dogs outside of fenced property.  Most of the dogs I see on the street are usually sleeping.  At first I thought that was because of the heat and malnutrition until we were walking home from a movie at Jufer's, Alana's Tech instructor, last Saturday evening around 11pm and the air was cool and crisp and the streets were alive with dog activity.  They seem to be a bit nocturnal because of this hot environment. An overwhelming majority of the dogs I see are skinny, have skin and coat conditions, and are injured in some way.  They are also small.  I haven't seen many dogs over about 30 pounds.  Must be a tough living for bigger dogs on Filipino street, not even enough to eat for small dogs.  Business seems to be painfully slow for veterinarians in the Philippines. Our neighbors told Leah, a fellow Peace Corps Trainee, that they had a dog once that got a bone stuck in his throat and would make this horrible coughing sound.  When Leah asked what happened to him they matter of factly said, "He died."  I seriously hesitate to pet over 95% of the dogs I see for fear of lice or catching some other condition I don't even know about. Yet Filipino dogs seem to live happily with their lacking conditions . . . just like their owners . . . or Filipino overseers. Dog food companies are also not making a living out here.  Dogs seem to be the last ones to eat after humans, chickens, and pigs.  The cattle and goats have more than enough grass to eat in this hot & humid climate and the cats are forced into their hunting jobs to keep their areas rodent free if they want to eat.  So I see dogs that are skin and bones, eating out of trash piles, begging for food, even saw one eating a frog that had been run over in the road . . . luod (gross)!  Filipino dogs have no toys, no comfy beds, no chew sticks, no doggie doors, and no dog bowls to eat out of (I haven't seen a dog bowl yet).  There are no dog parks (ha!) nor have I seen hide nor hair of a dog sitter service, pet store, or dog grooming salon.  The ones that are surviving are tough and independent. One interesting difference I notice between Filipino and American dogs is that Filipino dogs pay little attention to humans.  Of the hundreds of dogs I've encountered loose on the streets, most collarless, I haven't had any dog bark at me and only 2 have even sniffed me in interest.  Now, about 30% of the dogs behind the gated fences will bark at me . . . fatties!  Most dogs just ignore me and as I mentioned before many of them are laying down resting or asleep.  I saw a nice looking black lab puppy laying in the main street road today about 2 feet from where tons of traffic was with not a care in the world, just enjoying the shade and the cool cement.  The night Alana and I returned from our 5-day Bocolod Peace Corps Supervisor's Conference we treated ourselves to a nice 320 peso ($6.40) meal at a nice restaurant on the Boulevard downtown.  We were eating outside when Alana got up to go to the comfort room.  I started watching this small pack of dogs (4-5) as they were plaing next to the busy street and then decided to cross it.  This is what I had been waiting for.  I wanted to see how these dogs crossed busy streets, especially at night. Mind you, I've seen plenty of dogs here with injuries, limping, even open and closed wounds not being attended to by anyone, so I was prepared to see an accident.  Anyway, when it became obvious that they were going to cross this semi-busy street, one of the dogs took the lead in hesitating, looking, and waiting for an opening in traffic and seemed to consciously chose when it was safest to cross.  The rest were on her heels with no hesitation and they didn't dilly dally around or stop to sniff the frog . . . they scooted. On the other end, the traffic, reacting  just like with any other vehicle pulling out into the road or pedestrian crossing the street, yielded to let the dogs cross.  No one was going more than 20mph anyway and no one ever seems to be in a frantic rush.  There was no horn beeping or yelling or speeding up to "teach those dogs a lesson."  Just a normal pause in traffic that drivers experience thousands of times each day as they maneuver through a city with no signs or lights. There is a dog, let's call him Ralph, that seems to live on a fairly busy corner of National and Rivera.  I walk around this corner about 15-20 times a week and he is there 95% of the time.  He is not just there, he is laying on the shaded sidewalk right in front of the corner store door.  It's a tight corner and probably hundreds of people step over or around him each day, I know I do, and he never budges.  A couple of days ago I looked for him and he was sleeping under a scooter leaning against the wall of the store. He is a fairly long dog and weighs maybe 50 pounds and has a decent looking coat so I can only imagine he belongs to the store owners, although he wears no collar nor have I seen him interact with anyone who works at the store.  Although the 14 year old boy who works in the store came out one day and Ralph was immediately up from sleeping and on the boys heels.  Ralph followed the boy up to the street, looked like he might cross the street with him, then sat on the edge of the sidewalk, ignoring all of the people stepping around him, and kept his eye on the boy until the boy disappeared from his sight. Another time I turned the corner and he was sitting military style at attention next to a young woman buying something at the bakery next door.  I thought it odd that he wasn't sleeping in front of the store.  When the young woman stepped away from the outdoor counter he was excitedly jumping up at every step.  Of the many customers the bakery had each day, I thought it was very rude and extremely unusual for Ralph to be harassing this one.  Then I turned around just in time to see her asking him to sit and then rewarding him with the single 2 peso (4 cents) roll she had bought.  It was apparently a ritual as Ralph waited patiently and respectfully for his pet on the head, gingerly took the roll offered, then they departed friends until tomorrow. There is another dog, let's call him Billy, who lives at the house where I have Tech class.  Billy has a little dog house in his yard under the shade of a big tree and has always been chained to that tree when I see him.  During the day there are 15-20 different people that come through the gate and into his yard for classes and such.  I rarely hear him bark yet every now and then when I'm in class he hits the end of his chain and barks profusely.   Last Sunday I went with Alana to the house to retrieve a book I had left behind and noticed he paid us no mind.  Billy rarely sleeps and usually just watches as people enter the gate and proceed to the house.  A few minutes later a stranger came through the gate and Billy went nuts on him.  Since then I've noticed that he knows exactly who belongs and who is a questionable suspect.  How he knows I have no clue, he had never seen Alana before.  He must think it's his job or something . . . what else is there for him to do? My last dog story is about puppies.  With lots of dogs running loose and no vets fixing any of them there are plenty of puppies around.  Some children on our street got a cute one, let's call him Timmy, with a red ribbon around his neck.  I was hoping he would be one of those "behind the fence" dogs yet the very next day he was out playing with the children next to the road.  I saw him run out into the road in order to get to the children and didn't even flinch as a humungous truck came screaming by at about 45mph.  This truck could have easily flattened this dog and no one around even held their breath or for that matter noticed that the dog might be in danger.  Life just went on. We have a fairly busy road as it leads to another town.  I asked Alana about this and someone told her that puppies look to their mothers or older dogs to learn how to survive.  It's what they need to do to survive because Filipino people are not overprotective (or even protective) nor interested in keeping them out of harms way.  Brilliant!!!  It is amazing how things work and the dog culture learns how to preserve itself.  You know though, I haven't seen that puppy in quite a few days . . . let's not name him Timmy. Please don't send dog food. w/Gratitude, InHarmony, Lve&Pce, - Jaco

Some Things Don't Make Sense

Overwhelmed.  Helpless.  Hopeful.  Shocked... this was the start of our debriefing.  We, my CYF sector (Child, Family, Youth), just finished our "Street Immersion" experience.  Street Immersion is an opportunity for Peace Corps CYF trainees to observe and interact with street families, street children, and prostitutes.  We spent the past week in Cebu City, the 2nd largest city in the Philippines.

I'm still trying to understand the experience.  At the end of our debriefing, one of my counterparts said, "sometimes it doesn't matter how much we debrief, some things will never be okay."  Agreed.

From my journal:

4 October- tonight my heart feels suffocated.  In my small group, we arrived at an area well known for it's inhabitant street-families.  It's an old highway of sorts, feeling dark and deserted.  Down the center is a median with trees and some grass.  Attached to the trees are small rug-like pieces of material forming mini-hammocks.  In each hammock is an infant, sleeping.  The adults seem to be dispersed- across the street tending to a cart of goods to sell, out on the streets looking for "customers", or, for many women, in the nearby field on flattened cardboard boxes selling their bodies at a very low cost (in this area 50 pesos a customer is typical- $1.00 US).  We learn that the majority of "customers" are Filipino men- taxi drivers, construction workers, police officers.  In addition, there's no shortage of "white men" that have re-located to the Philippines based on the ease of buying such service.  

At the end of this street, we come upon a husband and wife sitting on their cardboard underneath their hammock-ed baby.  The couple is friendly.  They're interested in us and are glad to share a little about themselves.  At first I'm encouraged to see an in-tact family unit.  When we walk away, I learn the husband is also his wife's pimp.

We move from this "family area" to a more bustling section of the city.  We're lead by two staff members of the "Good Shepherd House"- an outreach organization providing meals, shelter, and resources to women that will visit the center.  The staff members have strong relationships with the women we speak to.  We meet a group of 10 women waiting on "their corner" for potential customers.  One woman shares her story of needing to continue her work until her husband can get a full-time job.  Another woman picks on a 17-year old girl in the group for passing on a possible 3,000 pesos last night because she wasn't willing to perform oral sex on a wealthy American man.  

A new girl to the group speaks with one of the staff members about not feeling well.  The staff member shares information with her about the center and the assistance she can be provided.  While this conversation is happening, a group of young Filipino men moves closer and closer to our circle of conversation.  They are waiting for the women.  One man looms particularly close, eyes fixed on the new girl.  He's indicated to the other women he would like her tonight.  We find out later, once she's refused to join us in traveling to the center, she is 15 years old.

Our final stop was inside a "dance club".  Here, women dance one at a time on a make-shift stage, scantily clad of course.  Men sit, drink, and pay the bar for the woman of their choice.  The woman will bring the man behind the stage to the rooms where the women live.  In the bar we entered, all of the "dancers" are adults.  We learned that oftentimes young girls are trafficked from poor, rural places and made to dance (and prostitute).  

I spent a lot of time talking with, Mercy; a young woman that said to me early in the night, "See these women?  I was doing the same thing last year."  She found the shelter, participated in it's programs, and left the street.  She now does outreach work and just earned her high school diploma.  She was energetic and happy;  a spark of hope every time I was filled with doubt and disbelief.

5 October- We join a "Mobile Education" program today.  By an old, rickety, rattling, donated bus, we travel from one squatter village to the next picking up 5 and 6 year old children that will spend a day with us for pre-school type activities.  We help cut their nails, wash their hands, complete assignments learning different colors, serve lunch (rice with a small amount of vegetable stew), and play... the kids desperately need this time to run in an open, safe area, and they take full advantage.  For two hours they are non-stop- running, throwing balls, playing chase.  They fall into heaps on the bus ride home sleeping on one another.  It's encouraging to see the parents, mothers and/or fathers, waiting for the children as they are returned home by bus.  

6 October- Today we visit different areas that host "supervised play" (pre-school) directly in the squatter villages.    In order to get to our final site, we walk through a dump site.  Trash of all sorts is piled high, creating a maze of paths we tip-toe through.  We pass the community members working in the dump to salvage any material they may be able to sell; they sort things such as scrap metals, bottles, plastics.  It strikes me that child labor laws, much like other laws (traffic, prostitution...), are mere suggestions.  The majority of workers in the trash heaps are teenagers- working to earn money for the family rather than participating in education.  

We continue through the trash maze and carefully step from one stepping stone to another to avoid plunging into the stagnant, trash-filled stream that separates the dump from the squatter village.  The village is made of clapboard structures serving as homes to the "squatters".  These buildings remind me of the chicken coop my sisters and I played in- simple make-shift wooden structures with tin roofs.  They're attached one to another and some have a second level which gives the feeling the whole community could topple on itself with one strong wind.  

The pre-school room is in the bottom of one of the two storied buildings.  The room is no more than 9'x9'.  Anywhere from 5 to 30 children will show up for the days' activities.      There is a small chalkboard in the room, and I chuckle when I see the volunteer's hand has the classic marking of a teacher- a chalked side-of-the-hand from erasing the board.  

As we sit in the tiny room with no electricity, the heat is inescapable.  A gentle breeze blowing through open walls provides some relief, however, along with the breeze comes the stench of rotten trash and stale water.  It's nauseating.  The students seem unaffected by the conditions and continue their work practicing writing the number 5.  

As we're leaving the village, we pass a mother carrying wet clothes, and she herself is soaked.  Following a distance behind her is a young boy, also wet from head to toe.  They are returning home after washing laundry and bathing.  They completed these tasks in the same stream we so desperately worked to keep out of earlier.