Saying good-bye

My bags are packed, I checked in online for my first flight tomorrow morning, I've cleaned my room, and given last minute cards to my housemates. The (early)unch bell will be ringing soon and I will have to shut down my laptop and pack it into my backpack.

I thought it would be appropriate to use this post to share a letter of sorts that I read last night to the group of people I've been living with for the past 3 months. They threw me a fabulous going away party (Despedido) with great food, a presentation, gifts, cards and verbal thank-you/blessings. I can't think of a better way to have spent my last night here in Butuan.

Farewell letter:

To the “kids” at PDK:

Thank you for our classroom time. It was as challenging for me as it was for you. Thank you for putting up with my distaste for certain foods and laughing when I tried to say certain words. Thank you for your joy. Thank you for showing me – for being a real life example – of what kids can do when they don’t give up and they put their hope and trust in the right place – and with God.

To my housemates:

Thank you for your countless hours of translating; answering my never-ending questions; running errands with me and trying to explain all the things that just didn’t make sense to me. Beg – thank you for keeping our CR so clean! Marz – thank you for keeping me laughing.  Thank you both for helping make every day here an adventure.  I heard a lot of laughter coming from your room during my time here and it will be a fond memory for me after I get home.

To Ate Sonia:

“My goodness”.  You have been my little angel here. Thank you for cooking me special meals; making my early morning coffee; bringing home pineapple and bananas for me; checking to make sure I’m ok; dragging me around town with you; helping make my shopping experience so much more fun. We have “big plans” – you and me – and I won’t forget them or you.

To Teresa:

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to serve here at PDK and in Butuan. Thank you for helping make my other outreach opportunities happen. Thank you for sharing your coffee, pizza and other “special treats”. Thank you for your willingness to open up your home, your office, your staff and your life here in Butuan.

To Butuan:

Thank you for making every day here an adventure! Thank you for allowing me to show compassion. Thank you for showing me beauty and ugliness – all at the same time. This place (maybe the people?) gets to you…

a little taste of freedom

Before I even got here, I was told that I would not be allowed to go anywhere by myself. I didn't really think about it at the time, but once I got here I understood why - even if I didn't like it. I am "geographically challenged" (Mara is laughing right now as she reads this) so thinking I could get anywhere and back initially seemed impossible. It is also very easy to be taken advantage of as a (white female) foreigner.

As the weeks went on, I learned the main roads (it's a small town) and because I've always learned my way around with landmarks, I began recognizing things like the circle roundabout with the statue, the big hotel with the pool, the backside of the public market, Jollibee and of course Guysano. Halfway  into my time here, I did ride home by myself on a few occasions (and from school on the days I taught). I had also gone into a store by myself a few times when running errands with staff trying to make the best use of our time.

I had several errands to run today and due to some staffing issues, Teresa decided to let me go by myself. Woo hoo! I had to take several different trykes and the bank is not within walking distance to Guysano (mall). Well, god was smiling down on me today because I had honest drivers who did not try to trick me with location or fare, and I did not get lost! I even got in and out of the Kodak store without waiting in line and as never happened before, their quote of "ready in an hour" was correct. My photos were waiting for me when I got back to the store.

Maybe I've been here long enough that the "just got here clueless foreigner" look has (almost) been wiped away...

joke's on me

We spent the day at an island called Duka Bay. I was told that duka means sleepy and I can only think that they would use a name like this because it is a very relaxing - and beautiful - place.

It was Sonia's birthday and this is one of her favorite places. She grew up on an island so given a choice she will always spend the day by and in the water. This is her (on the left) -  along with another staff person. I managed to capture a sweet moment with a baby left behind at PDK by one of the street kids who decided life on the street was better. This little girl LOVES to swim!

Oh - back to the joke. As we left the island, Sonia (and Teresa) mentioned that we needed to stop at this place so I could see the giant bananas and pineapples. Apprently this little village was famous for the largest bananas and pineapples in the Philippines. I was excited - having enjoyed amazing fresh fruit here and so many varieties of bananas. I got my camera ready and was looking out the window right and left as they each tried to remember which turn to make and exactly where to go. Imagine my surprise when we pulled up to this:

Clearly I need to think of a practical joke I can play before I leave...

a boy named Gilbert

I have spent 2+ months of Thursdays meeting, interacting with and handing our warm food to the streetkids here. Some of them I see every week and know them by name, some I haven't seen since the night we handed out Christmas bags. Many of these kids faces will remain in the forefront of my brain - even if I don't know all of their stories or can't remember their names.

I sat in an upstairs restaurant yesterday with a perfect view of one of the main intersections of town. While we were waiting for our food, I watched the truck with the pig in the back pull up to the feed store; the little boy walk out of the store (and his mother's sight) so he could relieve himself on the curb front. I also saw a group of 9-10 year old "rugby boys" that we see most Thursday evenings. They were standing in broad daylight sniffing away - getting high. I saw the storekeeper shoo them away, then as their "high" sunk in, I watched them playing a russian roulette of sorts in the middle of traffic. They ended by jumping on the back of a jeepney - another game to see how far they could get before the driver noticed them.

I've seen Gilbert numerous times during trips into town running errands or having my staff dates. He always recognized me and greeted me with a "hello my good friend". He never smelled of rugby and always appeared to be working.

Last night, Gilbert (possibly a nick name or name he's decided to call himself) gave me his smile as he said "hello my good friend". For some reason - maybe because it was my last opportunity - I decided to engage him in conversation and with the help of a translator - listened to him share his story. His mother and father are separated; they used to chop wood and sell it for money, but one day he returned with wood to find them gone. His mother now lives 7 hours away and his father - he thinks - is in Manila. Gilbert got teary as he told my  translator "I don't understand why they left me". Without much thought, I touched his arm and said "I don't know if you'll ever make sense of it or if you'll ever figure out why they left. Sometimes our parents make bad decisions or decisions that don't make any sense to us as kids. And it may not seem like it, but I am sure your parents still love you".
Gilbert is 18 (so he says) and comes across in a typical quiet, cool demeanor. But as we continued our conversation, that facade changed. He told me he does not do rugby and works hard - trying to save money. He has an aunt in Carmen (less than 2 hours away) and I encouraged him to try to get there. He also mentioned a sister who is a Nun. This woman sees him on occasion and apparently has given him a bible (I had not mentioned anything yet about a bible or jesus for that matter). He almost chuckled as he mentioned a verse he had read that "said something about do not be lazy".

He looked at me with tears and said "if only someone could give me money for my education". I told him that I would pray about that and he should do the same.  I told Gilbert that we have a god who does crazy things - like sending a white woman to Butuan to find him and look him in the eye to tell him that HE MATTERS; even if his parents have left him, the god he read about in the bible has not left him and in fact has a purpose for his life. He let me hug him before we all left the plaza and I whispered in his ear again - "you matter".

I always think that I am drawn to the little girls and get so excited when I get a chance to talk to or play with them. Interestingly enough, these encounters keep happening with teenage boys. As I've said before, our god has a sense of humor as well...

shoe shopping in the Philippines

So, I was really excited for my staff date today. I was taking Sonia (she's my age - lots of fun to be around)out for lunch, but she was taking me to a couple specific places to buy gifts to take back home with me. Sonia is THE person to take shopping not only because she loves to shop, but she knows the good places to go, and knows shopkeepers well enough to get wholesale prices. She is also the best bargain/negotatior around.

For some reason I decided to ask her if she had a favorite shoe store. Ok, honestly, Sonia loves shoes - as much as my Mara does, and I was hoping I might just luck out and find something. Well, I knew the shoes would be cheap, just not sure they would have anything in my size.

Oh.My.Goodness. It was shoe heaven - so many shoes for under $5 US! I was so excited I had to sit down, then started texting Mara to see if she wanted Tom's and oh my if I don't stop I'll end up having to pay for a 2nd suitcase just for all the shoes I would buy!

The excitement turned to wonder when I followed the girl back to the counter to show her another pair to look for in my size. it turns out, there is no 'back room" where the shoes are warehoused. The shoes are kept in an upstairs room - accessible by a hole in the ceiling of the shore store. There are ropes hanging down from this hole, but instead of using the ropes to tie around some kind of contraption that would hold shoe boxes, they are thrown down onto the floor. Literally - I saw shoe boxes coming down from this square shaped hole in the ceiling. I would have laughed, but was too surprised to speak...

The girls on the sales floor speak into an old fashioned michrophone, stating the style number and shoe size; then they all wait around this area behind the counter (where the hole is located) for their shoe boxes to drop onto the floor.

Like I've said before - everything here is an adventure - even shoe shopping!

ps - turns out they did have several styles in my size

best love letters I could have received on Valentines Day

On my last day at school, I collected about a dozen hand written letters on yellow legal pad paper, small white notebook paper and even a spongebob squarepants note pad. I think I'll keep them together in an envelope and take them back to the office. Next time I'm stressed about something, I'll pull them out and read them out loud to myself  (hearing their accents and picturing their smiling faces). Here are three of the notes verbatim:

"Dear Ms. Wendy:
Thank you for all, I have learn many things about characterstic and be a good friend, love of God. I never forget you, I hope you come back soon. Thank you thank you for all. I LOVE YOU MS. WENDY
Your pupil,
Geraldine Burdeos"

"Dear Ms. Wendy:
Thank you for the love that you give to us and thank you for teaching with us to be a good child. I hope that you come back soon and teach us. I only say to you I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Until here... Thank you"
Your pupil,
Joanna Rose

"Dear Ms. Windy:
Thank you for teaching us about Jesus, and I hope that you come back soon, and don't forget to pray every day. I LOVE U MRS. WINDY."

...there is something to be said for handwritten notes...

unwanted attention...

...is something I'm not sure I could ever get used to while I'm here in Butuan. I can't go ANYWHERE in this little city without getting stared at. I have seen other white people ("foreigners") here, but they've all been men over 50 and that's another story for another day probably better written by someone else.

It's not just staring, it's having people stop in their tracks to drop-jaw look at me; following me down the street asking me my name and if I'm alone; trykes and motorcycles honking and asking for a ride. It took me a few weeks to stop wondering if I had a spot somewhere I hadn't noticed, or makeup smeared or something out of place to make people stare - and to realize that my height and eye color alone was out of the ordinary...

When I go to the store, the clerks follow me through the store and grab co-workers for a looksie. People walk around the other side of the aisle to get a second look. Even our weekly hospital outreach turns into a stare contest and I notice people peeking into whatever room I happen to be visiting in.

Ok, this does have it's advantages. Yesterday it was pouring rain and the line outside my bank's ATM machine was almost a block long. When the bank's security guard saw me, he broke into the line, and had me cut into the next spot to use the ATM (yes, it was a little ackward).

I must admit, the attention from the kids is fun. These girls live in the neighborhood, and as soon as they saw me get off the tryke yesterday to walk down the lane to the compound, they came running after me:

They wanted to "come to my house" for the day. Now this, I could probably get used to~