MY HOUSE AND TOWN ON THE ISLAND OF NEGROS

I have now been living in the Philippines since June 30, but except for a few pictures on Facebook, I have never talked about my residence. 

Google says that in the year 2000, 88,000 people lived in Himamaylan City, but one has to take into consideration that Himamaylan covers a large area (think of it like a county with the city as its county seat).  Several Barangays (Barrios) are scattered throughout this geographical area with a few the size of large towns.  Although there are a lot of Mango (tree) groves, rice fields, and large tracts of sugar cane, there are still a lot of Barangays. In Aguisan, where I go to watch the most magnificent sunsets, you would travel about a mile past houses and businesses, along with the local market before arriving at the pier.  The street is always congested with trikes, trucks, and cars as they SLOWLY wend their way down the narrow lane. Many of the outlying towns (Barangays) are only accessible by dirt & stone roads and the basic construction of the town’s structures illustrate the condition of the rest of those remote villages.  Peppered about the countryside there will be packs of bamboo houses hidden within the surrounding fields of sugar cane. The number of simple structures may consist of four or five or even up to ten or twelve individual units.  Most sit above the ground, supported by bamboo stilts, but there are still dwellings constructed upon the earthen floor.  Some have a make shift addition for the kitchen, but many have their cooking apart from the one or two room structure.

As for Himamaylan, I would guestimate the real population of the city itself to be somewhere around 20,000+.  The town is long (about 3 miles from north to south), but narrow (maybe ½ to ¾ mile) at its widest point.  Like most towns in this part of the

One side of the town's Plaza

country, there is just the main street (main highway) through the community. However, my tiny city has a side street, which parallels the highway for 1.2 miles and another for a few short blocks.  Toward the town center, most of the houses are constructed of block, but as you move out into the residential areas, bamboo construction begins to intermingle and finally dominate the domiciles. All of the houses constructed of block have concrete and tiled floors, but quite a few of the bamboo quarters in the outlying areas of town do not.  It exemplifies the fact that poverty exists within as well as without the city.  Still, I see a community content within its simplicity.  I don’t see protests, arguments, or even fights upon the streets or avenues.  In Cebu, I saw a lot of public drunkenness.  However, in Negros, it doesn’t

Barangay One Christmas Display

exhibit that unsightly ugliness.  The streets are kept clean and litter is, for the most part, unseen. One day, I was purchasing medication at one of the local pharmacies after the motorbike accident (there are no indoor pharmacies, but all can only be accessed at the sidewalk through a security window).  A bald man (from the mountains) was smoking and threw his cigarette butt in the road gutter.  A trike driver immediately told him to pick it up and throw it in the trashcan sitting upon the sidewalk or he “could be cleaning gutters” as a penalty for his actions”.  Three other supportive drivers looked on as the man picked it back up and tossed it in the can.  I was impressed with their open concern with the cleanliness of the city. No, the city is not litter free, but in comparison to other communities, Himamaylan looks pretty nice.

Barangay Two Christmas Decoration

Right now the town plaza is filled with colorful Christmas lights hanging from the trees as festive Christmas displays light up each Barangay.  The Barangay I live in has a nativity display and NO ONE is going to file a law suit to have it removed! Now there may not be any snow here, but it doesn’t seem to dampen the Christmas Spirit. Let’s face facts; there was no snow when Jesus was born either, so this is ALMOST what it was like in Bethlehem, but in more of a tropical way.

OK!!!  I live three or so blocks from the National Highway. My house in a compound with big green gates (that are never closed)

The gate and MY  HOUSE

along with twenty some other block homes. My rented castle is constructed of block with a metal roof. Just like all the other homes, there is a bamboo fence surrounding my abode. The interior has two bedrooms (one is a storeroom), a living room, kitchen/dining area, and bathroom.  There is a concrete

The only street in the compound, the rest are paths

pad out back for doing laundry (but I use it mostly for parking my motorbike).  Since my arrival, I have acquired a refrigerator, two burner countertop stove, rice cooker (no more crispy (burned)
rice for me), microwave (seems to be more of a decoration than an appliance), water dispenser, queen size bed (I like to stretch out), and one

Living Room with TV

plastic table with three plastic chairs (one is used as a foot rest and the third is for company which never seems to visit).  Just before Christmas I
purchased a television to watch my pirated DVD movies upon. 

Kitchen

Other side of the Living Room

In a way, I live the lifestyle of a recluse. The cleaning lady visits three times a week to do laundry, clean and cook me the occasional Filipino dish, but that is about all. I will pass out tootsie rolls to the kids in the compound and of course Gwen (my four year old neighbor), but mostly it is a solitary life. No matter what a few may think, I don’t have any ravishing Filipinas knocking down my front door (even the carolers don’t come inside the fence) nor are there any grabbing me by the arm at the mall in Bacolod. When sitting upon the bench facing the highway at the plaza (I can sit there for hours on a good day), I will

The Master & only bedroom

get a lot of stares and on the rare occasion I’ll hear a few giggles, but that is the extent of it. Sometimes I wonder if the Filipinos think I might be gay, but I don’t know the language well enough to tell.  At least I haven’t been confronted by any…..yet. 

BENEVOLENCE - ANOTHER DEFINITION OF LOVE

When I reflect upon it in my later years, as a youngster, I was a greedy child.  I had become accustom to expecting three meals a day with snacks in between those dinner bells.  In fact I was notorious for sneaking a half dozen or more cookies in my pajamas up to bed each night (of which my older brother who shared the bed with me benefited too).  I knew I would get a birthday cake along with at least one present for each year of my growth. For Christmas we were always assured a decorated pine tree and gifts beneath.  Even during the lean years of my youthful existence, each of us children had at least one present under that tree.  I never gave it a thought that there might be children in my town, within the state of Iowa, or somewhere within the United States who had never experienced such pleasures.  I was just a kid, inexperienced in the realities of life. I knew nothing of wealth, much less extreme poverty within the microscopic realm of my tiny World.

And, it seems that the habits we had learned, right or wrong, continued with us into our adult lives. I will be the first to confess I was not a perfect child by any means and thus I carried that demeanor into my first marriage. Still, even though there were needy people all around me, somehow I was blind to their existence.  Sure I would put the dollar or even pocket change into the Salvation Army bucket, but never gave it a thought as to the people those coins and bills would sustain during the harsh wintry months ahead. Then the military called and my perceptions changed.

When I was stationed in the Philippines for the first time, I was aware of that poverty.  When I would drive the motorcycle back into the Zambales Mountains, I observed first hand the extent of famine. It was a wake up call for me, but at that time, my income was so low along with a family of four to feed, I could only feel deeply for those children with hungry eyes and malnourished frames. That haunted me for a long time. Even though I kept those memories to myself, they were always there…in the back of my mind. 

After the military, there were periods when I was able to help those in dire straits with food or clothing, but I restricted my active involvement to the Salvation Army buckets. Then came Hurricane Katrina and Rita and I became a volunteer with the American Red Cross.  It allowed me the opportunity to travel to disasters around the country; to give aid to those who had lost everything. It was a chance to make devastated lives a little more tolerable for those victims of nature’s wrath.  For the very first time, I felt I had finally found my niche in life, but somewhere deep within me there remained an uneasiness. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but it persisted all the same.

In 2009, I made a pact with my eldest son Jay to return to the Philippines with me.  Well he reneged on the agreement, but I returned to reminisce and expand on my love and understanding of such a beautiful land.  I quickly discovered that the poverty I had witnessed during my military tour of the mid seventies still existed, but to a greater extent than before. My visit was restricted to three weeks, however it was as if I had never left.  The country may have advanced into the technological age, but its culture and lifestyle in the provinces was pretty much the same. 

In 2010, I returned to explore the land further.  Even as I stayed at hotels in Manila (which I deplored and kept my visits to a minimum), you could see the people (including entire families) sleeping in the alleys, or upon side streets. On my taxi ride to the Victory Liner terminal, the cab traveled through a part of the city I would never walk through in the day time. Abandoned factory buildings were filled with families. Block structures with no windows displayed clothes drying on lines and tiny children playing in the rubble below.  Men in weathered t-shirts and shorts loitered in groups upon the sidewalks. It was finally becoming apparent to me the cause of that relentless uneasiness.  The nightmarish visions of the 70s were still there, in the back of my psyche and those sights allowed them to resurface with their stark reminders.

I knew that something needed to be done for the masses who struggled for their next meal, but I was also aware of my limitations. During the winter months, I would give my housekeeper a little extra money to buy rice and have it distributed to a family or two who were in desperate need.  At the time, it wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

When I returned in July of 2011, I had definite plans.  I had kind of “adopted” four children and that was a start. I kept them in school, fed, and clothed.  Donarae went to garage sales and purchased used clothing for pennies and then placed them in packing boxes for the children. Though what I realized was there were a number of children who needed the clothing worse than my four kids. Another thing I had come to witness was the sight of malnourishment in the countryside. One of the prominent signs of extreme malnourishment was the children would acquire red hair (caused by protein deficiency in their diets).  The visible evidence was mostly seen in the countryside (probably where the condition was most acute), but even within my community, the red tint existed.

As noted earlier, my first project was to pass out tootsie rolls to the kids as I went on my walks. The children (who could not afford treats at the corner store) came to expect those pieces of chocolate candy.  In fact on my way out to this elderly woman I would visit, they came to line up on a long bench along the road to get their treat.  On the rare occasion I did not have any treats, they would smile and still say “Hey George” to me.  I discovered that children who had nothing before, lived with that fact. If I had treats, they were very happy, but if I did not, they were still content with themselves and their lives.  When we are little children, we accept what is and never give a thought of what could be.  

For decades my plans had been to return and distribute food to those most desperate.  By September I decided that I could no longer sit and ponder others fates, but needed to take an active part in the process.  I made a proposal to myself and talked it over with my adopted family in Cebu.  Just before Christmas, we would buy a certain amount of rice and other food and pass them out to needy families in their neighborhood.  Inwardly, I felt very comfortable with that decision and even more so knowing that the family would assist me in my quest. 

On December 21, I returned to Cebu for Santiago’s eighth birthday. It was his first birthday cake, first present and I gave him his first birthday spanking.  With me was loads of clothes for my “adopted” kids and then we set our plans to work. As usual, my “adopted” kids were so happy to see me and with each visit, I was actually beginning to understand them a little more.  On December 22, the kid’s mother (Diana) and her nephew, Jeffrey, went into town and purchased 330 lbs of rice, 110 lbs of corn meal, along with cases of canned sardines and packages of noodles.  At their bamboo house, we broke the grain into smaller plastic bags, added two cans of sardines and three packages of noodles to each sack; we then sent the kids out to specific homes to deliver the festive packages.  I did not accompany them as I wanted to keep some anonymity. The children had a great time going around the neighborhood and handing out their parcels.  Diana went along and took a few pictures of the event. Each time the kids returned for more, their smiles were bigger and bigger. They were discovering how good it felt to give to others.  Although I truly tried to be invisible, that came to an end rather quickly as word spread and families began to walk to the house.  Diana’s father was pretty selective as to who got the gifts and who did not.  He knew the ones in real need and the ones who had come just for the free food and he began to pass out the packages accordingly. 

Now my adopted family does not have running water or electricity.  They live in a two room bamboo hut on bamboo stilts. It is an extended family of seventeen people, consisting of six children, five teenagers, and six adults. That day I had purchased them a 110 pound sack of rice, but unbeknown to me, they also gave it away to the “gathering throng”. After I had discovered this overt generosity on their part, I asked Diana’s mom why they did that and her reply was simple and to the point. “Those families were in greater need of the food than we were.” Into the evening, desperate people came to the compound and asked if we were still giving food away. I had brought fireworks over from Negros and as the evening passed into night, we sat and shot off fire crackers and exploding artillery packets. White clouds of smoke filtered through the moonlight as a result of the flash and resulting bang. It was the flashy ending to a perfect day. The next day I purchased another 110 pound sack of rice and told them NOT to give it away.  In the end, we provided relief to around sixty-five families that day. 

As I reflect upon the many families who benefited from that good will, I realized that it was only a very temporary fix for them.  I saw their attire as they came for the food and wished I could have had crates of clothing to add with the food, but I have not accomplished that feat yet. I did come to admire my adopted family for the selflessness they showed by giving their rice away to others. I found there are a lot of good people in this World of ours, but they have never had an opportunity to pull themselves from that fate called poverty.  And, I resolved that I would work my hardest to save up two or three times what I was able to buy this year to share with more families next Christmas…and just maybe have clothes to provide them too.  I have taken the first step to calm that uneasiness and I hope that I will take many more over the coming seasons.

CHRISTMAS CAROLERS

The past ten days, the Christmas Carolers have discovered my sanctuary.  It all began with three young girls singing “Jingle Bells” and “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” along with a couple Filipino songs (No religious songs were ever sung).  Accordingly, I stood in the doorway until they were done and then I handed each child a peso coin.  Well actually, I think they had the wrong house as the kids had begun singing at the neighbor’s directly across from me, but no one emerged.  Showing pity, I opened my door and that ended my anonymity.

The first night there were two groups, the girl trio and then a while later two boys appeared. By the second night it had grown to four groups, with between two and four singers in each ensemble.  In the daytime, duets or trios of adult males would come out of the mountains to the east and serenade the residents. Their instruments were hand made guitars, ukuleles, and wooden harps.  What I found fascinating about the harps was they utilized guitar strings and thus sounded just like a guitar to me. Whereas the children were boisterous with their songs, the men were soft in tone and actually accentuated the strumming of their instruments. 

There was one evening when three boys followed me three blocks to the store singing carols. I kept telling them wala kwarta (no money), but that didn’t dissuade them.  It was a known fact that all foreigners were rich and they wanted their reward. While buying laundry detergent for the cleaning lady (who was going to wash clothes the next day), they stood outside serenading whoever they could get pesos from.  Yep, as soon as I emerged from the store, they were there following and singing.  Normally I would have given them three pesos, but decided they deserved six pesos due to their persistence.  I have to comment all the visiting carolers sang those songs with a fervent conviction...even if some were a little off key.  

Last week, I received a personal letter from the local PTA President informing me the local high school choir (and teachers) would be visiting on Saturday and would be collecting donations for school projects. Even with Tropical Depression Washi passing by, they still appeared between torrential showers. Their melodic voices brought back fond memories of when my youth group from church would go caroling to those members who were unable to travel after the annual Christmas programs.

You know, I always got a chuckle when those young kids would sing “Jingle Bells” AND they always started their routine with that tune. Now, there was the possibility they might have seen pictures in school of such things (snow & sleigh), but they really did not have a clue as to what real snow was like.  The texture, the chill that numbed the skin, and the cold air that accompanied the flake covered landscape.  For them, I was sure those were only words to a song that was sung during the Christmas season and nothing more.  As I reflect upon it, I am not even sure if I ever saw a one horse open sleigh in operation (except for pics and in movies).

From the very beginning, before payment was made, I would ask if they knew “We Wish You Americano” and everyone replied they did not know that song.  I would then sing it to them.  They would all giggle and some would try, but none succeeded….at least not on the first night (NO, I DID NOT REQUEST THAT FROM THE ADULTS OR HIGH SCHOOL CHOIR).

With each successive evening and as the number of carolers increased, they came to realize the only way to get their peso reward was to sing that song.  Sometimes I would have to lead them, but in the end, that tune became one of their selections….at least it was for my entertainment.  What I found interesting about the song was it was a well known tune on the island of Luzon and even Cebu, but was completely unknown to the youngsters and many adults here on Negros.

As noted above, while living on Cebu in 2010, that song was not a problem and all the kids knew it.  On occasion, in the evenings, I would sit at the Balamban municipal track and observe the construction of Christmas decorations each barangay (barrio) was putting together for the festive season.  I also got to witness one that acquired a short in the wiring and burn to the ground before the fire department could arrive.  Still, even then my requirement for the several groups of youthful carolers who stopped by was they sing “We Wish You Americano” before they received payment. 

On December 24, 2010, I was sitting on a bench that surrounded a statue in the Balamban town park.  It was a warm and muggy evening (as they always were in Cebu).  I happened to meet my housekeeper’s brother James that evening.  He was a Mormon and we were talking about his experience as a missionary for the church when a half dozen teenage girls stopped by.  They knew James and wanted to know who I was.  We chatted for awhile and I answered their adolescent questions. Finally I asked if they had a peso I would sing them a Christmas Carole.  They were pretty shocked at that, but said sure.  Thus I sang, “We Wish You Americano” and at the end, without skipping a beat, I held out my hand and said, “Peso Please.”  Nope, I never got one centavo from them.  I guess you just can’t trust teenagers in the Philippines either.

One morning I was waiting to take pictures of the pre-kindergarteners who were going to parade past the town hall in fairy tale dress when two young girls (at the insistence of their ati (older sister) came over and started singing Christmas Caroles to me. I kept telling them wala kwarta (no money), as I never took money with me unless it was needed.  Finally they understood and left dejectedly. I felt terrible and even though I checked my pockets, I fingered through them once more. In the corner of one was a five peso coin. They were walking down the street with their older sister as I quickly walked after them and finally gained their attention.  The girls were all smiles as I placed the coin in one of the girl’s hand.

Currently I am spending around twenty or so pesos each night on the tiny singers (ages three to maybe eight or nine years), but I also know that for some it will be the only way they can make money.  It’s not that they will be buying Christmas Presents, but it will most likely go to help support the family.  Honestly, I don’t think many families have a festive Christmas. We take so many things for granted in the states, whereas over here, their main focus is on food, shelter, health, and clothing.  In all honesty, Christmas gifts are an unfulfilled dream of many children here.

Still, I don’t feel bad or cheated by those nightly visits.  I know that what I am doing is good for them and their families and, in the end that is what Christmas is all about, right?

As I finish this up, a child who lives in the compound has just passed by singing, “We Wish You Americano”.  See, the difference I am already creating in their future?

MY EXPERIENCES WITH EXCHANGING MONEY IN THE PHILIPPINES

One of my more enjoyable routines is converting US Dollars each month into Philippine Pesos.  Transferring money from the states to the Philippines is the easiest part; it is the process of changing it over to pesos which provides such memorable moments. 

When I was living in Balamban, Cebu, I could go to ML Huillier, a chain of pawn shops and money exchange establishments located throughout the Philippines.  I always transferred my money in US Dollars as the exchange rate fluctuated daily in the Philippines and thus if I waited a day or two, I might get more pesos to the dollar. The personnel there became accustomed and even enjoyed my visits.  We would banter back in forth, me in broken Cebuano and they in broken English.  I really enjoyed stopping there as the treatment I received was the exception and not necessarily the rule. I never had a problem with getting any amount in dollars. However, I also didn’t realize that not all those branches carried US Dollars, but it became quite evident the first time I tried to pick up my money at the business in Himamylan. 

When inquiring there, the lady looked at me quite astonished.  It hadn’t sunken into me that there were very few foreigners in town.  She shook her head and said they only kept $300 on hand, but was advised that Kabankalan could assist me.  The young woman in Kabankalan gave me the same reply, but added the main office in town could accommodate my needs.  I told her that I would prefer doing business there.  The rather cute clerk then said they could have the desired amount in the office in a couple of hours if I wanted to return.  Then she offered to take down my celly number and email address and contact me that way.  At first, being a simple country boy from Iowa, I thought that was very nice of her, but then the alarms in my mostly empty brain went off.  A little over a year ago on the island of Luzon, a young woman grabbed my celly from me and got my number. For a month afterward she kept sending me texts.  It was only after I refused to reply did she finally give up.  So, I politely told the young woman behind the white horizontal bars that I would just return in the afternoon.

Most times, the women had common names like Dorothy, Sheryl, or even Linda, but then there was the day I walked into the BDO branch in Bacolod to open a savings account.  An account representative by the name of Princess waited on me.  I told her I wanted to open a savings account and also have an ATM card so I could access the account.  I provided her the requested information and she took the form away for processing.  Next to her was a teller by the name of Yummy.  I know I had to look conspicuous staring at that name tag, but there it was “YUMMY” (pronounced U – ME).  She was young, of medium height, thin build, long brown hair, and wore glasses. Now there are those of you who have asked me before if she was as good as her name depicted. I will write here as I answered before, I didn’t sample the goods, but will let your imagination decide.

Princess told me I could return in a week for the ATM card. I told her she could just mail it to me like in the states, but her eyes got wide and she stated that ATM cards were never mailed.  I then asked if she could send it to another branch closer to where I lived. The young executive replied that I would have to come back to get the card. However, should I need the money before the card arrived, I could stop by any of the branches and they would let me make a withdrawal.

On November 30 I returned to Bacolod to get my card, but to my chagrin, I was informed by the security guard outside the bank that it was the Bonafacio Holiday.  Being quite disappointed with my ignorance, I went and drowned my sorrows at KFC, where Dorothy would always get flustered when I ordered my meal and could never get my purchase straight, and then I went to watch a movie. 

The next morning I biked to a branch closer to home and withdrew 5,000 pesos only to be informed there was a 200 peso service charge for withdrawing money at the teller window. No charge if I used the ATM mind you, but I would have to pay if I tried to use the window services.  I paid the fee, took the money and headed to Bacolod. Of course, it had to literally rain on my parade and by the time I got to the bank where my ATM card was being held hostage, I was dripping.  All the better I thought as I left watery footprints across the polished tile floor.

Princess waited on me again and I signed my signature lines to get my card.  The problem was I was cold and my hands had been gripping a handlebar for over ninety minutes, which altered my signature.  Even though princess had a picture that matched my darkened face (from the sooty exhausts on the highway), she still went to her supervisor for advice.  After a very long wait, she returned and said I needed to sign the forms again. I explained the situation upon deaf ears.  She took my driver’s license and papers back to her superior once more and then returned with my card.  It was late afternoon as I took the ATM card and raced back to Himamaylan (you never want to drive the highways after dark).  And now you are wondering why I just didn’t wait to get the card and withdraw money then. Well, another security measure stated that you could not use the card until the next day and as I was out of pesos and gas for the bike…I just didn’t feel comfortable begging for pesos in Bacolod.

Most times, exchanging money was a simple procedure.  Often, I would look at the exchange rate for several different establishments and then decide whether I needed the pesos that badly or not.  One day while waiting in line the exchange rate went up fifty centavos per dollar. I really liked that, but one had to remember, that was the exception and not the rule. 

Some businesses had you fill out a long form while a couple just asked for your photo ID and nothing else.  However, one day I was at a business converting dollars to pesos and the lady (who appeared to have no personality whatsoever), checked off the boxes I needed to complete before getting my pesos.  I was the only one at that window and she just slid it through the slot without a smile or even looking up at me. Liver and onions had more charm than that woman. In fact my sixth grade teacher, Miss Steinmeyer (‘ol Miss Dynamite), had better temperament than the lady behind the glass.  I took the piece of paper….heaven help us if they had an official legal form…..and looked it over.  The clerk had marked the boxes SHE wanted filled in and I started writing the information in purple ink.  They wanted my name, address, phone number, place and date of birth along with my nationality.  BUT this form was just a little different.  Toward the bottom was a box she had a big check which said, “PURPOSE”. I looked at that space with a bit of adolescence mischief, I then printed, “Sex and booze” in large letters within the box and handed it back to the Filipina.  I guess she had the last laugh though.  She thoroughly scanned the completed sheet and without any change in her composure, counted out the pesos and handed them to me with an indifferent “Thank you.”

You know, when I think about it, maybe I should go back to BDO and see if Yummy would treat me any better. 

SUGAR CANE TRUCKS

Most of the crops upon the islands of the Philippines are composed of rice, corn, and sugar cane, but on the island of Negros, the two major crops are rice and sugar cane.   Due to its small granular size, rice is easily transportable.  It can be hauled with anything from a wooden carabao (water buffalo) cart to a large straight truck.  However, most times a Jeepney or small pickup is utilized for the task at hand.  On the other hand, sugar cane has substance.  The plants can produce upwards of twenty pounds of sugar cane per square meter (10.76 sq. ft) and, in this part of the country, the plants grow from around six to nine feet in height.  The sugar cane is processed into granulated brown and white sugar, molasses, alcohol, and ethanol.

The cane is harvested from the first of October to April in our area.  They are cut by hand here.  In fact many of the natives derive their annual livelihood from the sugar cane harvest.   Decades ago, narrow gauge railroad tracks criss-crossed the sugar cane fields of Negros. There the workers would load the cut stalks upon small metal flat cars which were then transported to the sugar mills for processing.  I have yet to find out the reason that system ceased, but I do know that the railroad track through Himamaylan disappeared in the early 90s. One day the track was there and the next day it was gone.  A humorous side note is that after the last train passed, it was said the locals yanked the rails out themselves to make money off the scrap iron.  Whether fact or fantasy, it is a known truth those rails are long gone and the only evidence they even existed is where the tracks still cross the roadways along with rusting trestles quietly decaying away over the many streams and rivers. 

Now-a-days it is trucks that transport the fibrous product.  The vehicles are mostly straight trucks and definitely of vintage design.   If I had to give an average age for the fleet of THOUSANDS of trucks, it would be around forty or more years old.  The Filipinos are resilient folk.  The front ends, engines, and transmissions of the carriers are kept up, but when the cabs rust out, they are replaced with a wooden box (no doors) and bamboo seats.   A fair share of the trucks are old army surplus vehicles with ages ranging from the early 50s to 80s.  I have read online where there were some World War Two trucks still in use, but the oldest that I could recognize were from the early 50s.  Still, I was amazed at how those rigs were maintained.  A case in point was a welding shop down the road from me that took a metal cab completely apart and then pieced it back together.  Rusted out pieces were cut away as new patches were welded into place.  When they were done repainting, the cab looked (almost) like new.  One would also be amazed at the paint schemes on many of the transports.  Many were in bright colors while a few adorned designs to express their individuality. 

The trucks came in all different shapes, sizes, colors, makes, and models.  I would guess the most common names I had noticed were Isuzu, Fuso, and Nissan.  There were some Ford, International Harvester, and Chevrolet trucks too, but not too many.  I will admit those carriers were the biggest air polluters of anything I had ever come across.  They would belch out banks of black exhaust, literally leaving a haze in the air as a line of five or six or more would pass.  About three or four times each week I’d sit upon a bench alongside the highway watching the traffic pass and allow the people an opportunity to stare at me (literally, as none of the foreigners I had ever seen or known did anything like that).  When the sugar cane trucks passed, the air was so filled with black soot it was difficult to breathe and probably why so many Filipinos wore masks when traveling or walking along the throughway.

OK, back to the story, the sugar cane would be cut by the workers and loaded into wooden carts pulled by Carabao (Water Buffalo – remember?).  Then the carts would be driven across the field  to the side of the road where the cut cane was unloaded into piles.  Those piles were then picked up by other workers who flung them over their shoulders, and walked up a twelve-inch wide plank into the metal box of the truck.  A man, positioned inside, possessed the mother of all bolo knives of which to cut and fit the cane tightly into the metal compartment.  As the sugar cane reached the top of the box, the cutter installed vertical slats of sugar cane and continued to build the pile ever higher.  When completed, the stack of cane could reach upward of fifteen feet from the bed of the box and extend two or three feet out the back of the container.  They would place a tarp over the back end of the pile in an attempt to keep the load from falling out, but all too often it didn’t work.   You would be amazed at the number of three and four foot piles of fallen stalks which had piled up on your side of the highway with no guilty truck to be found.  Another transport that was constantly rumbling up and down the highway was Molasses tankers.  I liked being behind them, because of the aroma they emitted.  Then one day, I came upon a “spill”.  A carrier had lost part of his load of molasses upon the roadway.  Fortunately, I was traveling in the opposite lane and able to move over to the far right side of the pavement.  However, the northbound traffic had to slop through the sticky goo, most likely coating the undersides along with outer sides of their metal bodies.   Had it been me, the shoes and clothing would have suffered greatly not to mention trying to negotiate two wheels through that slippery mess.

The more sugar cane you could get into the box, the more profitable the trip.  The consequence of such mentality was the risk of tipping the load over at a curve or corner.  Several times since the season began I had witnessed that unfortunate result. Fortunately, for me I did not see any hapless victims (vehicles/trikes/motorbikes/pedestrians) underneath the burdensome cargo.  The flattened  load would sit there for HOURS until another truck and crew could be hired to transfer the sugar cane from the deceased metal beast.  I never did see how they got the trucks upright again, but I never saw a crane in the vicinity either.  Almost everything was done by manual labor in the Philippines.  One day I actually saw a group of three Filipinos push an empty dump truck over a busy bridge south of Bacolod….and yes I did get a picture of it.

When the transports were fully loaded, they lumbered down the highways like a herd of migrating elephants, dangerously slow and if one sugar cane carrier was passing another, it was an even slower process.  Those were the times I have had to get off the road or end up becoming a “Biker in Pavement” blemish (Gee, I think my carcass would cover a lot of pavement).  Quite often they traveled in groups of two or more and made traveling upon the highways more challenging.  It was especially so as you were encountering empty cane trucks careening down the roadway in the opposite direction.  You really didn’t want to ride behind either the empty or full transports as you were constantly assailed by fibrous debris.  In the states, the rule for motorcycles was to never ride behind livestock or gravel transports.  In the Philippines, sugar cane trucks could be added to that list. 

There aren’t that many processing plants in Negros Occidental for sugar cane. One of the largest is the Biscom facility in Binalbagan.  In the morning, the parking areas for sugar cane trucks would be empty, but by mid afternoon, the gigantic lots would be filled with loaded vehicles awaiting their turn to deliver their produce.  Many times, the sides of the highway would also be lined with those carriers as lots overflowed.   Some of the drivers would congregate into small groups or at the nearby Sari Sari store (small roadside grocer) while others would sling hammocks underneath the boxes of their rigs to get some much needed sleep.

During this time of year, it seemed the only broken down vehicles were those loaded with sugar cane trucks.  Most of the time flat tires were the culprit.  What amazed me though was they would change them with the full load above.  Yes, there were accidents which comprised mostly of head-on or rear end collisions, but I even observed one that had been hit in the side.    It didn’t matter whether you were coming down the highway or not, when they pulled into the roadway, all vehicles swerved or stopped.  Then you never really knew how many were driving without a chauffeur’s, much less a driver’s license.

After the fields had been cleared of the cane, they were set ablaze to burn off the residue.  The smoke filled the air with such a sweet (almost intoxicating) aroma.  On any given day, you could see individual towers of white smoke rising above the coastline as well as up on the mountain sides.  An annual ritual of clearing out the old and preparing for the new planting season to begin.

Sugar cane has been in the Philippines since the Spanish discovered this land in the 15oos. Through feast and famine, it has continued to sustain the livelihood of thousands of families and with ethanol production in its future, I am confident that it will be a invaluable crop for decades to come.