CONSTRUCTION IN THE PHILIPPINES

There are many similarities between the US and the Philippines and yet, many differences.  Even though this country is replete with cell phones and the internet…..and McDonalds, the similarities pretty well end there

Typical Filipino ladder

 I had written about this briefly before, but it still fascinates me as to their construction methods.  Whereas in the states, all construction work is done by machine or with electric tools, in the Philippines it is all performed manually.  You need a trench built?  Then you get a crew of Filipinos with picks and shovels to get it done.  Last year a fiber optic line was laid from Bacolod to Kabankalan and the trench was completely dug by hand.  The slot was only three or four feet deep, but still, entire families followed their husbands/fathers as they dug from sunrise to sunset each day.   Tent communities would follow across the highway from the project as laundered clothing was hung on highway barriers, or even tree limbs to dry, while tiny wood fires cooked pots of rice.   

Would you like a house built?  Then don’t look for cranes, or cement mixers, or cement trucks to help in the project.  In the

Diggers installing a new water line

Philippines, if you want a decent house built, it is made of concrete and blocks and it is all done by hand.  The cement mixing is done on a sheet of plywood and a shovel.  If the structure is two or even three stories high,, the mixed cement is brought to the highest level by a bucket brigade.  How about getting some boards cut?  Don’t look for a circular saw but expect a hand saw to do the trick.  I remember as a young child, my dad only having hand saws and manual drills in his tool kit.  If you wanted something cut that was how it was done.  I also recall that he would give me a handful of nails, a claw hammer, and a piece of scrap lumber.  H e would then tell me to pound the nails all the way into the wood.   I was not a very good hammerer as I invariably would hit off center and thus bend the nail….it also didn’t help that dad had given me nails that had previously been bent and partially straightened, or was provided with rusty nails.   Still, it was an adventure to me.  As for sawing, I would usually become disenchanted long before the board was cut in half…..and he would give me the biggest pieces of wood to cut too (at least in my youthful eyes they were).   Yet, I would marvel during those days as I watched professional carpenters sink #10 nails into boards with just two or three hits of the hammer…or would manually saw through a 2x6 inch board like a hot knife through butter.  Then the electric tools came out and it all changed.  It went from manual labor to an easier and quicker form of construction.  Circular saws sliced effortlessly through boards while nail guns would finish a large roof with new shingles in a few short hours instead of a couple days.  Even I evolved from nailing wooden boards together to using screws to achieve the same results.  However, in regards to construction in the Philippines, the 21^st Century has yet to arrive.  

Recently, I had some carpentry work that needed to be done in my rental home and decided to price a circular saw.  The cheapest one I found was $150!   A price basically unheard of in the USA anymore, but here it was definitely prohibitive.  In the end, I borrowed a hand saw and did the cutting myself……and for the most part, the cuts were pretty straight.  

Yet, I could appreciate all the manual labor involved in a job here. 

Three story building in progress

The laborers would be paid between $5 to $8 dollars for a full day’s work and they actually worked.  At least they were consistent.  A two story concrete home would take about four months or longer to complete.  The speed of the job being dictated by the number of laborers involved.  There currently is a three story building being constructed downtown.  The work began late last summer, but as of this week, they were nowhere near completion.  It was fascinating to watch as they carried blocks and hauled buckets of cement up to each floor by hand.  With this country’s population at close to 100 million people (12^th most populated country in the World), there are plenty of laborers available. 

Another manual project I had never seen before today was the painting of the center line on the Philippine highways.  In the

Painting the center line on National Highway

states, we have high tech paint spraying vehicles with drivers in air conditioned cabs completing dozens of miles of roadway each day.  However, in this country it involves two men and several cans of paint.  While one is stepping on a wooden frame, the other paints the line with a brush.  They may not get the miles painted that the trucks in the states accomplish, but the labor costs are economically feasible, and provides job security for its citizens.   

  

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After dinner the other night, five year old Charissa Mae snuggled up to me while I sat at the table, looked up at me with a sly little smile and said, “Did you know that I love my papa?” 

NEGROS ISLAND, WATER LEAK IN THE NIGHT, POPCORN, AND THE COLOR PURPLE

I don’t know why I will go in a streak of posting blog entries and then stop.   I would like to blame the kids and the ongoing activities around the house, but it isn’t always that.  Perhaps lethargy or apathy or a combination of both which has a tendency to slow or impede my creative process.  Still, with glass of ice water at my side, I will once again astound you with my inane paragraphs of life in the Philippines.

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Okay, we all know that I live on the island of Negros and in the province of Negros Occidental.  I am confident you can pronounce the Occidental word without a problem, but Negros has its own uniqueness.  In American we would think it would be said the same way as Negro, but with an “s” added on, when in actuality, it is pronounced  Nᾱ - gro̅s.  The following is a brief description from Wikipedia:

Negros Island was originally called Buglas – an old Hiligaynon thought to mean "cut off." It is believed that Negros was once part of a greater mass of land, but was cut off by rising waters during the Ice Age. Among its earliest inhabitants were dark-skinned natives belonging to the Ati, one of several indigenous Negrito Ethnic Groups dispersed throughout Asia, who had a unique culture.

Thus, the Spaniards called the land Negros after the black natives they saw on their arrival on the island in April 1565.

Originally, the island was pretty much covered in jungle, but over the centuries, the tropical morass has been transformed into sugar cane and rice fields.  Thus today, except for some of the remote mountainous areas, it is all farmland.   

Another piece of trivia is that this island (broken into two provinces – Occidental and Oriental)  and is the third largest island in the Philippines, boasting a population of over 4.1 million inhabitants.  Giving you an idea as to its relative size, take this into consideration; the state of Iowa is ELEVEN TIMES larger than Negros but with only two-thirds the population!  Another thing, there is a language difference between those two provinces. While Illongo is spoken exclusively in Occidental province, Cebuano is the language spoken in Oriental (A good reason for having Tagalog as a national language).  Thus, my children can now speak Tagalog, Cebuano, Illongo, and English.  In fact at the dinner table they will speak Ceblongo, or a combination of the two languages within each sentence.  For me, it is confusing at best, but doesn’t seem to bother those youthful linguists at all. 

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On a recent Sunday evening, Diana came to my room and told me she heard water running.  I walked to the kitchen and indeed heard

Before

a spraying sound coming from outside the house.  With flashlight in hand, I walked around to where the water entered the abode  Under the rocks, you could hear water leaking from an elbow connector

After

in the PVC pipe.  I searched, in vain, for a shut off valve, but as was typical, there was none.  Imagining the horror of an astronomically inflated water bill, I went to bed realizing that nothing would be done until morning.  

As the sun arose in the eastern sky, I went to the landlord’s and explained the situation.  He sent over his handyman and gave me a list of articles needed.  (the hardware store opens at 6:00 am here) I went there and procured elbows and one t-connector.  Now, the question I know that you are curious about is, how did we stop the water flow into the house.   Well, you just disconnect the water line from the meter!  Yep, just let all that water flow into the drainage ditch while you work on the plumbing.  

In the Philippines, when there are leaks or something doesn’t fit right, you don’t always change the connecter’s, you just get some rubber and bind it around the leak until the leaking stops.  You may chuckle at that notion, but it is how it’s done here.  A T-connector was leaking one day and the owner took rubber and kept wrapping it around the leak until it stopped (mostly).   Another thing, in Iowa water lines are buried at least four or more feet underground, whereas here, they are buried a few inches below ground level or (in many cases) just run atop the land. 

On this day, it appeared that I was going to be stuck with the bill, but it wasn’t too bad as the PVC pieces cost a little over a dollar and the plumber was less than four dollars.  Try to get service at that price in the states!

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Popcorn Vendor in plaza during festival 2012

 Lately, we have been dining on microwave popcorn.  It is Jolly Time Butteriscious and actually costs a dollar a bag here, but still the kids love it.  They enjoy the fresh taste along with the buttery fingers as they grab the popped kernels out of the hot sack.  They do sell popcorn in the plaza during festivals, but it is pretty bland and has a stale taste/crunch to it.  Sometimes they will invite their friends over to share in their good fortune.  Watching the Three Stooges while munching on freshly popped corn is their idea of a perfect life.  

Toy Toy, Charissa Mae, Santiago, & Clarisse Baguio

However, I do recall the day (as a youth) when popcorn was popped in a pan, with a glob of lard, and a lot of pan shaking.  It was during those cold winter days when that corn tasted pretty good and warmed your belly against the frigid conditions without the four walls of my home in Iowa.  However, there were hazards associated with the process.  One evening, many decades ago, my brother Jerry and I decided to make a pan of corn for an evening snack.  He must have been perhaps ten years old while I was two years younger.  We lit the fire on the gas stove, then took a large spoon of that milky white lard out of its metal tin and slapped it into the pan.  Finally as the lard began to melt, we poured a good amount of popcorn seed into the liquefying grease.  It was fascinating to watch the kernels sizzle in the bottom of that oil filled container.  We were mesmerized as the individual kernels transformed from a dark brown to a light tan…that was until they started popping.   It wasn’t that we had not popped corn before, but for whatever reason, we did not place the lid on that pan.  Accordingly when the corn started popping, we were sprayed with droplets of burning lard!  My brother and I both attempted to brave the flying grease and get the lid on the pan, but it was to no avail.  I made the mistake of catching a flying corn in my hand, but that proved rather painful in its burning sensation.  Popcorn was on the stove, on the floor, and even as far as the kitchen table before enough filled the bottom of the pan that we could get a lid on.  A few kernels had stationed themselves around the flames of the burner and smelled pretty bad, but it was a memorable experience and one neither my brother nor I ever repeated again.

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In the states, the color purple has been just that – PURPLE.  But here in the Philippines, it is called VIOLET.  If you say purple, they just give you that puzzled look.  The Filipinos will also say they are brown in skin color, but I prefer to call them “nicely tanned”.   Just imagine how many people in the states would give almost anything to have their shade.

Daryl Cleveland

02/18/2013

FAMILY, PLAZA, ILLNESS & OLD AGE IN THE PI

Just a comment; the below article was written just after the kids had arrived here in April of 2012.  Although I have other articles from that time period, I thought this one still relevant as the health conditions or disparities continue to exist in the Philippines.
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It is hot and sultry as I sit here and jot down a few lines for this segment.  We have been going to the Plaza each morning to play Frisbee and partake of the playground equipment.  In the beginning, the kids were up at 6:00 a.m. which gave us plenty of time to get breakfast and walk our way to the morning’s activity.  Regrettably, starting yesterday, the wakeup time was moved back a touch; in fact by quite a touch.  I rolled out of bed at 6:30 to find everyone still sprawled out on the living room floor.   Oh yes, I guess that is another subject I should address.  It appears the bunk bed had turned into a something more ornamental than useful as of late.  The children spent so many years sleeping together on mats on a floor in Owak, Cebu that segregating them to a double decker was a bit more than they were accustomed to.  Thus, in less than a week, the queen sized pad for the bottom bunk was being carried out to the living area along with an extra twin size pad each evening for the kids to sleep upon.  Stephen, who was sent here to assist in watching the kids, decided to sleep on the couch and in essence, above the fray of youthful bodies upon the floor. 

On this particular morning, even with my loud voice, not one body moved…even Stephen literally turned his back toward my morning presence.  Adult priorities definitely didn’t mirror the children’s and I knew to get them going it would involve something drastic. I went to YouTube and found the song “Gasolina” and turned up the volume on the laptop.  Even with the bass beating and Spanish words streaming, there was little movement, but there was life and some annoyance as I heard a mournful moan here and there.  So, I moved up to “Jumbo HotDog”, “The Spaghetti Song” and “Butsekik” (It has no intelligible words in it).  Finally, one by one the tykes arose from their sleeping positions and filtered their way toward the breakfast table…..all except one.  Clarisse had been complaining about pain with her eyes the previous couple of days along with muscle pains, but yesterday morning, she just didn’t want to get up.  She didn’t feel overly warm, but just seemed lethargic.  We decided to go to the plaza for Frisbee and the playground and left her under the care of Stephen.

Scraped nose along with bruised ego

When I played Frisbee with Stephen, I was pretty much guaranteed good throws (he is 17 years old); however, Toy Toy was still struggling at perfecting his skills. Regrettably, it was either a matter of dodging rocketing discs from Stephen or chasing after errant tosses by Toy.  On that particular morning, I didn’t react fast enough to one of Toy’s good tosses resulting in the Frisbee glancing off my outstretched hand and slapping me on the nose.  It was only when I wiped my face on the towel at the end of our twenty minute session did I see the blood and then felt the scrape on the bridge of my nose.  

I decided to sit on a bench under a flowering Kalachuchi tree for awhile.  A swing set was entwined in the lower branches and Santiago decided he would climb among the blossoms until he belatedly discovered that there were bees harvesting the nectar and they definitely did not appreciate a two legged intruder.  It took only one sting to get him dropping out of the tree and back on solid earth once again.  When compared to bee stings in the United States, it looked more like a mosquito bite than a red welt. Still, in the case of Santiago, it was a valuable lesson learned in coexisting with nature. 

By the time we had returned home, Clarisse’s temperature had risen dramatically.  I gave her one Acetaminophen (Tylenol) and started her drinking copious amounts of liquids, mainly water and juice.  Just before lunch, I lay with her and wiped her head with a rag.  Even though she got up to sit at the table to drink liquid and sample her rice (during lunch), she was still lethargic. After the dishes were cleaned from the table, she asked me to lay with her again and so I did, but we were not alone.  Toy Toy decided he should take a nap and snuggled within the wide gap between Clarisse and me.  Within minutes, they were both asleep with Toy snuggled tight against me and Clarisse on the other side of Toy, firmly holding my hand.   

Throughout the evening, I monitored her condition.  You could not buy a decent thermometer in this country, so the one I had was pretty much worthless. Still, I knew that she was quite feverish and continued to push the liquids.  

The next morning, the fever had not gotten worse, but not gotten better either.  So, I loaded her onto the motorbike and took her over to the private hospital at Kabankalan.  In the states, all of the medical facilities I had ever visited were air conditioned, but in the Philippines, it was an entirely different situation.  Although the offices and specific rooms had a/c, the hallways and waiting areas did not.  

Clarisse and I sat upon a cuShioned but low slung couch in a small waiting area outside the emergency room doors along with a couple of other suffering patients.  I spoke with the female nurse on duty and told her that my daughter had a high fever.  She indignantly replied we had to wait our turn. So, we waited…and waited…and waited some more. I finally stopped the nurse (as she walked by (of which she did a lot of that) empathizing the fact that I had a daughter with a 104º fever and thought it demanded a little more attention than what we were receiving.  The nurse looked at her and then at me and commented that she thought I was the patient and didn’t look that sick….I was becoming rather agitated with the aloofness of that supposedly medical professional, but in short order she brought out a thermometer and took some BASIC vitals.  

In a few minutes we were taken into the emergency room where a more thorough examination was performed. Although Clarisse’s blood pressure was fine, her temperature was 103º and she was still lethargic.  They sent us for blood tests and then looked down her throat.  A gynecologist was the MD on duty where she made a diagnosis of enflamed tonsils, prescribed antibiotic medication and we headed for home.   

Even though the cost for hospitals, services, and physicians were ridiculously inexpensive here, the price of medication was totally outrageous. The antibiotics prescribed cost $2.50 per pill and she had to take two per day for seven days.  Still, even at that price, I was not going to complain too much as it had its desired effect. By the next day, Clarisse had made a miraculous recovery and was eating, laughing, and just being a twelve year old once again. 

In Cebu, the treatment for her fever would have been herbs and faith…as it is for many Filipinos unable to afford professional services.  In the end, her fate would have been dictated by her immune system and whatever medicinal effect the herbs could’ve provided.  However, I was happier that Clarisse was here.  In 2011, her brother Toy also had a high fever and the resultant treatment (drugs) cost over $50.  Had I not been there, the illness would have been allowed to take its course (with perhaps catastrophic consequences).  In the end, I may be the one to make a difference in the quality of life and certainly in regard to health and treatment of my four siblings.  It is just unfortunate that so many children do not have that opportunity and are forced to weather an illness without the medical resources which are so readily available but financially unattainable.  And as far as I am concerned, that is a crime.

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While doing some demographic research the other day, I came upon some interesting statistics.  Looking at “factbook”, published by the CIA, I discovered that those who were 65 years and older in the Philippines was only 4.3% of its entire population (or 4.5 million seniors). In comparison, the United States population of those 65 years and older was 13.5% (42.5 million)!  Again, I am confident the affordability or unaffordability of those available health services is a contributing factor to the large disparity in comparative age groups of those two countries.

Daryl A. Cleveland

April 12, 2012