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.
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 NαΎ± - gro̅s. The following is a brief description
from Wikipedia:
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.
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.
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!
 |
| 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.
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
