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.

---

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. 

---

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!

---

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

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.
_________________________________________________________________________________

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.

---

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

JEALOUSY, FLAT TIRES, AND CHILDHOOD AMNESIA

When walking around town, you become acquainted with some of its residents.  Most will talk about family, or health, or even the weather (but not much so in the Philippines).  However, if it is a close friend or relative, then you are also blessed with the seedier side of life.  The other day I was visiting the kids Aunt and Uncle.  There was quite a bit of commotion further down the dirt lane at a neighbor’s Nipa (house made of Bamboo and roof of Palm branches) and Marianne commented that it was a family squabble.  Not long after that, a woman in her late 50s/early 60s tromped by murmuring loudly.  Suddenly, the daughter came from out of the tropical thicket brandishing a large Bolo knife and heading directly for her retreating mother.  It seemed that the daughter’s husband (65-70 years old) was drunk and when the mother showed up in a sexy t-shirt and short shorts, I was told that he was “feeling” her, for lack of a better description.  The daughter caught them and thus the fight ensued. 

I am told that Filipinas are notorious for getting jealous.  When in the Navy (decades ago), I recall one instance where a Filipina chased her boyfriend (a coworker of mine) around the house with a butcher’s knife because he had been with another woman.  I have also seen other foreigners suffer with their wife’s tantrums.  In another case, a Filipino man actually stabbed his wife to death on the Naval Installation where I was stationed.  I do believe it was for the same reason (infidelity).  Fortunately, in this situation (mother and daughter), I did not see the flesh fly, so to say, but have heard or read about other occurrences of the spouse exacting revenge.   I am just thankful I don’t have to deal with such issues in my life….suffice it to say that if you (men)ever decide to come to the Philippines, FOREIGNER BEWARE!…those women keep their knives sharpened at all times!

---

I bought another motorbike this past July and had a sidecar added a month later.  I have really enjoyed its ability to haul all of my family here and there at one time.  The gas mileage isn’t that great because of the side car and for acceleration, sometimes I think a sprinter could put me to shame in that regard; but I can still haul everyone, along with groceries or picnic lunch without riding a bus or making multiple trips upon the two wheeler.

Clarisse, Mae Mae, Toy Toy, Santiago Baguio & Daryl Cleveland

The price for the motorcycle was more than reasonable, but you also got what you paid for. In my case, the motorbike cost under $2,000, but right away I had to replace the spokes with heavier duty ones (at my cost).  Then yesterday, the rear tire wore out with only 2,800 miles on the odometer.  I was rather disappointed with the in-opportunity as I had to push the three wheeler three blocks to the hardware store and buy a replacement tire (6 ply) and tube (total cost $23). Then I had to push it another kilometer (or more) down the highway to a vulcanizing shop to get the tires exchanged.  Cost for the tire change was only 75¢.  

I suppose the worst part was the locals all asking what was wrong with the trike (that got annoying after the twentieth time) and then everyone seeing the FOREIGNER pushing it upon, as well as along, the National Highway!  It was something you just don’t see in the Philippines (Filipinos doing that – yes…sane foreigners – NO!).  I could have had it towed behind another trike to the shop for a couple of bucks, but I guess I was too embarrassed for doing that.  At least I gave the locals something to talk about over their afternoon coffee (yes, the men here do drink native coffee and gossip, just like back home).  

---

When I rented this house, I knew there were locks on the bedroom doors and thus, with kids living here now, I always feared that a door would get locked and closed and that no one would be on the inside to open it back up.  When living on Cebu, I had the actual situation occur wherein Charissa Mae actually locked herself in one of the bedrooms.   She was still three years old and didn’t know how to work the lock mechanism.  Fortunately for me, the window was open allowing Toy Toy (who was thin enough) to fit in-between the security bars and get the door unlocked.  With the exception of a very few, all houses have bars on their windows.  Well, last week, the nightmare came true for me again.

Kids were playing in their room and when Jocell (a neighborhood friend) was the last to leave the room, she shut the door.  Unfortunately, there was no one left in the room and the door mechanism was locked.  I will admit that I never had it happen to me as a youngster (all doors locked with skeleton key in those days), but with ALL my kids, if something ever went awry (of their making), they suddenly acquired a contagious virus called “Childhood Amnesia”.   When this catastrophe was discovered I gathered that joyful throng (six kids) and asked who locked the door.  Of course, you immediately heard the replies of “Indi Ako (Not Me)!” That was except for little Jocell who shyly raised her hand.  First, I was impressed with her outward honesty.  Still, I was in a quandary as to how to get that door back open.  I didn’t want to go to the landlord to discover he had no keys to those rooms, but then Junior came to the rescue.  He got the back window open and then (somehow) used a long piece of bamboo to get the door unlocked.  In the end, I really didn’t care, but just relieved the situation had a happy ending.  

Now, did my kids learn a lesson from Jocell’s honesty?  Probably not, since we have had several cases of “Childhood Amnesia” since then.

---

As usual, there was no camera along to capture the moment during many of the above episodes.  Perhaps, next time.  Sorry.