My November post will be brief. I noted the anniversary of one year in the Philippines and was clearly settled into life with little drama. I did some entertaining at my house, and spent a bit of time with Inday, Peace Corps friends (Thanksgiving and Dave’s birthday), Dutch and Israeli development workers, and neighbors.

Rolling with
the slowly happening
easily unexpected
unopposed
never wondering
where it’s going
til it’s been

All Saints Day and All Souls day consumed everyone at the beginning of the month. Many neighbors stopped by and brought me treats on their way too or from the cemetery. It seems to be the tradition for the Holiday. They’ve been marching by with flowers and food all day. At one point I had a houseful of Filipinos, aged 1 to 80 years. Three elementary school boys were playing with my cards while a baby watched. The old man and 19 year old boy serenaded with a guitar and my banduria. Outside several high school and college age boys tossed my Frisbee expertly down the narrow dusk-lit street.

One brief sense of satisfaction—or relief
lasting the week run into party smile bursts
obliviating awareness of sneezes coughs
too-old headaches obscured by people surprises
old and young and peer group persons
taking time out to happen for you and with you

One afternoon I walked alone to barrio  Jinalinan for a “follow-up” program. The program was scheduled for 2 p.m, but there was only one member of the class present by 3 p.m. We were about to cancel at 4 p.m. when ten women arrived. The speaker began, but soon a cacophanous rainburst on the tin roof made it impossible to hear for twenty minutes. We huddled into the structure without walls, trying to avoid the leakiest spots under the rusted roofing. I had a strange impression of mob tactics being used in the class by the lecturer.

blending into the place
of last year’s awkwardness
passing this season’s adolescence
of compounded frustrations
deserving laughter
but fleetingly falling
into lethargy
and non-exitement

I went off oral hormones (“the pill”) temporarily and became extremely moody and experienced unpleasant physical symptoms. I also had a cold and cough for a couple of weeks. Consequently, some of my journal- and letter-writing reflected a crankiness and decreased tolerance for everything. I complained about dirty clothes, drop-in visitors at dusk, bumpy squashed rides, the cost of necessities, and a local woman who came by to complain to me because she didn’t have enough money to buy bread. Bread here is about 15 times more expensive than rice. I also don’t buy bread.

share my realm of peace
disturb this solitude
with a burst reminding me
i’m living beautifully
thankful that you’re jealous
of this life
i can surround myself
so naturally

Chinese Acrobats

I went to Iloilo with other volunteers and a Filipina to see an Acrobatic show from Red China. Getting the tickets turned out to be an experience in itself. I lined up for tickets early with Tom, Dave, and Bebe. I then spent a treacherous afternoon, in the most incredibly crowded line, for last chance tickets to the show. It was a mad crowded buffalo stampede of hot sweaty bodies in the heat of the day. The line had completely disintegrated into a mob before the ticket window opened. Bebe couldn’t get through and backed off. Bob and Dave were large enough to push their way through, but it would have seemed rude and abusive coming from tall white men. But I got through, drenched in everyone else’s sweat. I couldn’t move by my own free will, but was propelled forward by the crowd. I might have given up, but I couldn’t move. I felt as if I was grubbing for limited food rations in a refugee camp, or at least an extra in a movie about desperate situations. I believe that I was successful because I am stubborn, and because I am an American female. There is an idea that American women are fragile. I think some of the Filipino men were a little less aggressive because they thought I would break or surely die. As it is, I’m sure I was the only female who got through to the ticket window to procure tickets. It was pretty much a show of power and macho rudeness. Some men were buying their one ticket, then climbing on the heads of the crowd to place themselves back at the front of the line for more tickets.  But I didn’t give up. I stayed in line from 2 until 4 p.m. When I reached the ticket window, I asked for four tickets, saying that we had been there first and pointing to my tall friends, now far at the back of the crowd. I don’t think the clerk understood English well. I didn’t speak Ilongo. The ticket seller finally relented and sold me four tickets.

I headed back to the hotel with the group to take a shower, wash my hair, and eventually attend the most fantastic acrobat show I ever hope to see. I’ve never in my life seen anything so incredible.  It was stunningly perfect with fantastic control and discipline, spot-on choreography and great music. The narration was Chinese and Filipino.

It’s too bad the Red Chinese performers aren’t allowed to talk with any one or even tour the country they’re visiting—which we were dramatically aware of. After the show Tom tried to talk to one of the musicians who played a weird instrument like one Tom had picked up in Hong Kong. Tom had his instrument with him. When the Chinese musician saw Tom’s instrument, he beamed but quickly shook his head and turned away. This was repeated three times or so. It was clear that the musician was warning us off, afraid to engage in communication of any sort. Then Dave tried to shake hands with a Chinese performer who was passing by him. The guy swung out of reach and wouldn’t look at us. One of the performers had to climb up a post near where I was standing after the show. He gave me a big smile then hurried on up the pole as somebody yelled at him. We thought perhaps it was because we were Americans and Chinese:American relations were still closed. But we later learned that the Chinese troop members were not allowed to talk to anyone, not even the Filipinos running the university where the performance was held. For their three days in Iloilo, all the performers stayed on one rented floor of a hotel and were not allowed out, except on a group bus to go to the two evening performances. Even the Filipino guards weren’t allowed to talk to them. It was all very political with many banners saying things like “Long live friendship between the People of China and the Philippines”. I can’t imagine that they made much money; my ticket cost 3 pesos (about 40¢) and the gymnasium was really small.