4:00 A.M. A vivid
dream, per usual with the Doxy in my system, rips through my brain. This
edition features the Kensuli kids and me. We are playing Simon Says (a great
way to learn the language) and “Simon” (me) sends the whole gang into the
jungle to gather everything that’s edible. They come back in 15 minutes,
heavily-laden with Kumberhan, pulug, fish…the dream ends when I snap awake, and
my first thought is that this could be a really stellar idea. The distant
drumming that’s barely entered my hearing for the last 2 weeks reminds me to
pray that the efforts of this witch doctor summoning the Palawano equivalent of
Baal go unrewarded.
5:40 A.M. The rooster walking across my roof crows
determinedly. I evaluate the amount of light in my hut, and guess that it’s
about 4:45. But, this first night I’ve spent here since the new wall was added
throws my time off, and it’s actually 5:40. I sit up, turn my headlamp beam to
1 Samuel where I read about God calling Samuel before he knew or understood the
lord. It helped drive home that God qualifies the called—a reassuring promise
at this moment in time.
7:00 A.M. The kids are crawling under my house, looking
through the bamboo slats to see if I’m there. I sit quietly, but Palawanos are
unbelievably observant. Especially when they think I’m consuming tinapile
(bread, crackers, cookies, cake…) They know I’m there, and soon, cries of “Mam,
embe ta’aw?” persist. The battle has been lost, so I open my door and trek to
the tetoyan. In the states, my bladder was near-famous for its capacity, here, I’m
always having to pee, and it’s always urgent—and the whole SM
team suffers from this too. It’s an annoyance, but makes for quality conversation.
7:30 A.M. Ignoring the persisting children I shut my door
and start breakfast. It’s actually only the second time I’ve used my stove,
since the propane adapter was wrong—oatmeal has become my new favorite food.
While eating, I spy a SERIOUS spider hiding in the bamboo floor. I attempt to
smash it with a squash (nearest available weapon,) but this only manages to
break a leg off. Three hits later, and the spider, plus the squash, have
transformed to entirely different shaped. Last Sabbath, I killed a snake in my
kitchen-what’ll it be next week?
8:15 A.M. Sandra, Keni, and I trek up (and I DO mean UP) to
Marilyna’s house to help her carry her disabled son to church. I’m anxious
about getting my precious load down safely, but eager to feel like I’m helping
somebody, my fears are unfulfilled. Keni carries him down, since he’s terrified
of me. I enter the worship service feeling like I’ll always be more of a burden
than a help—not a particularly worshipful perspective.
11:20 A.M. We’ve been in church all morning, and between
gleaming Palawano’s words I recognize from Kuyo’s sermon, my brain wonders to
how church in Kensuli differs from church in America. We’re barefooted. Men and
women don’t sit together. Since we’ve started worship this morning, countless infant
feedings (and infront, uhh, excretions) have occurred. 2 hens have laid eggs—right
there behind out backs-and at least one kid is lying under several jackets,
moaning and shaking from a malaria attack. Ohh, and there’s another spider,
too. This one is pancaked sized—Paul Bunyan pancaked sized. Seriously, this creature
MUST have an endoskeleton to support all that mass. As luck would have it, the spider
skitters across the floor, towards me. Things with 8 legs seem to defy any law
of motion, and you…Sandra and I defy some law of gravity, because suddenly we’re
standing on the benches and I don’t remember consciously trying to stand. For
the rest of the service, I watch the floor around me with attentiveness of a
concentration camp guard.
12:00 P.M. This time, Bep lets me carry him up the hill.
Before I set off, I pray “God, don’t let me fall.” He tells me “I won’t”, and
He doesn’t let me down. Marilyna and I visit for a bit at the top, and I learn
that her husband is an expert blowgun hunter, but she’s not. This is an important
topic right now since I bought a blowgun last week, and would love some
lessons. Marilyna gives me a green coconut, and I stumble down the hill. My
hands are heavy, but my heart is happy. Once I’m on the porch of my hut, I attract
a flock of opportunistic kids. We open the coconut, pass it around several
times, and after draining it, scrape the flesh from the shell. This reminds me
of the Nalgene full of coconut water I left here last week. Oops. I crack the
lid—and yeah, it’s defiantly fermented, as evidence by my burning nose hairs
and watering eyes. After convincing Tiper that yes, I eat goat, and no, he
doesn’t need to kill one for me right now, we look at my Filipino bird book. It
falls open to the Pigoin plate, and the kids erupt into a cacophony of “Ga’ay
ky! Menga’an ginseng!” Well, that explains why there aren’t any birds here. After
entertaining half-hour or so, Tiper closes the book, “shoots” the Philippine Eagle
on the front and triumphantly shouts “Petuy!” I respond “kaya. Ga’ay ku begit
biyet.” And he kisses the illustration and says “sorry”.
5:30 P.M. The afternoon service is over, and were consuming
Deborah’s meal in honor of my imminent birthday. We’re eating by headlamp,
since sundown is at like 6. Pancet, pusu et punti patties, a no-bake cake-it’s
all delicious. The sunset over the jagged peaks was majestic, and reminds me of
God’s grander and size. I’m so glad to already feel part of the Villarica
family, although I’ve only been here for 2 weeks.
8:20 P.M. Here I am, under my mosquito net, about ready to
check out for the night…I’ve taken my proxy, emptied my bladder (I hope) and am
reflecting on the joy and struggles this week brought. I’m so glad for Sabbath,
especially here in Kensuli.
