I had dreaded this moment all day, maybe all week. It was done. All of my belongings were in karuts (rice sacks); my hut & the school were locked. Said (cried?) my goodbyes. I had done in one day a process that I'd hoped to spread out over a week, and I was done.

(The hut that housed me, gargantuan spiders, snakes, a scorpion, and an immortal rat for my stay in Kensuli) 

I felt like I was betraying my the people who had become my language teachers, family, friends, angel's helpers over the last year. Here I was -- mysteriously gone in the lowlands without a peep for two weeks, and then all of a sudden HEY I'M BACK! Except...not really, because I'm leaving tomorrow for good. And oh, by the way, I need you to carry my stuff down the mountain. It's a deal, right?

I steeled myself. "Kelu' muli kay ne damen!" ("We're going home!") I said, initiating the proper leave-taking the Palawanos use. "Inunga na' ge" ("Be careful") they responded. "Enu kasala" I replied, taking a step down the steep trail. Impulsively, I turned back. "Byeeeee. I love you." Sobbing unashamedly by this point, I slid down the steep trail from Sentul for the very last time, remembering vividly how the very first time I went down this trail, Kikid (a friend's daughter) tried to show me how to walk. Apparently, I failed that class.

(Kikid teaching me how to walk on a DRY trail -- another skill I never quite mastered.) 

 
Darkness was rapidly falling on Kensuli as I met Kiley & Kasia at my hut. And, to make matters worse, we soon found that between the 3 of us, we had no shoes and 1 light -- the quickly dimming light on my cell phone, good for illuminating 6 inches in front of you. After living in the jungle for nearly a year, you'd think we'd remember crucial stuff like this. But nooo. We'd forgotten in our rush to get to Kensuli early that morning. We had strict orders demanding we sleep in Kemantiyan that night, so after a quick prayer and singing our traditional pre-walk spiritual (I want Jesus to Walk with Me), we cautiously started down the trail. Each of us was carrying at least two heavy, unbalanced packages. And it was pouring rain. I was glad for the difficulty, though -- if you're worried about sliding off the mountain or stepping barefoot on a poisonous centipede, there's really no room left in your brain to mourn.

(On a scale of 1-5, with 5 being the best, this ranks about 4.75 for Palawano trail conditions...)

Kiley was in front and Kasia in the middle. I took the back, because my feet had walked this trail hundreds of times. It was a slow process -- even though there was ample vegetation to grab, Kiley would fall...then Kasia would fall...then I'd fall. And then, the cycle would begin again. We had made it perhaps 1/3 of the distance to the bridge, when two figures with headlamps approached us. "Menungang gebi." ("Good evening") "Menunga gasi!" we responded.

It was Rimun and Dineru, two young men from Kensuli. They insisted on carrying all our belongings, and walked behind us on the trail. We protested loudly, warning them of how slow we were. We apologized profusely for the hardship that we'd caused them, but they didn't seem to care. For awhile, we laughed boisterously about our outrageous falls, discussed how painful grabbing plants in the dark can be (Kiley: "Oh, I like grabbing thorns -- more traction!"; Rimun: "Lupa* -- that's my favorite!")

*Lupa is like Palawano stinging nettle on steroids.

(unfortunately, this is the best picture I have of Rimun... it's unbelievably awkward to photograph guys who are roughly your age...) 

Then, the guys started singing Palawano hymns, and we joined with all our hearts the whole way back to Kemantiyan. Harmony and everything. It was beautiful.

They dropped our bags at the top of the hill in Kemantiyan (it would have been very embarrassing for them to be seen after dark with 3 American girls), refused payment, and were soon on their way across the river.

Although I'd embraced the difficult conditions when we'd first left Kensuli, God had an even better diversion for my aching heart! As we walked to our house in Kemantiyan, Kasia said, "I feel like crying." The truth is -- we all did. Not for sadness, but for how the guys had rescued us. Palawanos -- even believers like Rimun -- are afraid of the dark for spiritual reasons, yet they bravely helped us, boldly singing hymns down the trail to penetrate the overwhelming spiritual (and physical) darkness. Never in my life have I felt more loved and taken care of. They were our Palawano brothers; we were always safe when they were around. It was a perfect "last-time" walk out of Kensuli.

It is my hope that the Villarica's work, and the work of all past and future SMs to Kensuli will someday establish that God's light overpowers even the darkest night.

A Look into Culture

Friday's are currently my favorite day-no work, no responsibilities-just a bum day most weeks. Friday is also the day of the big lowland market in Bingbilang, so almost all of Kensuli goes down to buy rotting fish and ice candy, visit with friends from different villages, and carry the project's stuff back up. (Fuel, rice, packages from America...) Because weekdays are a jumble of teaching, maintaining my house, and satiating needy children, I've designated Friday as my unofficial "mimic-a-Palawano" day. In a nutshell, that means that I attempt to do things that they're really good at and I'm really bad at-i.e. speaking Palawano, walking without falling, and figuring out how to put a box inside of a batik and not fall out. This week, I desperately needed my Palawano day after receiving some unhappy news from The Home front. Palawanos rarely act angry or sad-nor turn down any form of food-and since these were all things I'm struggling with, I knew a day with Ruwina would do me good. Defying the imminent typhoon outside (and inside) my house, I fell asleep thinking about calf muscles and dysentery evasion and reveling that I didn't need to speak English if I didn't feel like it.

The next morning, the rain had abated, so I begun my mimic-a-Palawano day right: chasing a rat around my hut with a machete, eating plain rice with my hands (best hiking food ever!) and donning a loose skirt. Soon, Miltiyur called "Mam? Panyap ke ne?" "E'be!" I affirmed, grabbing my tadyun and hurrying outside. I soon fell into stride behind his mom, Minan Narita. Ruwina, one of my Palawano best friends took up the rear. The conditions were awful for Duralites and awful for cleats, so I opted for tiked teng (barefoot), This should give me major Palawano points, but I only made it to Niyug before my feet started protesting. It wasn't just my feet that were protesting-my whole body was reminding me how stupid it is to try to keep up with a woman legendary even by Palawano standards for her speed-seriously, this woman has calves that most male pro cyclists envy. So, I stopped to put on my cleats and instead walked with Ruwina, who is a little slower. We laughed about how slow I am, how funny I sound when I try to pronounce new Palawano words, and how my cleats made me as noisy as a water buffalo.

We made it to Bingbilang intact, and Ruwina and I skipped around the market holding hands, ignoring the annoying amorous approaches of lowland guys. (Being tall AND white, I'm apparently trophy-wife material here...) I bought ice candy for me and all the Kensuli kids that came down. Ice candy is rumored to give Americans dysentery, but I've tried it 10 times and will continue to try it until it does indeed give me dysentery! At this point, I had to temporarily abandon my Palawano-ness; I actually searched out a trash pit to deposit my wrapper, instead of just tossing it on the ground like the Palawanos do. We winnowed our poison from the various rice sacks going up the mountain--Minan:14 kilos. Miltyiur:11 kilos. Ruwina: 17 kilos. Me? 8 kilos (just for the record, I have carried 22 kilos in, but that was when I was hiking with Americans...)

We started back up. The sweat running down my back-the strain of my neck under my load-my achy legs-I love physical hardship since after living here for nearly 6 months, I've determined most Americans don't really understand the concept of labor. Soon, we sat on rocks in the stream and shared out food-boiled sweet potatoes you peel with your teeth (from Ruwina) and banana bread I made in a wok that wouldn't balance resulting in deep-fried banana bread. Ruwina liked it so much that she demanded I bring a whole rice sack of it next Friday.

Between Bingbilong and Kensuli, we did more Palawano things; like, drink water out of a rock like Moses; stop at EVERY mango tree and gorge ourselves-I think I like 2 dozen-and, of course, shower in the Tamleng River.

In America, I would probably not be friends with a 21 year old who already has 3 children, but...Ruwina is pretty awesome and has brought me more joy than anyone else in the last few weeks. Her head might only reach my belly button, but somehow our hearts have irrevocably bonded. I can't wait until market day again-or until we're in heaven, with no malaria, cancer, or language barriers to come between us. Please pray that Ruwina's faith grows as she learns more about God, and that she's strong when Satan tries to dissuade her.