Guide To SM's Continued

Disclaimer: There are many people on our team who are also deserving of a field entry; they were not part of both Summer Training AND boot camp, so I don’t have enough blackmail on them yet. Someday, their time will come….hopefully.

November Golf/ “Well, if he’s capable of thinking he’s a chicken, he’s probably capable of thinking he’s a female.” Description: Although we all display Palawano pigmentation at times, particularly after traversing muddy trails, this pigmentation spontaneously disappears the moment we enter the shower and undergo the painful process of prebasic molt. NG is set apart in this respect, because she is genuinely dark, in composition. /Habits: /NG is a very diligent, driven species, who probably accomplishes more in one day than the rest of us do in one week. Because of this, she’s often solitary….or faithfully serving as Girls Dean. Yours truly and NG have a particularly bizarre relationship that could be described as parasitic; I come stink her house up after hiking from Kensuli; she cheerfully greets and feeds me./ Vocalizations: Decidedly more feminine than any other species. Very diagnostic.

Kilo November/ “MegGrandma”/ “I want to go on vacation and take my brain with me! I mean…I need a vacation without my brain.” / Although it is with great reluctance that she wears clothes, a batik is pretty standard plumaged. Should you be granted an usually close observation experience, you might note that between her toes, the skin is usually pristine. This results from abusing the acid which combats foot fungus/Although KN is really not a difficult-to-identify species, one sure test would be to orchestrate a SPIDER ENCOUNTER. If the potential KN stops for nothing---doors, mosquito nets, of even fellow SMs—in her escape, your i.d. is certain. In the event that a spider is unavailable, she’s also a happy hiker (uhh, more accurately happy faller), who wears her tukew on her left side always—she’d rather slice her spleen than her liver./Varied and abundant, one would never consider her secretive constant noise emanates from all joints, organs, and most orifices. Most common calls “Dude”, shrill “Eeeeeks” or deceptively manly “BLEAAUHRRRRRP”.

Kilo Tango/”MegPoupsie”/”You know, that’d be really great for language learning if we burned our house down.”/Palawano-sized, with a Palawano-style twinkle in her eyes. However, the resemblance ends here, for KT is decidedly Scandinavian in appearance. Again, if you’re granted a spectacular opportunity to scrutinize her characteristics, check her nostrils-the absence of nose-hair is a direct result of her prolific cayenne-snorting./Her handwriting atrocities set her apart from everyone except yours truly; additional behaviors include truly creative and determined dedication to cat-punishing and lizard-catching. Her infatuation with the unlikely combination of turkews, batiks, and tea, might have repercussions, someday.../Burps’ constantly register 7+ on the Geiger scale. 

Field Guide to the 2012-2013 Palawan SM Crew

Yankee Golf. (MegMalaria”)/”I’m a biology major…I know everything there is to know about life!”/Description: short (e.g. Palawano-sized), with BIG hair that becomes bigger with each day in the jungle. Generally accompanied by a faint aroma of DEET, since she’s adamant about preventing another episode of Malaria. Although she’s pale-skinned and light-eyed, there’s no denying her Mexican-ness./Habits: Although, someday, she’ll be teaching high school and elementary science, her current position is head cook of her Spoon Village. You’ll always hear her before you see her, whether she’s singing in the shower…or tripping over something. Was disappointed to find Palawanos aren’t big on siestas. Vocalizations: Spanish, then English, then Palawano-especially when talking to cats. “Ay madre!” typical alarm call.

Charlie Hotel (“MegGiggles”) /(“we were like Little House on the Prairie….but with headlamps.”/Not Palawano-sized, nor Palawano-pigmented. However, defies hookworms by adopting optimal Palawano footwear (read: NAKED FEET). Often attached to a cat, since few are compassionate enough to acknowledge their presence, this is a relatable field monk. Someday, she’ll get carpal tunnel from her prolific letter-spawning. Needs plenty of sleep---and even more soy sauce. Her day job is a nurse at the clinic…but by night, she fixes the team with her magical, mysterious, questionable tasting herbal potions. No one would complain if she just switched to full time massage therapist….mmm./Vocalizations:Varried. Dawn chorus a beeping watch alarm that wakes us ALL, except the MegGiggles herself.

Alpha Golf (“MegCaptin Obvious”) “well if you cut your finger off with that machete, I’ve got a band-aid for that!”/Lanky, pale, decidedly un-Palawano sized. Covered with sandy hair the Palawano fledglings love to pull! Basic plumage includes camel-back, cleats, radio, and >2 knives./A species of absolutes, Alpha Golf is always in proximity to Echo Golf, never far from a food source, and is NEVER EVER unprepared for ANYTHING. Before training commenced, he wasn’t thrilled about the abundance of X-chromosomes the team contains-perhaps, this has to do with the fact that a big part of his job entails fixing the things we break—yeahh, we’ve got the better end of the deal, no doubts about it./Slight Ohio twang; funny Ohio expressions, like “over yonder.”

Kilo-Kilo (MegRippyPants”)/”too much sun, not enough seasoning.”/Her affinity for green is a diagnostic feature, as is the muddy patch on her rump—this latter field make is the testament to her frequent encounters with gravity, generally triggered by somebody else’s unintentional study of the Palawano mud../Prefers habitat with ample hammocks, soccer fields, and the bananas. Her tendency to eat PB straight from the jar has established her rank as THE PEANUT BUTTER MONSTER, and her frequent stepping through the bamboo floor has ensured the business of Alpha Golf./Contagious, high-pitched, laughing attacks that transform into coughing fits.

A Day in the Everyday Life of Alison

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.

More things I have learned from becoming a Palawano:

16.   Having dying headlamp batteries in an outhouse is the root of sheer terror

17.   Never eat stringy, slimy bananas whole witnessing a cat with severe intestinal parasites.

18.   Hiluxes are all encompassing beauty. Salons: dreads, washes, that wind-tussled look…talk about versatility!

19.   Soccer cleats—false confidence.

20.   Books that sit around for long enough (e.g 3 weeks) turn into ant nurseries.

21.   Cockroach poop is remarkably substantial.

22.   Bamboo floors—ultimate trashcan ever!

23.   Fivefingers are fantastic conversation starters and novelties.

24.   Shaving is the most reliable form of mud removal.

25.   It is perfectly acceptable to be in bed by 7PM.

26.   Malaria until proven otherwise.

27.   Hiking is very educational in regard to physics, kinesiology (sp), and gait discrepancy.

28.   The concept of cat-proof doesn’t really exist here.

29.   Kensuli prayer meetings are punctuated by imminent typhoons that induce skydiving tendencies in venomous snakes. America---BORINGG!!

30.   Mosquito nets—feeling of security, mosquito net + tukew (machete) feeling of invincibility. Mosquito net + terkew + batik---something too awesome for this world.

 

Things I’ve learned since I started going native:

1.       Doxycycline gives you remarkably vivid, bizarre, and lucid dreams.

2.       Don’t EVER pause under a coconut tree unless you’re after a concussion.

3.       Stop signs do not exist in Palawan.

4.       ALWAYS wear you headlamp at night; snakes need to be detected.

5.       Geckos are suuuper loud-eg. Wake-you-up-from-Doxy-dream loud.

6.       There is little that cannot be achieved with a batik.

7.       Rice planting is the pits…cannot stand, cannot sit.

8.       According to our nurses, jackfruit looks like placenta. New food RUINDED!

9.       Toilet paper, charcoal, peanut butter—necessities of life.

10.   Hiluxes are BEAST, and also lower one’s life expectancy tremendously.

11.   Being completely dry is rate, and reason for celebration!

12.   So, it takes 3 Americans, 2 Palawanos, a broom and falling through a bamboo floor to catch a lizard

13.   If you chop a centipede in half, your problem doubles rather than is eliminated.

14.   It takes a village to move an outhouse.

15.   Palawano:too many syllables; too few words. (Seriously, “menunga” encompasses “good” “beautiful” “kind” etc…)

If (when?) I write a book about this year, I’ll entitle it “Eldew-peldew Rice”. In Palawano, that translates to “every day”. Rice is the glue that holds a Palawano together, and during our 2 weeks of bootcamp at the farm in the lowlands, I worked more with rice (planting, pounding); learned more words associated with rice (beges, emy, parey, lasung, lalu, tubigan..) and of course consumed more rice than with anything else. We played games of tag on the dikes in the rice padis, tried to improvise new ways of eating rice (when in doubt, SOY SAUCE!), and basically just revolved around the grain. Boot camp was a jarring start to my year here. It was like being snatched up by a typhoon, and then slammed into a Palawano speaking nucleus of inactivity. English was banished; luxuries were nonexistent….you washed your clothes, your body, and your dishes at the same pump, cooked over a fire, and followed the Palawanos around, constantly asking “Ano itwe?” meaning “what’s this?” At night, you’d sleep under a mosquito net, above a cold, hard bamboo floor in a shelter without walls—yet with 6 other girls. I’m not complaining though! We learned a LOT of Palawano, came to appreciate the work it takes to be a Palawano, and found great joy in the terrifying rides in the back of the Hilux, the olfactory offensiveness of the Pelinki, and games with the Palawans each afternoon after our brains eased to retain any new words. Since I’ve gotten here, I’m always dirty, usually wet, and rarely naked. (what a challenge!) Try shaving your pits in the dark. At a pump. With a shirt on. I’m now in KMTW, experiencing periods of culture shock and enjoying the fact that the ONLY method of transportation is your own two feet..but that’s for next time.

I sit cross-legged on the bamboo floor of our shelter, my headlamp fighting an unfair battle against the night. If I get too lost in my thoughts, the rasping crickets transport me back to Michigan--many a night I've spent on some peaceful hill, straining to keep myself awake and to pick up the seeps and zeets from millions of katydids. But, September nights in Palawan lack this fundamental part of early fall in the Midwest. Instead of thrushes and warblers, I hear a gecko (surprisingly loud!) and snippets of Palawano (remarkably unlike any language I've ever heard before). As is typical after a physically, mentally, spiritually taxing day, my though train has little structure or purpose. But, the night (and its absence of NFCs) reminds me of when, less than 3 weeks (yet seemingly a different life) ago, I sat on the shore of a lake in northern Michigan, appreciating the stars, migration, and general fullness of life. A warbler passed overhead, and Neil asked, "Doesn't that make you want to travel?" I responded that it did--but after more thought, there isn't much that doesn't give me the overwhelming desire to travel. Maps, books, the yearning for adventure--they all churn the cogs that drive my obsession with trying on the unknown. I suspect the 7 adventures/sms/family with me chose AFM--and this project--for that very reason-travel, the unknown adventure..So, that's why we bumped, and at some points, involuntarily levitated down the National Highway from Puerto Princesa to Brook's Point, struggling to stay awake through our first expense in the Philippines. It was one of those roads where picking your nose would be absolutely lethal, and at least a few passengers got violently ill...but it was an accurate snapshot of lowland life. Water buffalo, rice paddies, Jeepneys--it's all new and exciting, and I'm sure that we'll hate it all when the honeymoon phase ends and the culture shock sets in. But for now, the joy of travel continues to propel us through boot camp. (2 weeks of 1 hour a day of speaking English, 3 meals a day of rice, and the frustration? Endless!) Travel is not only physical, but mental too. I feel that each day my American mindset is challenged. Where will it be--and out team be--in 2 weeks? In 6 months? 5 years? A different place than it is now.