Not a Normal Routine

I hate routine, love spontaneity. One of the great things about living here is that when I wake up each morning, I’m absolutely clueless about what the day’s going to hold. There are some things that are fairly routine, like the kids soliciting food or finding a roach or a spider in the bananas, or sweating, uh, ovaries during 3^rd period of school. But, you never know when you’ll find a snake in your house, or when a kid will cough a worm (nearly) into your lap, or a typhoon will come through and demolish your roof. This Wednesday, I woke up and didn’t really plan out my day past telling the story at school worship-we’ve been memorizing Matthew 6 this month, and the verse where it says it’s futile to worry about tomorrow? Pshh, it’s futile to worry about anything past the next 2 hours. Oh, and I really need to clean.

Anyway, I get dressed and walk to school. But—school is outside! Cool! Except for the fact that it is only outside because Dyipuy broke his elbow and we’re waiting for the big boys, Rimun and Marbitu, to carry him to the clinic in KMTN. We pray for him, give him ibuprofen, and sing while we wait. Soon, Duipuy’s loaded into a bakid, and carried down. I pray that the carriers don’t slip-the trail is a little treacherous right now.

After school worship, Sheena and I do school. We have 3 phases at school. First, mosquitos. Then, wayward bees, then LOUD cicadas. The cicada phase was particularly awful today-I even deserted Sheena amidst a challenging math lesson so that I could go throw my Duralite at it. Sometimes, I even give the little kids ripe bananas if they’ll climb up the trees and destroy the cicadas. If only I was better with my blowgun…

We don’t have school during the afternoon because Sandra’s having a malaria day. Sandra gets BAD malaria, Kiley gets good malaria, and me? I don’t get malaria. I tidy up school and ponder which of my friends I want to visit. That’s decided quickly-Di’in needs to take Mirian to the clinic, and wants iba Sandra needs meds—perfect!

I love Di’in. It’s so strange to be close friends with someone whose life is completely different than mine, but Di’in is pretty awesome. She’s a great language teacher, a talented basket-weaver, and makes stupid mistakes, like me.

While I’m waiting for Di’in to change, Kunil, my favorite little boy comes tearing down the hill, clad only in a ba’ag (G-string) that he made out of leaves, rope, and tape off a box. He’s very proud of his G-string, and eagerly models it. I laugh until I cry.

Once at the clinic, Di’in, Mirian, and I wait and visit. There are non-team Americans in KMTN today-Kiri’s family (who barely made it up the mountain-they’re troopers to try it in the heat of the day) and an older donor. The donor is talkative and very observant. I patiently answer his questions (yes, those are warm bellies; yes, women marry early here-Di’in is a few months younger than me and has a 2y/o) until they get a little more difficult (no, I’m not staying for two years; no, I’m not sure what my future holds…) It is HARD to express myself verbally in English, especially when talking to a guy—you just don’t do that here. Yesenia—bravely battling her 6^th round of malaria, comes over. “I just took my meds!” She giggles, and introduces herself to Di’in. Then, she kisses Di’in on the cheek and ambles off. “Begbalig ye” (“crazy”) I say to Di’in. “Abu, mebeyt banar!” responds Di’in. (“She’s really nice!”)

Drugs-in-hand, we head back to Kensuli, talking the whole way. I only fell once. We share many laughs, the best when halfway up the mountain, I drop my water bottle and it ALMOST rolls down the mountain. I save it, but my skirt falls down in the process (I really fail at skirts…) Di’in and I laugh.

Then, she asked me if I was staying 2 years. I was wondering who the first Palawano to ask this would be. Ugh. I don’t know enough language to tell her that thinking about going back to America simultaneously breaks my heart and terrifies me, but-I wanted to stay, and God said, “not now.” Maybe, I’ll be back….anyway, that’s not for months---and I’m only worrying about the next  few hours, right?

My house still needs to be cleaned, Sandra still has malaria, and I definitely still have spiders in my bananas. Tomorrow will be a mystery, but I have peace knowing that God will both (a) use me, and (b) give me the required energy. It’s only when I look back on my life that I can truly appreciate the way it all fits together and makes sense, and tomorrow is just another piece in the mosaic.

Kalu atin lang. 

What would you like me to write about? Do you have any questions? Please comment!!

Being a part of a culture entirely unlike your own culture has its repercussions. It’s perfectly acceptable to discuss worms over lunch (as in, intestinal worms-which I myself had mere weeks ago), to slide halfway down a mountain, losing clothes and skin en route-and just laugh about it. Rice is probably one of my favorite foods; a hot shower sounds terrible….having a naked kid on my lap to lice-inhale-it’s all the norm now. But, those are just the superficialities. I have changed, inevitably, hopefully irreversible.

On Friday, my students, several of our Palawano friends, and I were excitedly heading down the mountain to the lowland market. Our goals: eat lots of ice cream (I was preluding on charcoal), meet the Goodson’s (AFM family visiting for a fortnight), and maybe carry 20 kilos back to KMTN. Then, I tripped. And because my butt is a long way from the ground, I foolishly put out a hand to break my fall. “Ay….negsugbek ku!” I needlessly announced, and tried to brush the dirt off my hand. It wasn’t dirt. It was basically a small tree, embedded in a bloody gash in my hand. “Uhh, Sandra, I gotta go to the clinic…” I announced. “Can I see?” “No,” in fact, I covered my hand with the other hand, and tried not to notice the blood dripping out. Leaving my batik and dualities with the women, I tore off down the trail. Barefoot. Making it to KMTN in an adrenaline-failed rush, I was soon lying on my back in the clinic, grimacing as my hand was shot full of lydocaine. It was a good cut—long enough for two nurses to learn the mattress stitch, deep enough that I have significant nerve damage, and full of nasty splinters.

The funny thing was-it really wasn’t a big deal. I was grateful that my girls were still able to eat ice cream in Bingbilang. I was glad the nurses were able to learn a new technique. I was glad I wasn’t hurt worse. True, it’s been hard not being able to wash my own hair, open dry erase markers, or cook my food. I don’t like feeling like a burden. But, had this happened in America, I know  I would not be as positive nor as well cared for either.

It’s not worth dwelling on when there are bigger battles to be fought…and, if nothing else, the scar will make for a great children’s story someday.

Kalu atin lang

Things I like about life/culture in Kensuli

1. The relative lack of manmade noise-I can go for months without hearing any motors apart from an occasional plane…for me, it’s much easier to feel closer to God when there’s not 10,000 cars passing by each day.
2. The noisiness of the culture-yeah, this contradicts #1, but each morning I hear someone out on the trail whooping, then answered by someone else a mile or so away. It’s FUN to walk to the Tamleng Gorge and play with your echo there!
3. THE STARS. Ohhhh man are they stunning. NOT even the stars in Brazil trump these.
4. That the bulk of my communication with the outside world comes through snail-letters. This is a practice I hope to maintain upon my return….letters are so much meaningful and intentional than texts, Facebook messages, or emails.
5. MY GIRLS-I love them like sisters, and I hope I’m as good of a teacher to them as they’ve been to me. Their parents are in KMTN for a meeting tonight, so we had a sleepover. We ate linidgid, had worship, I read them a bedtime story (or WE read a bedtime story…the book about gecko noises are better than mine…) and the funny thing is-Kensuli’s water is gone and we all DESPERATELY need showers. STINKIEST SLEEPOVER ever!
6. People have chickens for pets. Like, they love their chickens more than their dogs. It’s great.
7. If you want to go somewhere, you HAVE to walk there-good for the mind, body, and relationships.
8. The language. Palawano is a really cool language, and I’m happy to say God’s helping me acquire it WAY more proficiently than I ever expected or dared to hope. Language learning is a game, and I want to play this game again, with more languages.
9. Datag. I will MISS having a floor that has so many cracks that cleaning is a breeze.
10. Living without electricity. Life is simpler, by default….it’s easier to think, to meditate, to prioritize.
11. Emphasis on family and relationships. This is a part of Palawan that will be coming home with me-really-is there anything more important?
12. Utter need for dependence on God’s strength. For the first time in my life, I can’t do it by myself.
13. Abundant laughter. Almost everything is funny, so you laugh at it. Makes sense, diki Le?
14. Teaching. I enjoy it far more than I thought I would, and am getting better at it, too. There are still days when I wish all my classes were science classes, though.
15. The effort it takes for mere survival. 

It's Not FAIR

 

It’s not fair that you come bang on my porch before even all the roosters are up, and sabotage my meditation time. It’s not fair that you incessantly beg me for food that I bought from you yesterday. It’s not fair that you crawl under my house….or climb the adjacent tree so you can loudly inform me (and everyone else for that matter) that you’re hungry and what I’m preparing looks appetizing. It’s not fair that you steal my shampoo and razor from the Tetayan, then lie about it. It’s not fair that you beg me for bobby pins, lose them the next day, and come ask me for more. It’s not fair that you make me feel like an American vending machine, regardless of my attempts for simplicity.  

It’s not fair that I have enough food for 2 solid meals each day, and you might eat just once. It’s not fair that I ignore you so much of the time. It’s not fair that you, my shampoo thief, are getting married in December, at the ripe age of 16, while I have the privilege of choosing when, who, of if I even will get marry. It’s REALLY not fair that my culture has painted an inaccurate representation of my values and lifestyle to you. It’s not fair that you lost your father and husband to an easily-preventable disease in the states, all while on the same day I was celebrating another day of life.

The worst part of this injustice, though, is that I came here to serve you. That intention seems so idealistic, so manufactured. I am quickly realizing that I am not able to live up to my own faulty expectations that I entertained stateside. Each day, it is you who penitently helps me as I futilely grasp for your language and culture, you, who laugh with me and welcome me into your lives. I don’t know why you do it, because you know as well as I do that my time with you is not permanent. It is absolutely mind-bogging to me how completely you accept me, how you help me survive---all while knowing that I’ll leave you all too soon.

When that happens, your heart will break. It has happened to you before, and we often talk about “ma’am Brittany” and “ma’am Kara”. My heart will be shattered, too. You are my sisters, my aunts, my friends. I pray every day that God will shine out of my life, and His love will transfer to yours. But, I can honestly say that you’ve shown me more about practical Christianity than I would ever learn in the states.

It’s hard to fathom how unfair life is when we serve a God who is perfectly fair. But, that’s just the problem. We are mere humans, who, try as we might, are unfair. I’m sorry for my shortcomings. I’m sorry for your hardships. But….thank you for teaching me how to truly live and love.

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.