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.

 

Currently in world travels, I am in Palawan, Philippians. It is a remote island, and I will be in the mountains.  I am homeschooling two children and will be there for a year. As there is no internet and very poor phone reception, I will be snail-mailing everything home to my sister, and she will post it on here.

I left today. I have about a 19 hour flight, and then I land. Then I will be in the low-lands for a week before I travel up the mountain on foot. The journey is quite treacherous, and is about 4 hours long. From training all summer, I believe I will make it. That and the help of soccer cleats.

I hope to get pictures up within the next month or two, so bear with me.