Sleepless in Davao

“A nation's culture resides in the heart and the soul of its people.” – Mahatma Gandhi

When I get outside the terminal, Elsa is waiting for me with her younger brother Manny, his wife Rocel, and their son Em Em. Elsa's daughter Risa also accompanies her. Elsa looks stylish in black jeans with a red, long sleeve blouse. Risa is wearing black jeans with a white, short sleeve blouse. I give each of them a box of See's Candy – chocolates just like they requested – not the grapes they asked for though. Didn't think they would hold up on the plane and given the unexpected delays, my intuition was correct.

Elsa seems smaller than I had imagined. I knew before I we met that she was five foot tall, but standing next to her, the difference seems more noticeable. Elsa had asked me during our internet chats how tall I was. I told her, I'm 5'8.

Elsa and Manny with Rich

“Oh, you're tall,” she said. “My brothers are tall, too, almost your height.”

Another reason to move to the Philippines. I'm a shrimp in the U.S., but here I'm a giant. Later I find out that Elsa's height actually is a little above average for a Filipina and some women are much shorter. The average Filipino male is only about 5'4 – no doubt due to the malnutrition problem in the country – almost one third of the preschool population is underweight-for-age.

Risa is Elsa's middle daughter. She's a little taller than Elsa and more stout. She has a seven-year-old daughter Fem Fem and one and one half year-old son Zion. Risa had worked in a call center and speaks English well. Elsa taught English in a local college, but doesn't speak the language quite as fluently as her daughter.

With almost no sleep and no bath over the last two days, I want to go to our hotel, but Manny insists we eat at a local restaurant – probably he wants to check me out and see if I'm worthy of his sister. We climb in to his car – an older model red SUV that he bought along with his house from his winnings in the local lottery (winnings that amounted to three million pesos or about $70,000). I put on my seat belt – on one else does – and we head to Ah Fat Seafood Plaza. During the ride, Elsa and I hold hands. She is very quiet and doesn't really speak at all. Manny, in his mid-50s, a little smaller than me, but muscular, does most of the talking. He's outgoing and friendly and tells many jokes, pausing at each punchline, and then delivering with an impish grin. He is the joker in the family. His wife, a nurse about the same height as Elsa, but a little heavier, sits quietly as does their son, a student at Ateneo de Davao College. He's small and looks much younger than a college student; initially I think he attends high school. Rocel and Risa sit in the back, talking with one another in English. Risa says they rarely have the opportunity to practice with an English speaker around. “I have a nosebleed,” she says joking of her attempts to communicate in the language.

We arrive at Ah Fat's. The restaurant serves fresh seafood – steamed pigik or Imelda fish (bighead carp), noodles and rice and french beans with garlic. The food is delicious, but it is not the everyday Filipino fare to which I soon would be introduced (usually fish soup with rice). They also serve bird's nest soup.

“Smells like bird poop,” says Risa.

Rocel wants to work in Montreal and asks me if I know anyone who lives in Canada. Of course I do – my best friend Jack lives in Vancouver. She asks me to speak with him and see if he will sponsor her immigration to the Canada as a nanny. I tell her I will see what I can do. Later, when we are in our hotel room, I tell Elsa that's probably not legal and Jack likely will not agree to such a proposition, but over the next couple of weeks, Rocel keeps raising the issue with Elsa and I finally agree to speak to Jack. And, of course, he says no. This is my first exposure to the Philippines overseas worker issue.

Elsa tells me her second youngest daughter Bernadine works as a housekeeper in Dubai. And Elsa would like some of her other daughters to work overseas as well because salaries are so low in the Philippines. The per capita income in the Philippines ranks 139 out of the UN's millennium project list of 190 nations and currently stands at less than $5,000 a year. Almost one third of Filipinos can't afford to pay for their basic needs, and so many choose to work overseas. The Philippines has the fourth highest number of overseas workers in the world and the highest per capita number of overseas worker. The economy heavily depends on overseas remittances.

Manny is a radio commentator in Davao. His “Voice of the Military” program features guests speaking about the government's pacification program in its ongoing battle with the Muslim rebels and the Maoist New People's Army (NPA). He says that he has received many death threats for his program. The Philippines has the third highest rate of journalists murdered in the world. More than 50 journalist murders that took place from 2004 through 2013 remain unsolved

Manny says that since the Army began its community projects' program, the NPA's membership has declined from about 25,000 to 5,000. Of course, the NPA grew during the repressive era of Marcos. Could it be that the less oppressive atmosphere that followed the people power revolution had something to do with the NPA's decline? Manny sits on a different side of the political spectrum than Elsa who is more sympathetic to the NPA because she feels they serve the people. The two of them share cynicism over the US role in the Philippines.

We finish our meal and I pay the bill, which I soon find I am expected to do regularly. After dinner we drive to the hotel. Elsa told Manny that all my fresh clothes were in my luggage, which has not yet arrived. So he gives me two of his shirts – a red, long-sleeved Adidas athletic shirt, and a short sleeve shirt from the Huread Foundation given during a blood donation drive that says, “One People Mindanao: Lumad – Muslim – Christian.” Manny says he agrees with the sentiment.

Risa, Manny and his family drive away and Elsa and I retire to our room. It's a small box of a room with two single beds. I go to the bathroom to shower and shave and have my first exposure to the Philippine's CR (comfort room). The toilet and shower are in the same 4 foot by 5 five area with no separation between the two. At least there is a shower with warm water. Most Filipinos bathe by filling a bucket with cold water and dipping it over themselves.

In the morning, we eat breakfast in the lobby cafe – fried egg with sausage and three in one coffee (coffee made with a palm oil whitener, and sugar – one of the first things I need to buy is a coffee maker – that's if I can find ground coffee). I work out in the fitness room. I had spent the last two years, working out at a gym regularly and want to maintain my fitness. Little do I know that this would be the last gym with modern equipment I would find.

Manny meets us in the lobby after his radio broadcast. There's a strange, unpleasant smell in the lobby. I had worked in a oil refinery many years ago, and the smell reminds me a little of crude oil or more precisely, mercaptan, a putrid smelling chemical put in natural gas so you can detect leaks and one of the main chemicals responsible for the smell of flatus. I ask Elsa what it is and she tells me it is durian, known in the Philippines as the king of fruits.

“Smells like hell – tastes like heaven,” Manny says. I agree with the first part. I'm not so sure I want to put the second part to the test.

We head out to the airport to pick up my bag, which was no where to be found on my arrival in the Philippines. At the security area, we pass the same national policeman that had helped me the night before and he welcomes me back with a smile. We proceed to the Philippines Airline gates and an airlines representative sends us to another terminal, a cargo area where we find the bag has arrived. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Next we travel to a restaurant at Water World in Toril, the suburb of Davao where Manny lives. A waitress takes us to an outdoor table and there's an awful putrid smell like a backed up sewer wafting from the shore towards us . Manny asks the waitress about it, but she can't explain its origin. We try to ignore the smell. Manny orders San Miguel Light for the both of us. It's a light lager with a slightly tangy taste. No bitterness, which is what I prefer. San Miguel is the national beer, although San Miguel Red Horse packs a more potent punch and is most people's favorite. Manny tells me he doesn't drink much any more. He used to drink with friends regularly, but now he has to watch his diet and drinking because he has diabetes and high blood pressure. The Philippines has three times the mortality rate from heart disease and diabetes as the U.S. For appetizers, Manny orders Calamari and Kinilaw, a raw fish marinated in vinegar similar to ceviche, and for the main course, grilled bangus or milk fish (the Philippines national fish) with rice. Again delicious.

We drive back to Davao. Traffic creeps along. Cars, taxis, buses and jeepneys (a small bus with a low roof and narrow bench seating) stop and start, all vying for position, trying to pass one another, cut one another off, but no one is going anywhere. Manny finally manages to turn in to a shopping mall parking lot. Security guards check his pass and he pulls into a parking strip reserved for media. There's more security at the mall entrance – two guards check men and women as they enter through separate lines. The guards check handbags and backpacks, poking around in them with a small baton. They frisk the men. We finally make it inside and start down the aisles. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the green mermaid – a Starbucks, the first sign I've seen of American culture.

“Ever had a latte?” I ask, and no one has – except, of course, Manny. We head inside the shop. I order and we make our way to a table with the drinks. Elsa takes a sip and makes a face. Not sweet enough and too bitter for her taste. I drink hers as well as my own. The lattes cost about as much as it would in the U.S. – $3 a cup. Later, I discover other local coffee shops that serve much better lattes for about half the price of Starbucks.

On our way back to hotel, a thunderstorm strikes. It's a deluge, and the streets flood very quickly as water (and raw sewage) from the concrete ditches along the side of the road spills over on to the highway. Manny says there's a typhoon up north in Manila (there are some 20 or more typhoons a year in the Philippines). We can barely see the road, but make it back to the hotel safely. Tomorrow, we travel to Tagum City and our future home.