After joining in with the Gabriela Network's 1 Billion Rising March, that took on an impressive array of issues of which I will blog about later (out of order/sequence of our trip), the Foster Youth Cultural Exchange had the privilege to meet Marco of Sinag Bayan, a cultural arts group run primarily by youth and young adults in the less privileged parts of Manila and the surrounding areas.
The 9 of us were loaded into a van once again, with Chen in the front passenger seat and our steady driver from the night before (whose driving skills and miraculous ability to overcome traffic stress would have wowed any and all Americans I am sure). We had earlier been visiting Veteran's Village to hear from local community organizers about the work they are doing to support their village's many needs and we also got a tour of a village set up on the bottom of a huge garbage dump primarily by scavengers who make their living by recycling plastic bags, cans, bottles, paper and re-using pillow stuffing to make new pillows that we saw being sold in Manila and other places in the Philippines.
We had met with scavenger families, the younger members of our groups had been flocked by children from the village and taken dozens of photographs and later shared lunch with our hosts at a street restaurant that I couldn't tell if it was a street food stand or a restaurant...it was a mix of both. The food was tasty and was perhaps our first taste of authentic Pinoy food. I am guessing that the only thing we could describe accurately was rice. There was a fish. And we were told there was chicken and pork. And bitter melon. But essentially we ate Filipino food, food that we could not compare to American Asian food.
By the time we picked up Marco at a bus stop, it was mid day and once he was in the van we began climbing into the mountains. We stopped for water to make sure that we had enough. Chen and Marco were insistent and later I understood more why. It would have been totally inappropriate for us to ask for water from these farmers who have to haul everything into the farm land that isn't grown there. There is little plumbing to speak of, so if one of us needed water or became faint, it really needed to be our problem.
As the bus climbed up the hill, we learned about the land grab struggle we were about to see. The rich family that owns the land that these farmers have lived on for generations, has decided to build a train depot on the land. Their plan is to kick off the farmers, destroy their farms, and displace hundreds of families including enough children to fill a good number of classrooms that are built into the farming community we would visit.
The families have started "evicting" people, which includes tearing down properties, burning land and even in a few cases physical direct violence. The entries to the farm areas, which are in constant harvest, are now "protected" by armed security guards. Our story was that we were visiting Chen's uncle. Indeed we were!
We were fortunately allowed to pass through. Perhaps this was another time when our "You don't look like a group of Americans" really worked for us. 9 in total, we included: a native Hawaiian, a mixed race Chinese woman, a Portuguese/Italian guy with the last name of Rodrigues, a Latina from central Valley, A dark Latina from Los Angeles, a buzz cut short haired white androgynous woman, a blonde white woman and an average size Latino from Sacramento and another wavy haired Latina from Monterey. Only Reba looked "white" in any conventional sense. They simply could not read our group as American.
Our van had to carefully navigate the road which was not paved and had lots of chunky and at times sharp rocks. I asked Chen if we should get out and walk and she said, "later, you will." When the van went as far as it could, or to the spot that Chen and Marco suggested, we got out and walked.
Our gangly group included a personal trainer, someone who runs regularly, a multi black belted martial artist, an average healthed woman and a few of us who were carrying extra weight and maybe weren't in tip top shape. What this means is that the 12 of us total were walking in different groups as we went up and down the mountain to the farm. Not knowing where we were going, it may have seemed farther to some of us. Having pass through an armed guard may have also put a few of us at dis-ease. And actually meeting the elder uncle, who was in his 70's and trucking up and down those hills faster than any of us, was, well, a trip.
We arrived at the farm, greeted by the most adorable puppies that I wanted to pick up and hold and hug and snuggle with. But I didn't for a few reasons. First, no one was playing with the puppies. Second, they were really really small, and their mother was wandering around and she might have misinterpreted my cuddle session as potential harm and bitten me...and mostly, well, because of the risk of rabies.
Seeing hungry dogs and cats all over Manila was hard. Seeing children barefoot and underfed but with smiles wide as sunshine on a rainy day was confusing. And not being able to hug a puppy when I actually really wanted some comfort, was especially hard. After seeing so much poverty and experiencing a tiny moment of what the third world means (inadequate plumbing, small spaces, horrible pollution, loud noise at all times of day, etc) I yearned for an embrace. I would have melted into those puppies. The fact that I couldn't made the ache I was feeling inside echo. I had learned a new form of hunger and need. I wish that I would have asked for a hug that day., I should have. To be continued...
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