Provincial strife

It was with some consternation that well wishes came flooding in from home and abroad. Apparently everyone was worried about my safety, something to do with a typhoon. Sure the warnings came, even to my far corner of the provinces, but it passed without undue stress in a matter of twenty-four hours. Sure we relocated to a safer abode, the palms swaying over the Nippa hut, the family home, caused some concern. Not from me, they were leaning completely the wrong way to come crashing onto the hut itself, but I wasn’t about to ignore the families worry. So we all slept in a friend’s home, a concrete built abode that made everyone feel more secure. Ironically, the same haven of safety had structural damage from the earthquake that hit a couple of months ago. At that time it was the Nippa hut that was the safe option, it suffered not at all when the tremor uprooted part of the concrete floor in the friend’s house, making it look like the house that Jack built. (Photo: In memory of beautiful islands - Busuanga, Palawan)

My concerns in our little provincial hideaway, were of a more domesticated nature. Having praised the ever-helpful kids and the tolerance and happiness that seemed to prevail in the family home, it came as a shock when all hell broke loose. I still don’t know what caused it, as far as I could tell it was nothing more than the kids messing about while taking an outside shower. You’d never have guessed at something so innocent, not from Cookie’s response. A few simple words were all it took for the kids responsible to be cowering and begging for mercy, trying to use me as a shield to keep away from their mother. And no, she wasn’t about to meter out physical punishment in front of me. Instead she ushered them inside and commenced to beat the living daylights out of them. Fair enough, signs of physical damage was minimal, but it went on for much too long, too long for me to witness the screams and pleas coming from inside the hut. (Photo: Living a farming life in the provinces - Valencia, Cebu island, Philippines)

Zoe tried to intervene, and was told to mind her own business, it’s her sister’s house and she’ll discipline the kids as she sees fit. I couldn’t bear it, so after five to ten minutes left and tried to walk off my anxiety. I felt like a coward, undeniably, despite trying to travel with a philosophy of non-interference. They’re not my kids, it’s not my home, nor my country, and certainly not my culture. But it wasn’t too many years ago such forms of discipline were quite common at home too. I must be honest it deeply upset me, I didn’t want to face any of them. I walked for miles until finding a little country store that sold beer, then sat down and swigged three litres of beer before deciding I better return while still capable. Everyone else was pretty complacent about it, after all it doesn’t happen all the time, does it? I wouldn’t know, in my eyes it shouldn’t happen at all. My only action was to try and point out the benefits of peaceful interaction, setting a non-violent example for your kids. Whether or not it will do any good is yet to be seen, I honestly felt they were merely trying to placate me. (Photo: A hard day on the farm - Valencia, Cebu Island)

Without doubt it disturbed me and put me into a very cynical frame of mind about life in the provinces of the Philippines. I noticed how seldom the kids were praised for the thankless tasks they undertook each and every day, yet how quickly they were admonished if they faltered or did a bad job. I know it’s a hard life living close to the poverty line, but why make it heartless as well. The parents spend almost every waking hour trying to make ends meet, but the kids do a reasonable share too, they don’t sit about or run around playing that much. I was astonished at the amount of work they do as a unit. Sure we all get annoyed at times, wishing to vent our anger, but why take it out on your kids? We bring them into the world, shouldn’t we be showing them how to get on in life, how to treat our fellow human beings. One thing is certain, beating them only sets the example that you control by violence and intimidation, which isn’t right. (Photo: How many horse power? - Valencia, Cebu Island)

I’m away from that now, not due to the experience, but because it was time for me to head to Borneo. And here I am, having hot-footed it across Sabah, waiting patiently for a ferry in the morning to enter Kalimantan, the Indonesian area of Borneo. So much changed as soon as I set foot on the island, being mainly Muslim was a big enough change. Most the women are covered, few have bared heads and none sport the short shorts that are so favoured in the Philippines. I have noticed though that many younger women no longer wear long loose tops, seeing fit to show the shape of their derrières. Is there hope yet? When I see a young woman in skin tights leggings, walking with a sexy wiggle it doesn’t fit with the traditional image of a virtuous follower of Islam. Especially not when it appeared as though she had nothing on underneath, certainly nothing that showed or restricted the natural movement of her posterior. That was the most severe show of a bid for freedom from restrictive religious strictures, skin-hugging jeans are becoming more popular here, the younger generation are beginning to make their mark. The people here in Tawau are naturally friendly, but it’s rare to receive so many smiles and welcomes from young Muslim women. (Photo: Couldn't resist this, a Ferrari in a tiny backstreet garage - Manila, Philippines)

I might well be off the radar for a while, I'm off into Kalimantan tomorrow. Really looking forward to it, not even the threat from the recent terrorist attack can put me off. I've always found the Indonesians friendly I just hope they're as nice as the locals in Tawau, my visit to the fish market today was like a reunion of old buddies. Seems I'm still in a world where they love dreads. Another common compliment I receive is when I eat out, many people comment on how nice it is to see a foreigner who can eat properly, i.e. with their hands. AS in the Philippines many Malays speak pretty good English, it's not the same in Kalimantan. I won't worry though, my Bahasa seems to be making a rapid come back. If I could only find a dictionary I'll cope really well. For now though I'll put on a good show of knowing more than I actually do. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit eh? (Photo: Some you just have to share. A street name - Tawau, Sabah, Borneo)

Be good people, there's a whole host of refugees in the Philippines who would appreciate some financial support. Please remember them on your Christmas lists.