Many times I’ve promised myself not to bite into the tourist
superstructure of whatever country I visit. It isn’t inevitable, there are
always chances to avoid the accommodation designed for the casual visitors, it just needs a little extra work. As an outsider some options won’t be available,
but the more out of the way places are the more people will make exceptions and
go out of their way to help. More and more my attitude has been that space will
be made, even at the expense of ousting families from their own home, for some ready cash. Now, that may sound barbaric, but look at it from a poor rural
family’s viewpoint. Along comes an opportunity to see more cash per week than
you could earn in a month, and that’s on top of your normal earnings. Yes, it
does mean the whole family must squeeze into one room at night, but they don’t
see that as a hardship. Speaking as someone who has given people a place to
stay with no recompense I don’t think I’m taking the piss. (Photo: A rather beautiful moth which I can't ID, it's nearly as big as my hand though - Barangay Valencia, Cebu Island)
It isn’t quite the situation at the moment here in the
Philippines, no-one has been ousted from their own space. The rooms I’m renting
were used a long time ago by one of the family, but had been relegated to a
store-room many moons ago. OK, it’s a good deal bigger than the average family
has at their disposal, but I’m also paying twice as much as the average family
earns each month. It was a good move for me. Though I was welcome to continue
living with Cookie, Dindin and their kids I felt I was imposing on their very
limited space as it was. I had no plans to hang around this long, my intention
had been to reunite Zoe with her daughter, sort out the unwanted pregnancy and
be on my way. Wouldn’t it be nice if things always went to plan? Actually, no!
It would make life predictable, and in my mind somewhat boring. At the moment I
can handle a bit of dependable, every day life though. Recent events have not
enamoured me to this country, whilst individuals and families have been so kind
the social system is medieval. (Photo: Next door neighbours, happy to run down the shop for mum - Barangay Valencia, Cebu Island) 
Everyone, without exception, complains of the corruption
throughout the whole system within the Philippines, from the highest levels all the way to the bottom. A politician
gets voted in and the first comments are of how corrupt they are. So how do
they get in power? Mainly by buying votes, which I find a stunning concept. For
a pittance in pesos, people will vote in someone they know to be corrupt. Which
of course is bizarre, the very people who are destined to suffer the most give
up their rights for a lousy buck. Short sighted is the kindest expression I
could make, the trouble is no-one actually believes it will make a difference.
With corruption running rampant through all sectors of society it seems nigh on
impossible to change the whole system in one foul swoop. As with all
institutionalised problems, what it really needs is to be uprooted and replaced
wholesale, a mere shakedown just won’t do the job. (Photo: My...er hmm...friend, Zoe 
While in the hospital I was surprised to hear of the
patients for the government hospital having to buy the drugs and supplies for
their treatment. To my knowledge much of these are gifted by foreign powers or
organisations to provide treatment to the poor and needy, treatment that would
otherwise not be available. Instead of being provided free, they are sold, and
treatment will not be given until the drugs are purchased. In effect the
government are profiteering from medical supplies donated by foreign aid
programs. There is a basic Social Services program whereby patients can receive
treatment at a vastly discounted price, if your circumstances are judged to be desperate
enough. This is government funded, and can offset the costs of treatment by up
to 90%. Being as I wasn’t a family member I wouldn’t have been able to apply
for this, despite Zoe having no income of job. They don’t interview the
patient, they interview the watcher and make their assessment based on that.
Personal family history is necessary for a successful application, I worry
about emergency cases where a family member is not available for the process,
surely they’d treat the patient anyway. (Photo: Lola, the matriarch of the family. I thought Lola was her name, but it means grandmother 
However much I’ve tried to come to terms with my experiences
at the hands of the medical services here, I’ve failed. It leaves a lot to be
desired. Though probably no worse than many developing countries it’s a far cry
from what we’re used to in Europe. I’ve only had one foreign experience with
hospitals before, when Cai died on that fateful trip to the States, and
treatment certainly wasn’t withheld then. Without doubt life is cheap in most
of the world, in rural areas of developing countries there is little hope of
receiving vital medical treatment, which is why foreign aid is so valuable. Why
does it take a major catastrophe, like Typhoon Yolanda, to wake the world’s
population up to the deplorable health services that exist each and every day?
My anger in the Cebu hospital was directed at the staff on the front line,
maybe wrongly so, but if they don’t push for change who’s going to. They claim
they are poorly paid, but earn much more than the average citizen in these
parts. But health issues are far more widely spread than the supposed centres
for health care. (Photo: Kurt, the second eldest of Cookie 
One of the family I’m involved with here in Valencia has
long-term psychological problems, it’s Post Traumatic Stress. Some years ago he
witnessed a brutal and bloody murder, he desperately wanted to help the victim
but couldn’t due to the presence of the very violent murderer. Since then he’s
lost his grip on reality, and lives in a fairly constant state of angst. For a
long time he was bound in restraints, deemed to be a risk to himself if not to
others. Now he enjoys a certain degree of freedom. Whether he goes unmedicated
due to finances or a reluctance to take what’s prescribed is unclear, but he
spends long hours of the day and night locked in a darkened room.
Psychologically he battles imaginary adversaries, reminiscent of Smaegol/Golom.
He plays various parts of the deadly game; pleading for mercy and
understanding, shrieking for vengeance and destruction, and placating in a calm
and rational way. At times he will sit outside, observing, quiet, but
apparently fine. I’ve been trying to work out whether his psychosis is brought
on by being locked up, or whether he’s locked up when he starts being
psychotic. From what I’ve observed it’s the former, which makes the mind
boggle. He receives no professional help, is simply left to the mercy of his
family. (Photo: Angel, Cookie's current youngest, having one of her fallen moments
Despite adopting a cynical frame of mind over my insights to
health issues in the Philippines, I consider myself lucky. Purely because I’ve
seen the conditions people have to survive in, what they must put up with
daily. Also because I’m not condemned to share the difficulties they must
endure, I have a get out clause, I can run home whenever I want. I had been
wondering whether this country might offer me an alternative to living in the
UK, at present I can’t imagine it could. While I think highly of those I live
amongst I have severe doubts as to the workings of their country. The last thing I'd want is to be one of those whinging ex-pats who does nothing useful,
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