tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58212477420594142002024-03-05T14:11:23.374+08:00My So Called Mid-Life AngstWho am I? Why I am here? What's Good for Dinner? Will I find the answers as a Filipino VSO Volunteer in Zambia, Africa?Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-39896047944940080262011-02-22T02:27:00.007+08:002011-02-22T17:02:09.502+08:00Crazy Stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWErQru1JPYTw_-fbaouaVyI6qTbylrxvxPVvTNtMIsm2nlbndgmeMUNSRNTl8dc1M2DF7DS3_VhFrAdZ2lBqXRaX8vSMPiyheiwS2db69qvuVljAc5MFfEYa3dBNwb4ZkiXx-YkyyteA/s1600/1_848017852l.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 210px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576211728157408658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWErQru1JPYTw_-fbaouaVyI6qTbylrxvxPVvTNtMIsm2nlbndgmeMUNSRNTl8dc1M2DF7DS3_VhFrAdZ2lBqXRaX8vSMPiyheiwS2db69qvuVljAc5MFfEYa3dBNwb4ZkiXx-YkyyteA/s320/1_848017852l.jpg" /></a><br /><div>It's 11:40 pm. I have a ton of work stuff to finish and I'm suddenly craving for a cig. In times like this, I find that making a list - any kind of list - helps settle me down.<br /><br />One of my favorite excuses is "..because I can". Because I can, I've done some crazy stupid stuff over the years.<br /><br />Here are some that I can remember<br /><br />In the 80s. I grew a moustache, shaved half of it and kept it like that for most of a work-week. I remember that it was suppposed to be an act of protest about something but, for the life of me, I cant remember anymore whatever it was I was protesting. I was working in a bank at that time. I didn't stay long.<br /></div><br /><div>I've shared a joint twice in my entire life. The first time was my first week in college and I was diagnosed with hepatits the next day. The second time was years after in my friend's house and we all had a laughing trip. I've never really had the urge to try it again although one time in Sagada my friends and I were waiting to be offered (cause that's whats supposed to happen in <a href="http://www.visitsagada.com/2011/01/15/marijuana-in-sagada/">Sagada</a>) but that didnt happen. I wanted to try Ecstasy when I was in my 30's but never did.<br /></div><br /><div>In one of my first trips abroad, I had the bright idea of bringing home free toiletries from my hotel as<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasalubong"> pasalubong</a>. Not content with what I collected from my room, I was caught by the chambermaid taking stuff from her cart (which was outside the door of a room that wasn't mine). In my embarassment, I put them all back and skulked away.<br /></div><br /><div>In the 90's, I invented this imaginary friend (Mr. Ho) with whom I would have loud, engaged conversations. In public. In front of strangers. All the time. And then it wasn't funny anymore, just strange.<br /></div><br /><div>A friend and I accepted a dare from other friends to have ourselves strapped to a slingtshot-like contraption that flung us hundreds of feet away from the ground. It felt like my balls were in my mouth and a scream was stuck in my throat.</div><br /><div>On another dare, I walked around the streets of Tokyo like a duck for the better part of one afternoon.<br /></div><br /><div>One New Year's eve, I was so drunk I have pictures of myself lying along Ayala Avenue that I dont remember having been taken.<br /></div><br /><div>A few years ago, in a club in London, I started screaming Tagalog curses while in the middle of the dance floor because it seemed like a fun thing to do at that time. I was a little (alright, very) drunk but sensible enough to stop when a friend reminded me that a lot of Tagalog cuss words have Spanish or Latin origins (i.e. Puta......a) :-) might be understood by the stoned Europeans around us.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Hmm...practice kissing (with tounge of course) and howling at the full moon :-) , hurling wine glasses at the <a href="http://lakad-pilipinas.blogspot.com/2010/03/manila-ccp-breakwater.html">Roxas Boulevard breakwater</a> shouting Mazel Tov in what I thought to be a French Jewsih accent (long story, I also went through a Black Russian phase, longer story)<br /></div><br /><div>This is most likely not a complete list, let me know of anything else that should be in it (at the risk of embarassing yourself for having been part of whatever stunt you remember me doing, haha)<br /><br />I really have to go back to work now. I still want a cig. </div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-84145019668860972802010-12-24T16:01:00.003+08:002010-12-30T23:18:33.924+08:00I Survived Again !(or When Will I Evern Learn?)I had a heart attack on October 9, 2004 at 10:00 in the morning.<br /><br />Having come home at 2 am from a night-out with friends, I woke up late for an early-morning appointment. I had to to meet my friend, an architect, with whom I was going to Sta. Rosa Laguna . We were going to check on the progress of a house I was having constructed.<br /><br />A few minutes after getting into my friend's car (she had offered to drive), I felt back pains and a heavy sensation in the center my chest area. These were familiar discomforts as I had been experiencing the same pains intermittently over the past few weeks.<br /><br />As in the past, I expected the pain to subside gradually. It did not.<br /><br />I did not want to worry my friend needlessly so I tried to stay calm and take several deep breaths. When the pain remained, I realized that something was very wrong. It was at this point that I asked my friend to take me to the hospital.<br /><br />While the pain was constant, it was not excruciating. And while my friend was obviously concerned about me, we both remained relatively calm and even managed to exchange a few jokes along the way. I remember thinking to myself how inconvenient this all was for me and how screwed up my schedule was going to be because of the unexpected development. More so when we took a couple of wrong turns before finding our way back towards the right direction.<br /><br />Upon finally reaching the hospital, I walked myself to the ER while my friend parked the car. I told the receiving clerk of my chest pains. My blood pressure was taken. After that, everything just sort of happened all at once.<br /><br />I was hooked up to several machines. Needles were inserted in my arms. Tubes were pushed up my nose. Doctors started milling and moving frantically around me. In my mind, I pictured one of those typical chaotic scenes in the medical emergency shows.<br /><br />I was told I was having a heart attack and that there was a small window of time to minimize any further damage to my system. I could die within the next few minutes.<br /><br />I don't remember panicking. If anything, I went into full control mode. I started organizing things in my head. As the doctors fought to save my life, I was making a list of people to call and arrangements to make.<br /><br />I had to be sure that everything was going to be in order even if that was the last thing I did. At one point, I even asked my friend to take my picture with my mobile phone - me lying on a gurney smiling and waving at the camera as everything was going crazy around me. I was not going to let anyone know that I was scared. That would have been unsightly and uncool.<br /><br />After my vital signs had stabilized, I was brought to the ICU for closer monitoring as I remained in critical condition.<br /><br />While in the ICU, one of my visitors -a friend from work - gave me a daily devotional. "Grace for the Moment" by Max Lucado. I had received a copy of the same book about two years ago which I had hardly read.<br /><br />This new copy remained unread in the hospital. A couple of days after, while waiting for the results of yet another medical test, I took the book and just listlessly opened it to the reading for October 9, the day of my attack.<br /><br />The reading's heading was "A Home for your Heart". It began with Psalm 91.1, "Those who go to God Most High for Safety will be protected by the Almighty".<br /><br />While those words were inspiring, the accompanying thoughts hit me like a ton of bricks. I am going to have to quote in full, as follows: " Chances are you've given little thought to housing your soul. We create elaborate houses for our bodies but our souls are relegated to a hillside shanty where the night winds chill us ad the rain soaks us".<br /><br />I had my heart attack on the way to check on the progress of my house construction. God was trying to tell me something! But, na-uh, I wasn't going to be convinced that easily. Not me.<br /><br />I could say that these were just weird coincidences.<br /><br />It was a coincidence that I had received two copies of the same book.It was a coincidence that the reading fell on October 9, the day of my attack.<br /><br />And then again, maybe not.<br /><br />For several months, maybe years, I have been occupied - obsessed even - with the idea of building this house according to my specifications . I could even go as far as saying I was obssessed with living my life according to some Grand Plan.<br /><br />But, in order for me to do this, I felt I had to be on top of my game all the time. I was spending almost all of my time at work. I hardly had time for family and friends. I had to have people's admiration and recognition.<br /><br />So much so that, even at my most vulnerable moment, in the face of death, I was still trying to be in control. I was making calls while in the ER to make arrangements and giving instructions! I was discussing with the doctors about what was to be done with me and how I should be treated! I even had my picture taken!!!<br /><br />What kind of person has his picture taken while having a heart attack?<br /><br />To my shame, I don't think I prayed or asked for God's help until after there were no more calls to make or doctors to speak to.<br /><br />You would think I should have learned my lesson already. I had a near-fatal car accident a few years back when I missed a sharp turn on an incline. My car summersaulted at least twice before landing upside-down at a 45 degree angle to the ground just a few feet away from a deep ravine. I was not wearing a seatbelt. I crawled out of the car without a bruise. People who saw the wreck would ask how many people had died. They would then say what a coincidence it was that, next to my wrecked car, there was a huge sign on which were printed the words "JESUS SAVES"<br /><br />There were just too many coincidences to ignore.<br /><br />I had to consider the possibility that God has been trying to send me a message through all these years. A message that I had been ignoring . He had had to resort to pretty drastic measures to call my attention.<br /><br />After my heart attack, I opted to invest in the healing of my heart, I realized that I was, in fact, giving myself a chance to have a more meaningful life. But, first - God wanted me to start with a clean slate. He had to teach me to let go of my attachments. I realized that the house was just a representation of all the things that I had grown attached to - my pride, my worldly possessions, my ambition, my desire for recognition. I suppose in a way, God wanted me to realize how temporary these are and how they could just be taken away in one instant. He also had to teach me to be humble. While in the hospital, I was stripped bare - literally and figuratively - of my clothes and finery. I had to be totally dependent on others even for my toilet needs. For someone who is as vain and proud as I am, that was a difficult lesson to learn.<br /><br />These are lessons that I would have resisted under different conditions. So, it is true - God had to take pretty drastic measures to make sure He had my attention!<br /><br />I suspect He wanted me to ask myself these questions- "Why me?", "What is it that You want me to do?", "What is this all leading up to?" "What reason is there that I'm still alive?". Lying on the hospital pondering on these thoughts, I guess I half expected the answers to come to me in the form of an angel coming down from the ceiling.<br /><br />Hmm...Guess again.<br /><br />True to form, God hasn't me any quick answers. I don't think that is His style. Even now, several years after, I'm still trying to figure things out. Through all this, I feel an Invisible Hand intervening by presenting the opportunities to let go of my attachments and be clear on my priorities. I've made several interesting choices since then in my search for answers.<br /><br />I don't think I'm any holier or more profound that I was before my heart attack. But I have noticed a few changes. I have a greater sensitivity to the things around me. I think maybe I'm just a little bit kinder , a little bit more gentle, maybe even a little bit more patient and forgiving..<br />Partly, I suppose this comes from a keen awareness of how temporary life is, that all this could end at the snap of a finger. But, mostly, I believe that its part of God's process.<br /><br />I know I also have to learn the virtues of patience and obedience. If I had my way, I would want to fast-forward and get to the stage where I'm like super-wise and enjoying my rewards from Him for going through my experience. But God cannot be rushed. His work with me is not done yet. His lessons continue.<br /><br />As 2010 comes to a close, I find myself asking the same questions all over again. What positive changes have I made in the last year? How can I make my life more meaningful in 2011?<br /><br />I am thinking that I would like to simplify my life by just focusing on the essentials and letting go of everything else. I think it is fitting that I have decided to sell the house that I was having constructed when I had my heart attack. In my mind, I am going through a list of other things I should just let go of<br /><br />What I do know is that the things that were so important to me before don't seem to matter as much anymore. I don't think that means I'm any less dedicated to doing my job, for example. I still take satisfaction is being able to do it well. It's just that I have a better understanding of what I can and cannot do and I accept that my work is not the be-all and end-all of everything.<br />I am grateful that I still feel a sense of hope and anticipation for what is going to come next. God is teaching me all these lessons to build a home for my heart and prepare me for even greater things. Not for my glory. But for His.<br /><br />Merry Christmas, my family and friends. And may God continue to bless and guide us in the year ahead.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-6980748481388280492010-07-07T00:33:00.002+08:002010-07-07T01:43:11.121+08:00Pictures from Culion, Palawan<iframe align="center" src="http://www.flickr.com/slideShow/index.gne?set_id=72157624288508795" width="500" height="500" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><br /><center><small>Created with <a href="http://www.flickrslideshow.com">flickr slideshow</a> from <a href="http://www.softsea.com">softsea</a>.</small></center><br /><br /><br />June 30, 10:30 am<br />waiting for my flight back to Manila<br /><br />Culion, Palawan is one of the most remote islands in the Philippines. Because of its location, it was once chosen to house one of the largest leper colonies n the world. The "outside world's" fear of contamination was so fierce that the island even had to print its own currency that could not be circulated anywhere else.<br /><br />Leprosy is no longer a most dreaded disease but Culion can boast of at least one other superlative - it has to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.<br /><br />I stayed at the Hotel Maya, which is the training center for the Tourism Entrepreneurship program of the Loyola College of Culion, "the poorest Jesuit school in the Philippines".<br /><br />Hotel Maya, under the leadership of Father Javy Alpasa, my new personal hero, is in the forefront of promoting Culion as a Healing Island and as an eco-tourism site.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-78970032213443235532010-07-06T01:34:00.000+08:002010-07-07T01:38:17.791+08:00St Francis Drake's Prayer<iframe align="center" src="http://www.flickr.com/slideShow/index.gne?set_id=72157624311783413" width="500" height="500" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><br /><center><small>Created with <a href="http://www.flickrslideshow.com">flickr slideshow</a> from <a href="http://www.softsea.com">softsea</a>.</small></center><br /><br />Disturb us, Lord, when We are too well pleased with ourselves,<br />When our dreams have come true<br />Because we have dreamed too little,<br />When we arrived safely<br />Because we sailed too close to the shore.<br /><br />Disturb us, Lord, when<br />With the abundance of things we possess<br />We have lost our thirst<br />For the waters of life;<br />Having fallen in love with life,<br />We have ceased to dream of eternity<br />And in our efforts to build a new earth,<br />We have allowed our vision<br />Of the new Heaven to dim.<br /><br />Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,<br />To venture on wider seas<br />Where storms will show your mastery;<br />Where losing sight of land,<br />We shall find the stars.<br /><br />We ask You to push back<br />The horizons of our hopes;<br />And to push into the future<br />In strength, courage, hope, and love.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-56627964651293136952010-07-05T01:19:00.003+08:002010-08-13T14:58:17.699+08:00Beautiful Zambia<iframe height="500" src="http://www.flickr.com/slideShow/index.gne?set_id=72157624288726727" frameborder="0" width="500" scrolling="no" align="center"></iframe><br /><center><small>Created with <a href="http://www.flickrslideshow.com/">flickr slideshow</a> from <a href="http://www.softsea.com/">softsea</a>.</small></center><br /><br /><br />I took in some amazing sights during my 6 month stay in Zambia. These are some of the pictures I took from October 2009 to March 2010Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-40584574392894232672010-05-01T07:59:00.003+08:002010-05-03T03:25:56.618+08:00My New Gig<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Casus%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Casus%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Casus%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> 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Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:10.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} /* List Definitions */ @list l0 {mso-list-id:756711013; mso-list-type:hybrid; mso-list-template-ids:1485455108 67698689 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693;} @list l0:level1 {mso-level-number-format:bullet; mso-level-text:; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; text-indent:-.25in; font-family:Symbol;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">Even before leaving Zambia, my friends would already frequently ask me whether I would want to volunteer again.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">My answer has always been the same: Yes, but: a) it would have to be another short-term stint as<span style=""> </span>I need to go back to gainful employment soon, otherwise re-volunteering will have to wait for several more years; b )<span style=""> </span>I would like to have<span style=""> </span>more direct interaction with the program beneficiaries and<span style=""> </span>not just be stuck behind a table drafting policies; <span style=""> </span>and<span style=""> </span>c) it would have to be in the Philippines as this is where I would like to make a lasting contribution.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shortly after coming back<span style=""> </span>to Manila (and in between shoving food into my mouth), a friend told me about Community and Family Services International (CFSI), a Philippine-based NGO with the mission<span style=""> </span>to provide assistance<span style=""> </span>to<span style=""> </span>people displaced by conflict - especially those in areas like Mindanao, East Timor<span style=""> </span>and Myanmar.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I<span style=""> </span>got interested,<span style=""> </span>asked for more information , set-up a meeting with the CEO and basically went thru a super-anal due-diligence process.<span style=""> </span>It didn't take me long to<span style=""> </span>decide that, if CFSI would have me and the timing could work out, this was an organization I would be proud to be a part of.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since then, I've managed to extend my sabbatical for a few more weeks. My good fortune continues with CFSI's<span style=""> </span>acceptance of my application as a short-term volunteer.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so, the next few weeks will see me<span style=""> </span>taking the MRT/LRT<span style=""> </span>about<span style=""> </span>four to five times a week. This way, I'm able to avoid the stress of driving thru<span style=""> </span>traffic and navigating through the labyrinth of one-way streets in<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.pasay.gov.ph/">Pasay City</a><span style=""> </span>where CFSI's office is located. I like.<span style="">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I've met most of the people with whom I'll be working. They're all very supportive and welcoming, I know I'm going to learn a lot from them. I like<span style=""> </span>even more.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The program to which I've been assigned is called the Park Avenue Initiative (PAI) after the street in<span style=""> </span>which the CFSI office is located - Park Avenue. While the street name may sound posh, let me just say that<span style=""> </span>the street<span style=""> </span>itself is not and let's leave it at that,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The PAI<span style=""> </span>program aims to protect youth and children that have been displaced from mainstream society because of various forms of exploitation - sexual abuse, child labor, prostitution, drugs. This is accomplished<span style=""> </span>not just by providing a "safe place" within the CFSI<span style=""> </span>premises but also by providing the kids with counseling, life-skills coaching, livelihood training and other forms of assistance and intervention</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I've heard some of the kid's stories.<span style=""> </span>They are heart-wrenching. Once again, I am reminded of how blessed and sheltered my life has been and how important it is to give backMy time here is limited and I'm going to have to return to regular work in a few weeks.<span style=""> </span>So, I<span style=""> </span>want to make sure that I'm able to do as much as I can while I can.<span style=""> </span>
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">My responsibilities<span style=""> </span>as a volunteer are<span style=""> </span>still evolving.<span style=""> </span>But right now, my skill sets seem to be best suited to helping PAI in resource mobilization. I network and approach individuals and organizations who may be able to support our programs (like maybe...uhhh.... mmm....hopefully...you? )<span style=""> </span>More on how you might be able to help at the end of this entry:-)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I'm also given the opportunity to participate in different community activities.<span style=""> </span>For example, this afternoon, I attended<span style=""> </span>a meeting where the barangay officials presented their 1st quarter accomplishments to the<span style=""> </span>residents.<span style=""> </span>It was raining.<span style=""> </span>We were sitting under a make-shift tent<span style=""> </span>in the middle of a market. There were<span style=""> </span>wet dogs and little children running around. It was almost eight pm and I hadn't had dinner yet. <span style=""> </span>But<span style=""> </span>I was very glad to be there. Tomorrow, I'm going to be working with a group of children finalizing their script for a puppet show to highlight children's<span style=""> </span>rights.<span style=""> </span>I like what I'm doing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For more on CFSI, please visit their website by following this <a href="http://www.cfsi.ph/">link.</a><span style=""> </span>Check out the tabs for Partners and Leadership - pretty impressive and an indication of the credibility and integrity of the organization.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For more on the PAI program and the children it aims to serve, please watch this short youtube video thru this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_WTnSzSxYQ">link</a>,
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After going through the site and viewing the video,<span style=""> </span>you might<span style=""> </span>be interested in finding out how you can help or be involved. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">If so, please send me a private message so I could send you more info.<span style=""> </span>I can also link you with a more senior member of the CFSI management team if you want a more in-depth discussion<span style=""> </span>about CFSI's various programs and how you can help.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, just off the top of my head, following are a few areas where support or assistance<span style=""> </span>(in any form - donations, scholarships, your expertise and time, introductions to potential donors, etc) are needed:</p> <ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Livelihood training (especially for the older kids) i.e. cosmetology, culinary arts, auto mechanic, food processing, basic computer skills, etc.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Job matching for graduates of the livelihood training courses</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Life-skills training (i.e. self awareness,<span style=""> </span>collaboration, communication skills, etc)</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Books<span style=""> </span>and educational tools for the CFSI children's library -<span style=""> </span>kids come in regularly to use the limited facilities</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Computer equipment</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Tutorials on elementary and high school subjects</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Public relations - just getting the word out about CFSI, what it does and how it can be supported.</li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal">The above list is by no means exhaustive so if you have any ideas of how you might be able to help, please let me know so we can schedule a discussion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thanks very much and wish me luck so I can do good work, please!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-68323583525040912442010-03-15T20:22:00.005+08:002011-02-22T17:33:45.146+08:00DISTANT DRUMS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZbR6OnChpkECAMY13HNo_m-x3exXUHMFB2NaGsg4W0RRf-8pbdjYCNfVEi4K57dsnL1kupanbQ7rrcbkAFGQvzf4eV29wbN5cm5vrwHgBZTAkMu1xP3iBCCCjT9xHVLq5YimFxp-nFc/s1600/jan30frmhelen2a.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 183px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526416867509215986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZbR6OnChpkECAMY13HNo_m-x3exXUHMFB2NaGsg4W0RRf-8pbdjYCNfVEi4K57dsnL1kupanbQ7rrcbkAFGQvzf4eV29wbN5cm5vrwHgBZTAkMu1xP3iBCCCjT9xHVLq5YimFxp-nFc/s320/jan30frmhelen2a.jpg" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">As of today, I have 16 days left in Zambia. My remaining time will be spent completing a few more projects and saying goodbye to the friends I have made </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The experience has been everything that I expected. It has been difficult and challenging. Oftentimes, I felt isolated and lonely.Conversely, it has also been everything I did not expect. I made a lot of new friends that I would not have been able to meet elsewhere. I learned new things, most especially about what I can do without. I look at my end-of-placement review document and, on paper at least, it seems I have done a lot in the past five and a half months. At the same time, I feel like I have not done much at all.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">In the bus this morning on the way to the big city for a final workshop, I realized that It may take some time before I could process my entire experience and understand how exactly it has changed me. Maybe someday, after having made another one of my strange life choices, that is when I will suddenly realize – ah, this is what I learned in Africa, this is how Africa has transformed me.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">For now, I have my curios and my experiences to remind me of the time I have spent here. When I am alone, I take out and admire the African souvenirs . I imagine how I would put them up back home or how to explain their provenance to my friends. But, a thing is a thing. I quickly get bored with this activity. </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I spend more time running through my memories. I hold each one in my consciousness, considering their value against the bright light of hindsight Which ones are most precious to me? Which ones do I want to take home with me? </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I could remember:<br /></span></p><ul style="MARGIN-TOP: 0in" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the wretchedness of a diarrhea attack in a place with limited toilet facilities (dear God, the wretchedness).</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the 2 kilometer walk to get to the nearest hospital and the stench of sweat and sickness while waiting in line for my malaria test results (negative, but I was scared)</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the appetizing mixture of mud and manure on which I could just not avoid stepping during rainy days<br /></span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the frustrations from a work environment with limited resources and a different ethic</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the feeling of helpless anger and the lost of my sense of complacent security after having my things stolen </span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the homesickness that was never more acute as during the cold nights when I would be shivering under a thick blanket, listening to the sound of scurrying rats in the ceiling, wishing I were home – warm, clean, stomach full - instead.</span></li></ul><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I could remember grievances, inconveniences, hardships, annoyances, irritants.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I could. But I don’t think I would want to. Even now, the details of these memories are starting to get fuzzy. How many times did I get diarrhea? Was it in November or December that I had malaria-like symptoms? What exactly were the things that were stolen from me? </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I brush these memories aside. I survived. That is what matters. I have suffered thru shit, theft, stomach problems and homesickness before. They are not unique to my African experience.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fortunately, there are many more memories from which to choose. These are the ones that will always seem like they only happened an hour ago. No matter what the future holds for me, these are the ones that will make me want to come back to this time and place.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I will remember<br /></span></p><ul style="MARGIN-TOP: 0in" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the many nights when I drifted off to sleep listening to the sound of distant drums, imagining people dancing around a bonfire, wondering what it was they might be celebrating. </span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">that hot day, sitting under the shade of a tree when a hungry boy fell asleep in my arms - his rhythmic breathing against my chest, his little fingers clutched tightly around mine </span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">that first day in Church when, after being introduced as a new member of the parish, a grandfatherly man came up to me, held my hands and said “You are home. We are your family here”</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">that late afternoon when, on the way home from work, I chanced upon a group of women standing at the back of a slowly moving truck. They were softly singing . The words were foreign but the melody was so evocative of sadness and longing. I was struck still in the middle of the street, suddenly remembering everything that I too have lost and miss as I watched them disappear into the dusk </span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the thrill of riding in a car moving carefully along a deserted road late at night, careful not to hit any elephant that may cross our way, thinking to myself, “Only in Africa”</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the awe inspired by the gentle gaze of a fawn or the perfect beauty of a zebra ambling casually in front of me.</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the joy in the faces of the children who would run up to greet me every single day that I have been in Kalomo. “Muzungu, muzungu”, they would shout, racing against each other in their ragged clothes, to be the first to touch me. </span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">the simple, inspired meals cooked in small, cramped kitchens and shared happily with friends, all the more special because the occasions were so rare.</span></li><br /><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">telling a group of Zambians that my hero is the ordinary Filipino in times of crisis; saying how proud I am of my countrymen who, regardless of the odds and the difficulties, still manage to laugh and to share; realizing as I was speaking how much it meant to me to be able to say this.</span></li></ul><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I will remember faces and names and smiles, each special, each distinct and separate from the other. I will remember every life story that was shared with me,.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I will remember magnificent, MAGNIFICENT, sunsets, and thundering waterfalls.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I will remember a rare rainbow seen in the faint glow of the moonlight; colorful trees that seemed to reach up to the sky; verdant landscapes dotted with settlements of mud-huts; </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I will remember. Perhaps, while remembering, I might even hear the sound of distant drums again.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I have come full circle. This is Africa. </span><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/10/tia.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">This is my Africa</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span></p>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-27882461930102886032010-02-13T18:28:00.005+08:002010-07-07T01:43:11.123+08:00Christiane Amanpour is so 5 months ago<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTL5Ub5ToLyYlLzjyrP02S-TzbWU4vFCoACAlHVaD3L_hv1JEGOwvXQBbA87EcpySWassUidAlLPsxXAzkwOjLsRxJgcyg3Ksbo3D4ir0Svpv3-EBlPFDNsV7YlkdsjdZYH7aj12Mwjg8/s1600-h/conlivessept.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTL5Ub5ToLyYlLzjyrP02S-TzbWU4vFCoACAlHVaD3L_hv1JEGOwvXQBbA87EcpySWassUidAlLPsxXAzkwOjLsRxJgcyg3Ksbo3D4ir0Svpv3-EBlPFDNsV7YlkdsjdZYH7aj12Mwjg8/s320/conlivessept.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437673749151491458" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Singapore's Changi Class Magazine, September 2009 issue<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKELzhS7u6SvKgCMOyEgPtXzELNX6-LQ8sGcZf8VPBhAWtrwBorUI6FGUgBGOtPGIvwNmC2r4cKnxC0OtypLeIyZ6dq1vm5WSiB1GhkyW4MgkbHYiFNpkxskvQJK5qKB3zduZkDcxhKA/s1600-h/conlivfeb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKELzhS7u6SvKgCMOyEgPtXzELNX6-LQ8sGcZf8VPBhAWtrwBorUI6FGUgBGOtPGIvwNmC2r4cKnxC0OtypLeIyZ6dq1vm5WSiB1GhkyW4MgkbHYiFNpkxskvQJK5qKB3zduZkDcxhKA/s320/conlivfeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437674293686859010" border="0" /></a><br />Singapore's Changi Class Magazine, February 2010 issue<br /><br /></div><br />And that, dear readers, is what is called scraping-the-bottom-of-the-content barrel. Just doing my bit to keep this blog updated. Thanks, by the way, to Jacqueline Danam of the magazine for the feature. Going through some stuff right now but I should be able to post something more interesting in a week or two.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-73844889326431536442010-01-16T23:21:00.004+08:002010-10-10T22:16:29.108+08:00Perplexed-in-Zambia<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZvWiwQbe48oTjDPoysPpTYhRLg6vetiMfAE4iUeiNY7w28VaNQdxtcMJjmJzUPGkKYxgEPSfwI0U3lNLEE7CGhl4iOY6kQQPJWzdHKs3mHCU97XUmjh_3-_sCG8B3PfHfj3TAgsy-VE/s1600/kalomo+man+1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 237px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526421086199431362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZvWiwQbe48oTjDPoysPpTYhRLg6vetiMfAE4iUeiNY7w28VaNQdxtcMJjmJzUPGkKYxgEPSfwI0U3lNLEE7CGhl4iOY6kQQPJWzdHKs3mHCU97XUmjh_3-_sCG8B3PfHfj3TAgsy-VE/s320/kalomo+man+1.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Dear Advice Giver:<br /><br />I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I toss and turn at night. What should I do about these strange feelings I’m having?<br /><br />How much of a shithole am I when I spend the morning visiting malnourished children and then, later on in the day, go on a food binge because the experience depressed me?<br /><br />Should I even complain about the skills of the people with whom I’m working when I’m here precisely because they recognize that they need help?<br /><br />Should I feel guilty about having a rare night out with volunteer friends if what I’m going to pay for dinner and drinks is more than what a family of six from my program’s target beneficiaries spends on food for a week? Should it make a difference when I’m not in development work anymore?<br /><br />Am I perpetuating the practice of <a href="http://village-to-village-blog.blogspot.com/2008/11/is-sitting-allowance-form-of-corruption.html">sitting allowances</a> by receiving mine without question or am I justified by spending it on necessary work-related expenses (like paper or internet connection) that I won’t be able to reimburse otherwise?<br /><br />When everyone in a meeting – men and women, young and old – starts deeply probing inside their noses with their forefingers - am I the one who is impolite because I flinch, look away and still can’t accept this as normal behavior in this part of the world?<br /><br />Between being a tourist and a zealot, which side of the scale am I closer to? Since I’m here for only a short while, should I be spending more of my time taking pretty pictures for my album or should I spend every single second trying to save someone, anyone? Does one choice make me a flake and the other delusional?<br /><br />Should I just go ahead and offer my help when I can – especially if what’s needed isn’t something that’ll put a significant dent in my resources – or would I just be propagating a sense of entitlement and dependence that’s going to boomerang back in the future?<br /><br />What am I doing here when there are millions of people in my own country who need help? How do I go back home and make this experience mean something?<br /><br />And lastly, dear Advice Giver, are there more creative ways to say “No” the next time I’m asked any of these questions: “Is the Philippines in America?”; “Aren’t you from South America/ Central America/ the Caribbean ?”; “Can you give me money for my circumcision/ a water pump in my village/ carpentry tools?”; and “Do you want another helping of delicious <a href="http://zambum.blogspot.com/2005/11/nshima.html">nshima</a>?”<br /><br />Respectfully,<br /><br />Perplexed-in-Zambia</div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-89220146971052723822009-12-30T02:05:00.006+08:002010-12-30T12:34:47.504+08:00What I Did on My Christmas Vacation<div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVZFesEe4Wagc6zJhGcHs36TfPBeYJqTXxS6IbRf8vk4QONdOoWLZYEldEQNl2Ya6fZhWn1pgLI_s2cZV7oNaYSfaRmfKWJr9toprb5fVx-y4zYTR_gMWZopqLsbepOYWKjIJmnqXONQ/s1600/19555_235595251224_542486224_3346937_5913493_n.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556324979310365794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVZFesEe4Wagc6zJhGcHs36TfPBeYJqTXxS6IbRf8vk4QONdOoWLZYEldEQNl2Ya6fZhWn1pgLI_s2cZV7oNaYSfaRmfKWJr9toprb5fVx-y4zYTR_gMWZopqLsbepOYWKjIJmnqXONQ/s320/19555_235595251224_542486224_3346937_5913493_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/01/scenes-from-new-york-winter.html">Last Christmas</a>, I was in New York with very close friends, a surrogate family. We had the kind of holiday of which songs are written about – the Rockefeller Centre tree, a fireplace in the Hamptons and mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.<br /><br />This year’s Christmas couldn’t be any more different. I've tried, as much as I can, to summon a festive mood. I've been incessantly playing the two Christmas albums in my iPod (Ella Fitz and Frank S). I've even been going around with my very own portable, collapsible <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/12/wala-lang.html">Christmas tre</a>e from home.<br /><br />I haven’t gotten much support. No decorations have been put up. No parties are being held. I have given a few simple gifts but I’m not expecting any in return. There aren’t even gift wrappers being sold in the stores.<br /><br />On Christmas Eve, I heard mass in a small church lit only by candles. I watched a group of small children in makeshift costumes re-enact the story of the Nativity. I couldn’t understand the words and although the story was familiar, it seemed like it was being told to me the first time. At that point, I realized that the simple setting was more similar to the first Christmas than any elaborate store display could ever hope to be. As the evening’s Responsorial Psalm reminded us – “ A Savior has been born to us, He is Jesus Christ, our Lord”<br /><br />Seeing the faces of the people in church , I saw such JOY at the telling of the story – untainted by the stress of traffic or shopping or the slight avarice that comes over all of us with the feeding and buying frenzy that the holiday season brings. That night, in church, I felt something familiar start to come over me in this most unfamiliar of places. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my Christmas spirit is alive and well in Zambia. </div><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6re4br684he7ITpBFVU_ENVgqIneb9fgpqgH2TjTN41aXIb2z5jYLrMDHKWrJ-0URtScJgwBCzBNh-E8GezYFwINM3h_Fw0X_QuLuK4rdqGLajTobbj_foKuWHjpzXP5RusgHmLSVqF4/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 281px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 217px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556327834576329346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6re4br684he7ITpBFVU_ENVgqIneb9fgpqgH2TjTN41aXIb2z5jYLrMDHKWrJ-0URtScJgwBCzBNh-E8GezYFwINM3h_Fw0X_QuLuK4rdqGLajTobbj_foKuWHjpzXP5RusgHmLSVqF4/s320/untitled.bmp" /></a>Christmas Day found me traveling by rickety minibus (summon your memory of any movie set in Africa, with a character riding a local bus and you get the picture) to a neighboring town to visit my volunteer friends, Kristen and Jacinta. The couple help the local Anglican Church run several programs aimed at assisting disadvantaged children in the area. On the day that I visited, I helped them out in one of their projects - a feeding program for kids up to 15 years old. Most of the kids are orphans, a number have been passed on the HIV virus from their parents, many – even the kids as young as four – already work with the rest of their families in the fields or in stone quarries around the area. This is the one day in the month where they can be kids again and – for most of them – the only opportunity to have a decent, balanced meal .</div><div> </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdL31Xggfs9FXKEhUPeRJRhB-v9w3nIZEo3gmKOUEUgPz-afcbt1yX0X_N89z71cQsOG7VSxdyLxVwCveOVrc5LkzN2pfKPO_eTpRqURq5zLXPnALe3Koa_ZjpXePDdtF1rKaW7K-M5lE/s1600/sunset.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 307px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 208px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556328599999675698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdL31Xggfs9FXKEhUPeRJRhB-v9w3nIZEo3gmKOUEUgPz-afcbt1yX0X_N89z71cQsOG7VSxdyLxVwCveOVrc5LkzN2pfKPO_eTpRqURq5zLXPnALe3Koa_ZjpXePDdtF1rKaW7K-M5lE/s320/sunset.bmp" /></a>In the afternoon, we toured Victoria Falls, a National Heritage site and one of the natural wonders of the world before ending the day with dinner and drinks over-looking yet another fantastic Zambian sunset. In spite of a few challenges and frustrations, I know how lucky I am to be here.<br /><br />I only wish you could be here to share the experience with me but you never know what’s going to happen next so who knows where we might be together Christmas next year, yes? </div></div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-23598864276467628772009-12-16T10:21:00.005+08:002010-10-10T22:03:05.440+08:00MID-WEEK BLENT (BLOG VENT - I THINK I MADE THAT UP). JUST GETTING THIS OFF MY CHEST<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDFZc4UuBBugUnGaDNpwZS7P7tkmaCmh4-STjPdx1tXkUaWCP07kgUCoETdv0lsy8ErO_bXt0vu0gH_lLj73kPZVPiJJ7lRNONPYg_XNNYGGAHyOGPL5-TVotxM-zgV09c8ji6WPWctA/s1600/hivaids1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 294px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526417613313202258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDFZc4UuBBugUnGaDNpwZS7P7tkmaCmh4-STjPdx1tXkUaWCP07kgUCoETdv0lsy8ErO_bXt0vu0gH_lLj73kPZVPiJJ7lRNONPYg_XNNYGGAHyOGPL5-TVotxM-zgV09c8ji6WPWctA/s320/hivaids1.JPG" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I am <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>almost halfway thru my volunteer assignment in Zambia. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>have learned that it Is best to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>take it one day at a time.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Some <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>days though <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>are a bit tougher <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>than the others. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The bad days aren’t so much because of the adjustment in lifestyle and living conditions. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I’ve <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>found out that there are many things I can live without.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>guess <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>just had too much stuff before that I didn’t really actually <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>need.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I come across the rough spots <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>when I begin to doubt <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>my ability to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>accomplish<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>anything while I’m here.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Take last Friday – a project prioritization workshop which I had carefully planned <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>was cancelled for the second time. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">In both cases, the cancellations came about because of sudden deaths in our small town.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>As senior council officials, my workshop attendees had to drop everything to sit with the bereaved families because of <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>tradition and social obligation.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">If <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>it’s not a death, then it’s something else <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>that causes a break in my work plan – somebody has malaria, there is no money for fuel, there is no electricity and so on. In the meantime,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>the clock is ticking and I don’t want to find myself at the end of this assignment without having anything to show for it.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Throwing a <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>fit is a tempting option. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I could make a big thing out of<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>time<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>being wasted and people not taking the work seriously.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">And then again (several deep breaths later ), maybe not.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">After some <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>thought – this is what I have:<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>What to me are inconveniences and annoying disruptions are <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>just part of daily<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>life here in this remote rural town of Zambia. These conditions were here before I arrived and will still be here after I’m long gone.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">In <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>a country with one of the highest mortality rates in the world and where <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the extended family is the main support system, it’s not unusual for a co-worker to have to attend four funerals in a day.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>In an environment of unstable cash flows, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>It is <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>my <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>co-workers who take a bigger brunt of the lack of resources – they can go on for months without being paid. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>In a district where <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>number one cause of death its malaria and there are rumors of another <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>outbreak,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>It’s<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>not irresponsible for somebody to take time off from work<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>to make sure that he or she is tested and treated properly .</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">So, who am I to complain about unused presentation materials?<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>And what are my timelines and work-plans but merely means to an end – not the goals by themselves?<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>If they can’t serve the needs of the people then they have to be modified accordingly.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I will Zen this out, I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>will reschedule the workshop and make use of the additional time to improve my hand-outs.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>In the meantime, I will see where else I can help.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I surprise myself with how mature and rational I can be (a bit of irony there, in case you didn’t get it. Ugh, now I’m patronizing you. Sorry. Going on…)</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The district council <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>where I work<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>has as <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>its mandate the provision of <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>basic social services to a population of about 200,000 people. My visual for the resident <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>who needs the council’s help the most<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>is this unsmiling <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>little girl I see<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>sometimes on my morning walk to work . She must be – oh, maybe 10 or 11. She has a baby slung <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>on her back <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>and a hoe in her hands as she tends <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the small field in front of her family’s mud-house.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I ask myself – Why isn’t she in school? <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Why does she look so sad?<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Where are her parents? Does she and the baby get medical attention? Are they AIDS orphans?<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">In spite of its gargantuan responsibilities,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>the<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>council does its work with <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>very limited resources. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Its’ <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>annual budget for its <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>social<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>programs<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>is about equal <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to the sales target of a junior IT sales executive in the Philippines</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">My main task for the time I’m here<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>is to identify alternative sources of funding and introduce a system and structure in place to make sure that when the funds do come, they are utilized properly.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>That means<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>literally anything. So, my typical day can be spent meeting with our program beneficiaries, running computer tutorials,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>communicating with potential donors<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>running capacity-building workshops or riding on a truck distributing flyers for the hygienic use of toilets.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">You know that eager-beaver guy in the office who volunteers for everything and offers a lot of unsolicited advice ? I’m that guy over here. “What’s the problem? Where do you need help? Why don’t you do it this way?”<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I know, I knooooow. We hate that guy but I can’t help it.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">So, (more deep breaths later)<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>do I have any<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>good days at all? </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I do.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Thank you, God.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>One of the guys from work came up to me after church last<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Sunday and <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>said – “I wish you could stay with us longer” .<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I was having a classic Debbie Downer <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>moment so<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I, of course,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>had<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to say-<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>“But <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>sometimes I wonder if I’m really helping out. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>All I seem to do is ask a lot of questions”. And then, this guy<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>replied – “But your questions make us think of how we could do things differently and that’s always a good start.”</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">That exchange kind of put what I’m trying to do here in perspective.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I have to remind myself that, sometimes, trying, by itself, is already the victory .<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I need to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>stop equating accomplishment with tasks done and targets and timelines met , like I normally would.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Several <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>recent instances make me start <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to think that<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>maybe -<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>maybe -<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I am able to help in some small way, after all.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>was very happy last week when one of my co-workers<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>bought himself a corporate strategy book out of his own money (costing about 5% of what I estimate his monthly salary must be). I’m taking that to mean he realizes that he has to do his part in closing in on the knowledge gap <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I felt like a proud parent on his kid’s first day at school when I saw him bring home that thick book.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">One other co-worker<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>made a case to the bosses to<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>adopt a management report that we had been working on together. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I take that to mean that he’s taking ownership of the project and will stay on top of it.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>And earlier today, I was approached to see how we could create simple Excel databases to replace the books that have been kept manually for years and years.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I take that to mean, they’re realizing that there could be a better way of doing things and that they might now be ready to try them out.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>In the world I want to live in, this is what is going to happen:<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Even after I’m gone, the people I’m working with ,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>will build on whatever skills and knowledge I am able to share. This<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>will help them generate more resources and then run their programs more efficiently and professionally. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">At the <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>end of the day, the beneficiaries of those programs – especially women , children and people living with HIV/AIDS, VSO’s target beneficiaries ,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>and that little girl with the baby on her back – will benefit by having a chance at a better life.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">It’s not exactly digging trenches or constructing a school<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>but<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I guess we all have to start somewhere.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>And that’s how I’d like to think of my experience here<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>- it’s a start.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-75167135678985918592009-12-12T20:31:00.007+08:002011-02-22T17:36:13.800+08:00OUT OF AFRITADA<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFq1I1fi_JrJQ_EHUNT5V0nYrkNR8QSc5Bpcbkl9_n-QKTS2Boiv6_YcnpjuwcP4_TgRpGKdP10g3YbKhUEqmoK7w7rDpGY-gKEUNgpJNca5aLzAvGBUjKI8_tGXawFFvgIrSTmo_rCJY/s1600/13743_222926836224_542486224_3290081_8111404_n.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576445284423661874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFq1I1fi_JrJQ_EHUNT5V0nYrkNR8QSc5Bpcbkl9_n-QKTS2Boiv6_YcnpjuwcP4_TgRpGKdP10g3YbKhUEqmoK7w7rDpGY-gKEUNgpJNca5aLzAvGBUjKI8_tGXawFFvgIrSTmo_rCJY/s320/13743_222926836224_542486224_3290081_8111404_n.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I had a farm in Africa .<br /><br />Haha! Unfortunately, not. And, sorry, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Out_of_Africa">Isak Dinesen</a>.<br /><br />What I do have are vivid and lurid thoughts of all the food I want to eat but can’t just yet.<br /><br /><br />As I lie in bed at night, I reconstruct all the minute details of meals enjoyed in the past. And then, I conjure not only the flavors and tastes of meals yet to come but also the atmosphere and environment in which they are to be eaten (“May ambience ba ang bahay ninyo?”, as I famously asked a good friend 25 years ago )<br /><br />I’ve compiled a shortlist of everything I want to sink my teeth into RIGHT NOW. Very careful consideration went into this list . In other words, cinaneer ko ’to. Entries were written in and then taken out (in some cases, written back in again) . After all, much as I’d like to, I can’t eat everything (darn).<br /><br />I don’t have a particularly sophisticated palate (veal, veal ka dyan). None of these are fancy stuff (well, maybe except for the Shang and Philippine Plaza buffets, but only because they’re relatively pricey) . However, these are all food I like , made even more special since they’ve been shared at one time or another with family and good friends.<br /><br />Let me know if you think I missed anything or if there’s something new I should try.<br /><br /><u>From my Kitchen (must all be eaten in one meal to experience the full extent of my culinary genius)</u><br /><br />a) One-Taste-of- This-and-You’ll-Love-Me -Forever Lasagna - which I make with ground sirloin generously seasoned with pepper, garlic salt and random spices; I sauté this in butter with even more garlic, mushrooms, onions, carrots, bell peppers and a bit of sugar then add real tomatoes and heaps of tomato sauce. I throw in generous slices of chopped chorizo to the mix then layer with al-dente lasagna sheets, basil pesto spread, at least 2 different kinds of runny cheeses and a buttery , creamy béchamel sauce that I make from scratch. As you bite into the finished product, each layer reveals a different flavor - – tangy, nutty, gooey, creamy, meaty, cheesy.<br /><br />b) Copied-from-Yummy-Magazine-and-Then-Made-So-Much-Better Sinigang na Lechon - This is hard-core sinigang, not for the faint-hearted. I put in 1 ½ the recommended souring agent to balance the richness of the lechon. After trimming off some of the excess fat, I slow-cook the main ingredients until the broth is thickened by the mashed gabi (like yam, a Philippine root crop); and the meat shreds easily when poked with a fork. While simmering, the lechon skin separates from the flesh, curls up a bit and gets a silky consistency that yields to the bite yet retains just a little bit of fight as you chew on it - a reminder of its previous crunchy glory . I add a couple of crushed chili peppers for an extra kick and throw in more vegetables (eggplants, string beans, green leafies) during the last 5 minutes of simmering. These are to give the sinigang some crunch. And because, really, I’m conscious about my diet, haha. Something is wrong with the dish if you’re not experiencing all of the following at the same time – lips puckering, forehead sweating, body tingling, face smiling .<br /><br />c) I’ve-Died-and-Gone-to-Pork-Heaven Adobo . This is “dry” adobo. You simmer all the ingredients (soy, vinegar, water, sugar, pork pieces coated in garlic paste , lots of extra garlic) in a large work until most of the liquid has evaporated then you fry the pieces in their own fat (or in butter, if you want to live dangerously). You get an adobo that’s dark and sticky on the outside yet white, juicy and tender on the inside. You HAVE to pour some of the remaining adobo oil with bits of caramelized garlic residue over the accompanying steaming rice. I serve this with a side salad of tomatoes and feta cheese.<br /><br />d) PASTuBaLIGUE , my own concoction of angel hair PASta tossed with spicy TUyo flakes ( salted dried fish marinated in olive oil and chili) with a dash of BAgoong (sautéed fish paste) and aLIGUE (crab fat). Italian-Ilocano-Bisaya fusion cuisine at its best. How much of a dash separates the culinary artist from the poseur.<br /><br />e) Award-Winning Fried Rice (third prize last year in a prestigious New York competition with three contestants) –rice slowly simmered in chicken broth with tomato sauce, different kinds of deli sausages (or canned meat, if that’s what’s available, we’re not picky. SPAM works really well ), left-over chicken, peas, bell peppers, carrots, mushrooms, generous sprinklings of Tabasco and random spices and whatever else is in the pantry that’s no longer moving. This is a cross between paella, risotto, gumbo and Chinese fried rice. The dish becomes even better when re-heated for breakfast the following morning.<br /><br />f) In lieu of dessert, fruit-flavored antacids will be served.<br /><br />g) Click this<a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/09/using-eggplant-to-pleasure-yourself.html"> link</a> for an earlier blog entry on my attempts at cooking.<br /><br /><u>From my Family’s Kitchen</u><br /><br />a) The Concepcion Family’s super special fruit salad (OMG, the sensuous, decadent combination of fruit in syrup with heavy cream, cheese cubes and sweet corn kernels – no one else does this like the Concepcions). You savor this treat slowly, letting each spoonful linger in your mouth for a few seconds , teasing your tongue with hints of all the goodness about to explode in your mouth , then you chew ever so slowly, not wanting to miss out on any of the flavor notes. You may have to hold on to your seat as you savor each mouthful . You’ll need to steady yourself as your body goes into throes of spasmic pleasure.<br /><br />b) My Manang Juliet’s:<br /><br />**Chicken Afritada - chicken stewed in tomato sauce until the meat falls off the bones and the cubed carrots and potato wedges become soft but not mushy – you eat all the meat and veggies THEN you suck all the sauce and juice that have seeped into the bones. Ending: a clean plate and a pile of dried-out, masticated chicken bones, Yum.<br /><br />****Pochero with beef still attached to the bones, green leafies, saba (plantains ) and gabi (again) to thicken the broth – whats the English word na nga for gabi? Best when each bite contains a little bit of everything. So, you dip a chunk of the tender beef in a sauce made of patis (fish sauce) and <a href="http://burntlumpia.typepad.com/burnt_lumpia/2007/04/i_think_i_shall.html">calamans</a>i. Then you add that to a spoonful of the mashed saba and gabi and rice that’s wet with the hot broth. If you’re able to add some marrow from inside the beef bones –ay, syet, ‘tangina. For some reason, this dish is best served for Sunday family lunches. After finishing two bowlfuls (sometime around 2 pm), you look for a sofa and rub your belly until you fall asleep.<br /><br />**Home-Made Chicharon - pork skin with plenty of pork flesh still attached, kept it in the freezer till it’s ready for deep- frying – this makes it extra crunchy; served with Manang’s ampalaya (bitter melon) salad (crunchy, sweetish, sourish with just a little bit of the bitterness left to balance the porky goodness - always copied, never equaled). Her trick, I think, is to slice the ampalaya thinly while its submerged in cold water (she puts in ice cubes pa). The vinaigrette she pours on it is just vinegar, salt, sugar and a bit of pepper.<br /><br />** Sugpo sa Gata (big prawns cooked in coconut milk and chili), you pour a bit of the hot gata on a plate of rice then you deconstruct the prawns, first taking off the head from which you flick off all the prawn fat with your forefinger for licking; then, you take the shell off the body so you can reveal the succulent, pink flesh inside which you dip in vinegar (with garlic bits) and eat with rice using your hands. I’m trembling as I write this<br /><br />**Chicken Arroz Caldo , cooked with plenty of ginger and until the meat is super tender (with patis and calamansi on the side, MUST be eaten only on Christmas and New Year’s Eves; not as good on any other days)<br /><br />c) The Palentinos Family’s Menudo and Embutido (like meatloaf but 1000X better, the liver spread makes all the difference)<br /><br />d) Auntie Puring’s Lanie’s kinilaw (ceviche, sabi ng mga sosyal), Lola Mang’s carne frita (Montana family version), Manang Alma’s fried lechon<br /><br />e) Dessert from my cousin, Mickey – whatever it is, it’ll be good cause it will be made with love :-)<br /><br /><u>From other People’s Kitchens </u><br /><br />a) TOP of the LIST. Carla O’s Papa’s laing with extra chili. Carla’s Papa – a retired military man - painstakingly personally makes this only upon special request (Mr. P, may I make a request, hehe) , eaten with plenty of rice and several pieces of tuyo (dried, salted fish) – best eaten at home using your hands and with one foot up on your chair.<br /><br />Everything else that follows is in random order.<br /><br />b) Stephen B’s adobo with hardboiled eggs - when you’ve driven for hours and you’re tired and hungry and masungit– this is the dish you want to be waiting for you so you can be human again. This adobo version is “wet”, i.e. more saucy that my adobo (I suspect this is what makes Bisaya adobo different, Manang makes a similar version) but still cooked with a lot of garlic, just the way I like it.<br /><br />c) Leah O’s twice-cooked adobo (must be with my version of scrambled eggs – about which, if I may so myself, wow) – best eaten for breakfast on a lazy, rainy Sunday, Disclosure: my adobo evolved from Leah O’s adobo.<br /><br />d) Mimi D’s T-bone steak (and yes, Mimi, I really wanted the larger piece that time but I was too shy to ask)<br /><br />e) Pearl A’s pochero with tomato sauce and pork and beans<br /><br />f) Mike L’s wife’s fruitcake – very good even while standing in your kitchen feeding a 3 am snack-attack, WONDERFUL with cold milk.<br /><br />g) Beng S’ Mom’s apple pie (ABSOLUTELY MUST be eaten with Arce’s Vanilla Ice Cream)<br /><br />h) Renmin V’s bread pudding – made from something about to go stale, bubbling and caramel-y on the outside, soft and custard-y on the inside. Reminds me of myself, haha.<br /><br />i) Erlene’s Mom’s inihaw na bangus<br /><br />j) Juan C’s Mom’s pancit. I love, love, LOVE pancit. This is very good pancit.<br /><br />k) Lanie L’s lamayo ( dried fish from Palawan, not as salty as its counterparts from Southern Philippines) with crushed tomatoes<br /><br /><u>From Various Purveyors’ Kitchens (all served with cold DIET COKE and plenty of ice, unless otherwise specified)</u><br /><br />a) Kippers in Capers from Coney’s kitchen (with steamed white rice or buttered bread)<br /><br />b) Sardines in Tomato Sauce from Zaragosa’s (MUST be eaten on top of steamed rice and sprinkled with parmesan cheese)<br /><br />c) Chicken thighs, chicken liver, chicken butt and batchoy at Chicken Bacolod (planned to be my very first meal after getting off the Manila International Airport this April)<br /><br />d) Tapsilog , king size at Tapa King (with vinegar for the tapa and ketchup for the eggs) – best eaten at 3 am before going home after a night of drinking<br /><br />e) The flat pizza that you roll with arugula at Focaccia in A-Venue along Makati Avenue<br /><br />f) Pinapaitan and buko juice at Chrisguard Carinderia in Pasig<br /><br />g) Sausage McMuffin with egg and a large orange juice<br /><br />h) Bola bola siopao with red egg from HenLin<br /><br />i) Sukiyaki at that small place in Little Tokyo at the side of Makati Cinema Square that Mimi and Charlotte took me to<br /><br />j) Steamed shrimps, crabs in chili sauce, inihaw na liempo, clam soup (halaan?) in any of the Dampas, but preferably the one in Metrowalk cause its near my house<br /><br />k) Crispy pata, day-old lechon, stuffed chicken and pinakbet at Abe’s in Serendra<br /><br />l) Radish cake, salt and pepper spareribs and salted fish fried rice at any Maan Hann or North Park branch – soy sauce and calamansi on the side<br /><br />m) Lemon chicken, chop suey with quail eggs and yangchao fried rice in Emer’s in Makati Cinema Square<br /><br />n) Greek-style lemon chicken adobo at Cyma’s<br /><br />o) Four Seasons pizza at Yellow Cab<br /><br />p) The kebab platter at Aria in Podium with the side salad in yoghurt dressing<br /><br />q) The buffets at any of the Shangs or at the Philippine Plaza<br /><br />r) The buffets at Dad’s and Tong Yang, this other place in SM (that’s like shabu-shabu and Korean barbecue together, same level as Dad’s, cheap-o but always hits the spot)<br /><br />s) Sinampalukang Manok at O Kitchen in Libis<br /><br />t) Jurassic Park and Dragon Roll sushi at Omakase in Libis<br /><br />u) Chicken teriyaki, spicy tuna salad and tofu with ground pork at any Teriyaki Boy<br /><br />v) Fried oysters, tonkatsu and fried rice at Sugi<br /><br />w) Tomato soup and the grilled pork chops at the Dome branch behind Makati Med<br /><br />x) Garlic chicken or Lechon Kawali (in fact - why not, both) at Big Brother in Legaspi Village (with Elvie at the counter, smiling)<br /><br />That’s all, Thank you,</div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-44461990258919133872009-12-05T17:07:00.006+08:002010-10-10T22:20:53.562+08:00Journalizing the Journal<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqTQce8kiBMTrtrj2pSl3eh0XiQmvbT6FRJQlr8NV6_-w8OZ7sZGJ4e8v8_87h11FePz-_foJVq79zFFdvWq_echlOP3flS4vV_klhKFbdxH8gyJBOW9lEgXUIuY_Hx-Bnvk5cntzsKk/s1600/jan30cropjeffcomp.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 263px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526422217837954738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqTQce8kiBMTrtrj2pSl3eh0XiQmvbT6FRJQlr8NV6_-w8OZ7sZGJ4e8v8_87h11FePz-_foJVq79zFFdvWq_echlOP3flS4vV_klhKFbdxH8gyJBOW9lEgXUIuY_Hx-Bnvk5cntzsKk/s320/jan30cropjeffcomp.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Steve Mollman, a writer for the Wall Street Journal, introduced himself by email just before I left the Philippines. He wanted to ask questions for a piece on “executives on sabbatical” (which for some reason reminds me very much of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bananas_in_Pyjamas">bananas-in-pajamas</a>).<br /><br />He and I exchanged emails over several weeks and his article appeared in the November 26 edition of the paper - click <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB125915795064863829.html">here</a> for an online version.<br /><br />Steve asked some interesting questions which made me look again at my motivations and expectations about this volunteer experience I gave him long, detailed, flow- of -mind answers as if he were my new best friend . This was during my first few weeks here. I didn’t have much to do.<br /><br />I am posting some of those questions along with my answers - .edited for brevity and updated with some new insights since my last exchange with Steve . If I look back at this experience several years from now, this entry would be a good counterpoint to this<a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/08/please-wish-me-luck.html"> post</a>.<br /><br /><i>** Are you mortified by what you're finding there? You've seen poverty before, but Africa is another level for you I'm guessing.</i><br /><br />It is true that I have seen more poverty and sickness here than what I am used to (but that is a function of both my limited exposure back in the Philippines and the situation in Zambia). How it affects the children is especially disturbing. I am saddened, more than anything else , that there are countries like Zambia and mine which have so much natural resources yet so many of its people s are suffering .<br /><br /><i>** I see you have a lot friends on Facebook who admire what you're doing and show it through comments. Does that kind of feedback boost your spirits? </i><br /><br />Yes. Encouragement is always welcome (sometimes, even deliberately sought) especially when you’re about to undertake something with a lot of uncertainty. But I have a confession – a few of the comments make me a little sheepish. Some friends give me more credit than I actually deserve I ‘ve been fortunate in life and I do want to do my bit but I really didn’t have to go to Africa to do that. Part of my motivation is selfish – I wanted to have an experience - to get as far away from my comfort zone as possible, free-fall and see how well I could survive. I hope I don’t look back a year from now and tell myself – I should just have taken those sky-diving lessons.<br /><br /><i>** Do you sense possible danger to yourself or others around you?</i><br /><br />Kalomo , where I am based, is a small rural town with almost no crime rate. I’ve had to walk home alone thru deserted, unlighted streets at night with no incidents (although I always keep my pepper spray handy). I had a few small things that were stolen in a midnight burglary a few weeks ago – but the same thing - or even worse - could also have happened even back in the Philippines. The most dire warnings during our first week of training were for killer mosquitoes and attacking rabid dogs. I tell myself that New Yorkers would be happy if those were the only things they would have to worry about while walking home at night.<br /><br /><i>** Did you get negative reactions from managers or other coworkers in the office when you announced your intentions? </i><br /><br />No, everyone’s been really supportive. As far as work is concerned, there was enough time to plan this, communicate it properly, transition and tie up loose ends. The most common reaction I’ve received – and this is true not only for co-workers but also for family and /friends - is “I wish I could do that too”. So, I suppose offering assistance or support - all of which I appreciate very much - is one way of being part of this experience<br /><br />I think that, given the chance, a good number from among my circle of family and friends would have done this too. – it just so happens that my present circumstances (no family to support, some savings, supportive company) have allowed me to do this now.<br /><br /><i>** Have you met kindred-spirit executives who are taking a sabbatical in the same spirit you are? </i><br /><br />I’ve gotten along very well with the other volunteers I ‘ve met. For one to even be willing to do this , some general character trait must be common– idealism, curiosity, a spirit of adventure maybe, some bit of foolishness definitely – and that makes the interpersonal connection very much easier.<br /><br /><i>** What exactly is your "assignment" or "work description" while there? Did you choose that role or was it chosen for you?</i><br /><br />I am working with District Council of Kalomo, which is Zambia’s equivalent of a local government body. I am assigned to the Planning Department, which is the unit responsible for formulating the programs for poverty reduction, social services (clean water, waste management, etc) while addressing cross-cutting issues such as HIV/AIDS, gender equality and so on. The residents of the district are among the poorest in Zambia. My main task while I'm here is to help the Council identify alternative sources of funds for their programs and to introduce a system and structure in place so that when those funds come, they are used properly. I don't know how much I can accomplish in 6 months but there are other volunteers coming after me to continue the work. So, at best, I hope I can make the work easier for them by laying the correct foundations in place.<br /><br />I’m currently more involved at the policy level but I’m increasingly doing more field work that involves going out and directly interacting with the beneficiaries of our programs – people living with HIV and AIDS, subsistence farmers, women leaders, etc.<br /><br /><i>** Are you having doubts about how effective you can be in helping? </i><br /><br />Yes. I have no experience working with a local government unit or with the issues that need to be addressed by the Council . However, they specifically asked for a volunteer with a business background. And I know that, in that area, I can contribute. The challenge for me right now is to be able to contextualize my business skills/knowledge against the realities of life here so that any advice/contribution I offer is relevant.<br /><br />Volunteering here also requires constant ego checks for anyone who’s used to a position of some authority. I’ve had to make a conscious effort to stop myself from just taking over some of the projects to get them to the speed and quality that I am used to The people with whom you work need to own the process and learn the skills to ensure sustainability when you leave.<br /><br /><i>** Did you do anything special financially to prepare for your period of volunteering?</i><br /><br />For a few years, I ‘ve had vague plans about retiring early and then having the freedom to engage in some kind of NGO work (in the “someday, I will….” sense with which I think most people are familiar) so I tried to evolve my savings strategy around that. When my portfolio took a hit from the market dip last year , that extended my idea of a time frame for early retirement., I realized that I may never be able to do this. That was the point when I basically told myself - Fuck it, why wait ? I should do this now while I can.<br /><br /><i>** What were you prepared to give up financially to do this?</i><br /><br />Am I willing to forsake everything and live simply but honorably for the rest of my life? I’m not quite there. I can’t yet afford to quit work completely so I have to go back to gainful employment after this .<br /><br />My major cost while doing volunteer work is opportunity-based – in terms of lost earnings and work advancement but it really wasn’t a difficult choice giving that up for a few months. I’m looking forward to gaining in opportunities of a different kind where the marginal returns may be higher as well as gaining in experience that I can apply back home.<br /><br />Fortunately, VSO has taken care of airfare to/from Zambia, provides medical insurance, accommodations and a modest stipend . However, any “extras” (i.e.-feeding my internet habit, travel around Zambia or Africa on holiday ) will have to be covered by personal funds.<br /><br />-end-<br /><br />Sidebar:<br /><br />Steve’s article mentions several options for those of you thinking about doing short-term volunteering. I encourage you to visit the VSO websites, <a href="http://www.vsobahaginan.org/">here</a> and <a href="http://www.vsointernational.org/">here</a>. I’d also be happy to guide you through the process – just send me a message . Thanks</div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-9593633682542342562009-11-20T03:22:00.017+08:002011-02-22T17:39:42.502+08:00Flotsam from the Debris of my Mind<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsS3iSku1iBEDhrfZtyF6zp9VBvFHlWO0jf1nWLsgr_ZsDvNT8QvfmSGM3a8kuhcm5w7rLUxR-sQ5CwE_KVCD3gCjFfzo7o6-A6VAT4MBX9EK8F8LwWPIFVi3OjNfHKeAJ3H-Vh0Ye5k/s1600/13743_222952046224_542486224_3290106_905336_n.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576443332847046146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsS3iSku1iBEDhrfZtyF6zp9VBvFHlWO0jf1nWLsgr_ZsDvNT8QvfmSGM3a8kuhcm5w7rLUxR-sQ5CwE_KVCD3gCjFfzo7o6-A6VAT4MBX9EK8F8LwWPIFVi3OjNfHKeAJ3H-Vh0Ye5k/s320/13743_222952046224_542486224_3290106_905336_n.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"></p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">1) Once upon a time, there lived a couple in a small village. Let’s call them Jerry and Ana (as usual, not their real names). Jerry’s job took him to far-away places. Ana stayed at home. Thru hard-work and perseverance they were able to build a house.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Unfortunately, whenever Jerry was away, he <span style="font-size:0;"></span>was not faithful to Ana. Unknown to him, he had become HIV+. He came home and infected Ana. Ana become pregnant. The baby was born infected , as well.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>By the time, their disease had escalated to AIDS, the entire village knew.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">The<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>villagers were scared. They wanted this family out. Jerry and Ana knew no other home. They couldn’t leave. The villagers took matters in their own hands. One night, they came and torched the house that Jerry and Ana built.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The couple escaped with their baby. They never came back to the village.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This is not one of my stories from Zambia. This actually happened in a small village in Southern Philippines, <span style="font-size:0;"></span>a few years ago, <span style="font-size:0;"></span>as recounted to me by a fellow Filipino volunteer when we met for training last September.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">Cruelty borne out of ignorance happens anywhere.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It should stop.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">2) The power outages are happening more frequently here in Kalomo. Last night, the lights went out at 7 pm and didn’t come back until the morning.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>There’s not much to do here even when the power is on, much less when it’s pitch darkness. At around 8 pm, I <span style="font-size:0;"></span>was <span style="font-size:0;"></span>sitting by my window staring at the moon. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I found myself singing….”Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s waiting for you…” in a trembling voice. I would have finished the song too if the dogs didn’t start barking.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">3) The rains have come. Unfortunately, the downpours usually happen in the morning and early evening. It becomes really cold. I brought only one jacket so <span style="font-size:0;"></span>there are days when I wear it at night and then to work in the morning. I also brought one <span style="font-size:0;"></span>suit for just-in-case occasions so I’ve taken to wearing the suit jacket with my denims and rubber shoes on some days.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>What’s difficult is walking through the mud to/from work.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>One of these days, I’m going to fall flat on my butt (law of karma: there was this girl in the office back in the Philippines who used that excuse one day to explain why she had to go back home and couldn’t report back to work and I didn’t believe her). </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">4) And oh let me tell you about the locusts <span style="font-size:0;"></span>(I think that’s what they’re called. The lady who cleans tells me they come out during rainy weather and they can be made into some kind of local dish, I wonder if this is similar to the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rembcc/5335459327/">camaru</a> we have back home. As I write, they’re swarming around the room . But they seem to have a pretty short life-span because I have dead ones <span style="font-size:0;"></span>all over my floor. I can also hear rats scurrying on the ceiling right now. From the sound, I'm guessing they're as big as toddlers. God bless all the little critters. But I still want to poison all of them with the strongest insecticide or repellants available and kick their furry filthy little carcasses as far away from me as possible. </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">5) I continue to be an object of fascination for the children here.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>When I walk to and from work, they run towards me shouting, “Hello. How are you”. I think it’s sweet so I don’t mind. What’s mildly disconcerting is that they gather outside the gate of the Drive Inn Guest House every Saturday morning to watch me do my laundry. It’s difficult to be friendly when your knuckles are red from scrubbing dried mud from your pants.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>If I charge money to let people watch me shower, maybe I can afford to spend more time on Internet surfing.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">6) After 20+ years in the IT Industry, I can finally call myself an IT Specialist. I’ve been running computer tutorials, creating databases and doing minor hardware troubleshooting. Who knew?</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">7) In my 5 weeks here in Kalomo, these are among the things I’ve accomplished so far:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>a) <span style="font-size:0;"></span>revised the District Strategic Plan ;<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>stakeholder consultations are now ongoing; b) <span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>helped draft the District Workplace Policy on HIV, AIDS and other Life-Threatening Diseases – I’m really proud of this, I think it’s a <span style="font-size:0;"></span>really good document; c) <span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>participated in <span style="font-size:0;"></span>workshops for <span style="font-size:0;"></span>gender-equality in the workplace, the output of which will eventually be used for another workplace policy; d) participated in monitoring meetings for the Constituency Development Funds where we spent a good amount of time talking about the health of the goats that were purchased in one village; and e) celebrated World Toilet<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Day today, November 19. We had a parade, a program and everything.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>World Toilet Day promotes proper hygiene and sanitation, especially in the rural villages.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">8) This<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Monday, <span style="font-size:0;"></span>I’m conducting a workshop on resource mobilization, the first of a series, <span style="font-size:0;"></span>where I did the lesson plan and training materials all by myself about a subject I had previously no knowledge about. On Friday , we’re visiting Lusaka, the big city, to meet with some people whom the Council hopes to convince to invest in Kalomo so that new jobs can be created, etc. I will look for opportunities to apply what I’m learning here back home in da Pilipins</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">9) The big challenge has been trying to adjust to the way that things are done here and my role as a volunteer. Sometimes, things are just <span style="font-size:0;"></span>soooooo slow, that I just want to take over and do everything myself. But I keep reminding myself that this would defeat the purpose of my being here. At the end of the day, you want the people with whom you work <span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>to own the process and develop the skills to be able to sustain the projects on their own.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It should do me good to learn to be less of a control freak.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">10) The period from late November to the approach of Christmas usually is a <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/12/wallowing.html">bad time <span style="font-size:0;"></span>for me</a> – too many death anniversaries and <span style="font-size:0;"></span>all the baggage that goes with the upcoming holidays. <span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>The rainy season and <span style="font-size:0;"></span>all the excess time for introspection isn’t going to help me here. On the other hand, I’m keeping busy and doing new things so – let’s see.</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">11) The week-end after next, I’m <span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>planning a big trip to the other end of Zambia (14 hours travel time) to meet up with some volunteer friends . And there’s the trip to Livingstone (home of Victoria Falls, supposedly one of the wonders of the natural world) which is only two hours away from Kalomo</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">12) Zambia being a predominantly Christian nation, I think I've found an effective way to bargain when I suspect I'm not being given the local rate. I look the vendor in the eye and say - "Are you sure you're giving me the right price? Are you sure?? God is watching us. If you're cheating me, he will punish you!" Works all the time</span>.</span></p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">13) November 17 marks <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/11/wyatt-ammon-was-here.html">Wyatt Ammon’s</a><span style="font-size:0;"> </span>4<sup>th</sup> death anniversary. His story was among those that inspired me when I was considering volunteering. May his soul rest in peace and may God continue to give comfort to his family, Amen.</p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">There. Those are thirttene <span style="font-size:0;"></span>items that could have been full-blown blog entries. If you don’t hear from me for awhile, its because I’ve run out of ideas. Or maybe the locusts flew me away cause I’m so thin already (haha, not really, not yet anyway).</p><p style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">P.S. The section on Italy in Eat, Pray, Love is so the wrong thing to read when you have limited food options.</p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-INDENT: 0in; MARGIN-LEFT: 0in" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><br /></p></div></div></div></div>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-55110578601257143372009-11-08T20:15:00.013+08:002010-07-07T01:47:14.337+08:00A Tale of Two Nations <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Casus%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:relyonvml/> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Casus%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link 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l0:level1 {mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower; mso-level-text:"%1\)"; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; text-indent:-.25in;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">I am so <span style=""> </span>not<span style=""> </span>going to be the<span style=""> </span>guy who<span style=""> </span>sits at the bar buying rounds of drinks for people.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said this <span style=""> </span>to myself<span style=""> </span>as soon as I saw the open-spaced Drive-Inn <span style=""> </span>Outdoor Bar. It is <span style=""> </span>attached<span style=""> </span>to the Drive-Inn <span style=""></span>Guest House where I am currently staying.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I imagined having to go through the opening scene of<a href="http://www.miss-saigon.com/theshow/index.htm"> Miss Saigon</a> every<span style=""> </span>time I went home<span style=""> </span>after work<span style=""> </span>or <span style=""> </span>waking up to some drunken argument outside my window in the middle of the night.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As it turns out, the Drive Inn Outdoor Bar <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>is pretty lame. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>And<span style=""> </span>the customers?<span style=""> </span>A wild bunch.<span style=""> </span>They don’t stop partying<span style=""> </span>until 8 pm.<span style=""> </span>Woo-hoo, <span style=""> </span>fun times in Kalomo.!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This<span style=""> </span>bar has no music, no bright lights, no mirror ball, no dancing, no displays of flesh. From what I’ve seen, the soft-drinks (Fanta Orange is big in this part of the world) seem to go as fast as the<span style=""> </span>beers (Mosi and Castle – South African brands, which are pretty good ).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Getting in and out of here is an event by itself. As it is way off the town center, it involves driving thru rough roads for those who have motorcycles or cars<span style=""> </span>and for those who don’t -<span style=""> </span>walking thru unlighted, unmarked roads after sundown.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <span style=""> </span>thing is: the <span style=""> </span>Drive-Inn Outdoor Bar attracts a steady clientele. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I suspect<span style=""> </span>that its<span style=""> </span>most attractive quality is simply this:<span style=""> </span>in a town with limited entertainment options, it is a place to go. For the price of a drink or two, one can have some private time,<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>take a break from his or her daily toil and dream or talk about better things, better times. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so, people come.<span style=""> </span>Alone, in pairs or in small mixed groups.<span style=""> </span>They stay for a couple of <span style=""> </span>drinks but<span style=""> </span>keep to themselves or their small groups<span style=""> </span>Everyone is gone<span style=""> </span>by 8 pm and the Drive-Inn closes shop.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As for me – I get home from work at around 5:30 pm (or 1730 hours as they say around here). I <span style=""> </span>dump my stuff in my room, take out a bottle of <span style=""> </span>water<span style=""> </span>and a couple of<span style=""> </span>sticks from my precious (and dwindling!) supply of Marlboro Lights <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>and then I stake out my space at the far end of the bar.<span style=""> </span>I come for the nightly show.<span style=""> </span>From where I<span style=""> </span>choose to sit, I have a great <span style=""> </span>view of the setting Kalomo sun.<span style=""> </span>Unmarred by pollution or the obstruction of tall buildings, it is always magnificent.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The strange thing is while the other patrons don’t socialize with each other, they don’t seem to have any qualms about approaching me to start a conversation. <span style=""> </span>I am , after all, one of the <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/11/while-you-were-sleeping-i-became-big.html">town curiosities</a>.<span style=""> </span>Everyone knows<span style=""> </span>English since it<span style=""> </span>is the<span style=""> </span>official language <span style=""> </span>although,<span style=""> </span>much like the Philippines, <span style=""> </span>everyone also knows <span style=""> </span>at least one local dialect.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve met some interesting people <span style=""> </span>in this way. Let me tell you about one of them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aaron (not his real name) works for a freight forwarding company (not his real job, you know the drill, haha).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t ask people for their <span style=""> </span>ages <span style=""> </span>but I’m guessing he is in his early 20’s.<span style=""> </span>He was born in the northern region of Zambia.<span style=""> </span>His father died when he was 1 and a<span style=""></span>s is the <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/10/crash.html">local custom</a>,<span style=""> </span>he was taken away from his mother by his father’s relatives.<span style=""> </span>He never saw her again.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When he was 11, he heard that she died.<span style=""> </span>At 14, <span style=""> </span>he decided to quit school, leave his relatives and fend for himself.<span style=""> </span>He has been taking odd jobs since then. The last one has taken him to Kalomo, which is in the far southern part of the country. He has <span style=""> </span>been here for three years.<span style=""> </span>He doesn’t want to stay for a fourth. He is <span style=""> </span>saving up to go to carpentry school.<span style=""> </span>He wants to have a trade so he can set himself up and go on business on his own.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was curious about the Philippines. What kind of lives <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>we have.<span style=""> </span>What kind of government leads us.<span style=""> </span>Although he struggled a bit with the English, it was obvious that he is pretty smart.<span style=""> </span>His questions and line of thinking<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>reminded me of <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>my friends<span style=""> </span><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-preng-pena.html">back in my University days</a>.
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Seeing an opportunity to share something about my country, I told him that the Philippines also has its share of problems but Filipinos , in general,<span style=""> </span>are<span style=""> </span>smart, resourceful and hard-working. We would always find a way to survive and help each other along the way. Like any other country, I told him, <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>we had good leaders and bad leaders<span style=""> </span>but we held the bad ones accountable and we were free to express our opinions against them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He wanted to know if we had poor people too. I said yes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He told me about life in Zambia. According to him, an average worker earns about 500 thousand Zambian Kwacha a month (about<span style=""> </span>5 thousand pesos or 100 US dollars).<span style=""> </span>With expenses for rent and food, that is hardly enough for a single person to survive , let alone a family.<span style=""> </span>But, <span style=""> </span>the workers are still the lucky ones. At least, they get steady income. <span style=""> Most of the people </span>fall <span style=""> </span>below the poverty line, <a href="http://www.ruralpovertyportal.org/web/guest/country/home/tags/zambia">relying on subsistence agriculture to survive, with a good number classified as critically poor</a> (note: I am providing the<span style=""> </span>link to substantiate the info that Aaron shared) .<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, Aaron continued, the politicians who are supposed to help the people, have no idea what it is to be poor. They live in their big houses, drive their fancy cars and sit down to lavish dinners while the rest of the country struggles.</p><p class="MsoNormal">This was getting <a href="http://www.allvoices.com/contributed-news/3909310-another-arroyo-lavish-dinner"> too familia</a>r to me. Since I wanted to keep the conversation on an upbeat note, I reminded him that everyone has a choice.<span style=""> </span>Quickly doing a mental<span style=""> </span>inventory of<span style=""> </span>my arsenal of feel-good stories, I chose to tell him about the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People_Power_Revolution">People Power Revolution</a>.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I said, “Look at the Philippines. We had a<span style=""> </span>president who was not serving the interest of the people. We took to the streets. Without any blood being shed, we were able to get him out and replace him with a new President”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just to drive home the point, I added, “And we did this not once but twice”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It took a while for Aaron to digest this story.<span style=""> </span>In the meantime, “‘<a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/10/man-from-manila.html">Your Man in Zambia</a> is in da haus” went like a banner ad thru my head. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was too early with my self-congratulations.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aaron spoke up again.<span style=""> </span>He said he was amazed that something like that could happen. But he said he was almost certain that this was not possible in his country<span style=""> </span>“Why not?", I asked <span style=""> </span>almost peevishly. <span style=""> </span>I always hate it when people don’t get the point of my feel-good stories.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even in the fading afternoon light,<span style=""> </span>I could see<span style=""> </span>the effort in his face and expression to articulate his thoughts<span style=""> </span>clearly to me.<span style=""> </span>He said – the politicians would mess it all up. Even if the people currently running the government would be booted out, there would be too much in-fighting and self-interests from among those wanting to replace them.<span style=""> </span>They will all make similar promises and then the <span style=""> </span>leaders might change but the problems of the country would remain the same.<span style=""> </span><span style=""></span>He ended by saying that someday, he hopes <span style=""> </span>that <span style=""> </span>politics and government in Zambia <span style=""> </span>could be like what it is in <span style=""> </span>the Philippines</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He looked at me as if to check whether I could understand this – I,<span style=""> </span>who in his thoughts, come from a country so much more advanced and ahead In progress and good governance.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could have continued the conversation. I could have told him how far-off from reality his ideal was.<span style=""> </span>I could have…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But when all a man has is a dream, why take that away from him? So, I kept my mouth shut, took <span style="">a deep </span> breath and <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>recalled <span style=""> </span>this <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>line from <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>A Tale of Two Cities, one of my favorite stories: “It is a far better thing that I will do than I have ever done; it t is a far better place where I will go than I have ever been”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that, my friends is, how I decided to <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>break the promise I made to myself on my first day here at the Drive-Inn Guest House.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I bought </span> us a couple of beers.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And then, I changed <span style=""> </span>the subject to <span style=""> </span>something much more undeniably ideal than politics and governance in my country,
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">“How about that sunset, huh?”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sidebars:</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">a)<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I may be staying at the Guest House for a few more weeks. The house where I am supposed to be transferring still has a huge hole in the ground where the septic tank is supposed to be.<span style=""> </span>They brought me around to inspect it last week.<span style=""> </span>It’s<span style=""> </span>a concrete structure<span style=""> </span>with a big backyard and a mango tree surrounded by a grass fence.<span style=""> </span>When<span style=""> </span>I move-in, I’ll be living by myself until the additional expected volunteers come in next year.<span style=""> </span>The house is kinda isolated so I’m a bit concerned about security. There was a break-in at the Guest House last night. A few of my things were stolen, including my BP monitor. <span style=""></span>While I was sleeping , the the thief reached thru the open window and grabbed what he could.<span style=""> </span>I have to say though that until last night, I’ve never felt threatened or unsafe since arriving. Even then, I want to think of the break-in as an isolated incident. I'm not taking any changes though. I slept with my pepper spray on the bed side last night.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">b)<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->What I am paranoid about is malaria.<span style=""> </span>There was another volunteer who just left, pre-terminating her placement.<span style=""> </span>In the two months that<span style=""> </span>she was in the area, she got malaria twice . Having brought only one set of sheets and one towel, I’m now using the stuff she left behind – and yes I checked, you only get malaria by being bitten.<span style=""> </span>Anyway, I SLATHER myself with insect repellant at<span style=""> </span>night then I<span style=""> </span>put on my socks, jogging pants and hoodie<span style=""> </span>then I make sure the treated mosquito net is tucked-in tightly to keep the critters away. If I could take my daily phrophy-whatever (medicine against malaria) twice for good measure, I would. I don't want to go home early because I got sick. Anyway, when my tummy aches, the first thought that comes to mind is – is this the first sign of malaria?<span style=""> </span>Haha, I’ll get over it and I'll probably be sleeping naked by next month (maybe not, the nights are chilly, but you know what I mean).</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">c)<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7pt;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The views reflected in this blog are entirely my own and do not necessarily reflect VSO’s position on any subject. Heck, they might not even reflect my position 5 minutes after posting the entry.<span style=""> </span>So, chill.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-58618917422824713392009-11-02T05:35:00.009+08:002010-10-10T22:05:44.444+08:00While You Were Sleeping, I Became Big and White<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCEE78JThBO_N3wnqqLTshFiV4AVFEWAHhv2LwoGxNDEApjuyPnM1TW7GMqJEtZyJFsBsAuJXF-DNzyG06dhq5XpvxQabMZuUM18llAUviJMiVjChBSDIgRVI1PJ2u3yAgz6-4RCpGRaw/s1600/Ngwenya2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526418318517856242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCEE78JThBO_N3wnqqLTshFiV4AVFEWAHhv2LwoGxNDEApjuyPnM1TW7GMqJEtZyJFsBsAuJXF-DNzyG06dhq5XpvxQabMZuUM18llAUviJMiVjChBSDIgRVI1PJ2u3yAgz6-4RCpGRaw/s320/Ngwenya2.jpg" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I grew up in a small, quite town in the Northern part of the Philippines.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>As with many other small Filipino towns at the time, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>we had our share of <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>white do-gooders - <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>missionaries and Peace Corp Volunteers (and maybe a few CIA agents but we'll never know, will we?) . They had names like Bill, George, or Carol. .</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">They <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>certainly stood out, these tall pale people.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>The men wore their crew cuts and short sleeved<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>white shirts like a uniform. The women had <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>short hair, unvarnished nails and<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>faces devoid of cosmetics.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">But, whatever they may have lacked in vanity, they certainly made up in zeal.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>They weren’t shy, that’s for sure. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>God <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>or Uncle Sam (or maybe even both, you never k now with those Two)<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>had brought them to the Philippine to save the Filipinos from themselves and by God (or by Uncle Sam), they would!</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">They approached people on the street asking for directions<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>using<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>the local dialect. They knocked on doors to sell bibles. They cried<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>out to God with a megaphone in the middle of the town plaza.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>They spoke up in town hall meetings to share their expert <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>opinion </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">When they walked by, a few kids would come up to them and greet them with “Hi Joe!” eager to practice their English or bask in the reflected glory of the local celebrities. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I would run away.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>It’s not that I was<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>shy or scared. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Okay, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>maybe I may have been a little of both. But we <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>did speak <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>English at home and my parents<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>brought foreign visitors to the house every <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>so often. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Looking <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>back now , <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>realize <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>that – even at that age – it was more about my natural aversion towards people with loud voices who want to tell me what to do (to this day, I have the same reaction towards pushy tele-marketers, aggressive sales men and campaigning politicians ).</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Cu to: several years after, a few days ago here in<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Zambia.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>The lady who cleans the guest house, where I am staying, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>was telling me about some Chinese people who had just come to town (a Chinese company had just won the contract to complete the national highway that was going to pass thru our small town of Kalomo). </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">She said to me, “But they’re not real muzungus, like you”.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Taken aback, I asked, “Why, what am I?”. She said, “You’re white”. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been mulling over the implications of her observation. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>already knew that they ‘ve been referring to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>me as the “Big Man” . Last week, somebody from work was telling me that there were plans<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>to bring the “Big Man” to a field trip to the bush sometime soon. I asked who the Big Man was.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>It turned out he was talking about me.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>At the time, I assumed<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>it was in reference to my size (I am taller than most<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>of the Zambian men I’ve met, although – I hasten to add - <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>not necessarily heftier).<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">My initial reaction was:<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I don’t want to be <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>“white”. I don’t want to be the “Big Man”. I don’t want <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to be an object of curiosity.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I’ll learn the language. I’ll eat the food. Just let me <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>live quietly amongst you and give me <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the opportunity to do good work while I’m here.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">And while all this whining <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>was going on in my mind, I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>remembered <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the pale-faced strangers of my youth. While <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>many will argue about the negative effects of<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>what can be seen as an extended form of colonialism -<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>we also cannot<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>deny that <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>a lot of good work was done.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>There <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>are dams and bridges and schools and churches that exist to this day because of <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the efforts and smarts and sacrifices of these missionaries and volunteers. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>And, surely, their <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>attempts to cross the cultural divide have helped this<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>generation (and the next ones) of Filipinos in having a relatively <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>balanced world-view and <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>in being open to all sorts of new learnings and experiences.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I would like to think that <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>majority of them <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>had <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>come to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>my country with<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>the best of intentions.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>They too must have <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>thought that by trying to learn the language and chatting up the locals, they could fit in and make the work <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>they had come to do easier.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">But, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>who were they kidding? They <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>did <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>not fit<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>in.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>They could not. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>They were just too different.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>In trying to<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>belong, they just called more attention to how different they were.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>We <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>knew they were from far-away places to which they would eventually return<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">In the same manner, I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>accept – that my good intentions and best efforts notwithstanding – I<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>will never totally fit in here either. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>It’s funny -coming here, I told myself I would play it down and <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>be as <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>inconspicuous as possible. But, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I realize now that my idea of<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>“inconspicuous” was just so totally wrong, haha. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>My tattoos and torn jeans and black tee-shirts (with everything from “Pilyo” to “Gurango Software” printed on them) aren’t exactly the norm here.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">But, then again, maybe that’s not such a bad thing either .<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I hope that by getting to know me, people can come to realize that do-gooders come in various forms and sizes and colors.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>And while my contributions may be limited, I do hope that I am able to start something that can be continued even after I’ve finished my volunteer placement.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">People <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>will read or put meaning to<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>what they see, depending on their own particular needs and points-of-view. Some people will see me as a representative of a big international NGO and would ask up-front for a water pump to be brought to their village (within 5 minutes of being introduced) or drop hints about getting a school sponsorship <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>(in the course of what was supposed to be a social conversation).But that’s fine, because other people will see me as a friend or as a co-worker who<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>may have something valuable to contribute.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Like everything else in life, it all balances out.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>There are opportunities to give and opportunities to receive; opportunities to teach and opportunities to learn.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">All is well. And yes, I think I can live with “Big Man”.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Maybe I’ll even have it printed on a tee-shirt. But, just because I can’t dance doesn’t mean I’m <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>white. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Hmm, that’ll look good on a tee-shirt too, no?.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p>------------------------<br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Sidebar:</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I spent the night at my friend Ros’ house, another VSO volunteer, who works as a town planner in the next town. She’s <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>from the UK and is retired.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>She came to Zambia 6 months ahead of me,. She also happens to be my first Quaker friend – so I’m sure we’ll be having a lot of discussions on spirituality and religion over the next months<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>.<br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">We attended the send-off party for Rosanna and Luke, also from the UK, who had just finished their 1 year placement as VSO volunteers for a youth organization focused <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>on HIV/AIDS awareness. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Luke and Rosanna are a couple. They both have longish hair and like walking around barefoot in their house and backyard.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>They’ve taking three months off to travel around Africa before going back home.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>From the testimonials during the party, both of them obviously did a lot of good for the organization they worked for.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I want to be just like them when I grow up.<br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, it was a great party. I spied some boys spiking the drinks and there were party games with questions like “Where did you have your first kiss?”. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>It could have been a party anywhere in the world except for the Zambian hip-hop music and<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>oh boy, those kids sure know how to dance.<span style="font-size:+0;"><br /></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Anyhow, the party ended close to midnight and Ros and I decided to walk back to her place, about 1 hour away. It was one of those clear, starry African nights.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>The temperature had dropped so it was a bit chilly.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>We didn’t talk much so there was just the sound of our feet touching the soft, sandy ground and crickets doing cricket sounds <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>and dogs barking in the distance (far distance, I don’t like barking dogs).<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>There were no streetlights, but there was the full moon to show the way. There were no street signs <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>either but there were <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>the big, tall trees <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>serve as our markers.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>It was great, one of my perfect memories of Africa<br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-5777277569421653312009-10-28T00:23:00.010+08:002010-07-07T01:47:14.339+08:00CRASHThat loud crashing noise you hear? That’s the sound of age-old traditions and stereotypes being smashed and broken.<br /><br />I don’t think it’s a bad sound. Ben and Lily don’t think so either.<br /><br />Those aren’t their real names, by the way.<br /><br />But, first, let me tell you what Ben and Lily have to deal with.<br /><br />About 90% of the population of Zambia is Christian but it’s a Christianity that’s been mixed with centuries-old customs, practices and traditions. The mix goes increasingly in the favor of tradition as you go further into the rural districts.<br /><br />Cattle ownership is the traditional form of wealth. Men's prestige and the respect they command is related to the number of women they own. Sorry, did I say women? I meant cattle. Anyway, as far as Zambian tradition goes, there doesn’t seem to be much difference.<br /><br />Women in the rural areas are the ones responsible for working the lands that they are prohibited from owning. Come harvest time, its the men-folk who have absolute power to decide how the crops are used or distributed. When a woman becomes widowed, she loses whatever assets she may have earned in the name of her husband. His relatives come over to take everything, even her children. Even worse, she becomes subject to “sexual healing”, and not the kind that Marvin Gaye had in mind either. An elder male in her dead husband’s family has every right to take her to bed saying he has to cleanse and free her of the dead husband’s spirit. Nice. Some men will say anything to get laid.<br /><br />That brings us back to Ben and Lily.<br /><br />Ben works for the Kalomo branch office of a big freight forwarding company (not his real job either but everything else that follows is true). Ben is tall and lanky. You can imagine him as a track and field runner. He's the type who'd be grinning goofily as he crosses the finish line just because he's super happy that he's done it.<br /><br />Ben helped me sort out some stuff during my first week here. He knew I was new in town and didn’t know a lot of people. He asked where I was staying. He said he would come to visit. So, ok, whatever.<br /><br />But he did. The following night, he came by. He said he just wanted to check where I was staying and how I was.(Note: I would find out later that this kind of gesture is par for the course for Ben. He’s the kind of person who would get off his car to help a stranger take care of a flat tire). He said he would pick me up the following week-end to show me around the small town and introduce me to his family.<br /><br />I warmed up to Ben quickly. He sort of reminds me of my <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/09/jun-and-kikay-dynamic-duo-from-letter.html">Dad</a>. When I was young, my Dad would bring a progression of foreign visitors he had met somewhere to our house (this was of course during much simpler, more innocent times). He thought they were interesting and I guess he wanted to expose us to different cultures since we couldn’t afford to travel ourselves. So, no, I didn’t think it was especially strange that I was being invited to Ben’s house quite so soon.<br /><br />Last week-end, he came to fetch me at the exact time that we agreed (CRASH! I was warned about how unconscious of time Zambians can be). Ben was wearing a red blazer and a red tie. I have an orange blazer (which hopefully will fit me again when I get back home) so I didn’t think this was strange. It turns out that the red blazer is his Sunday uniform He is an elder in the Church where he worships and he had come straight from some official function.<br /><br />He was driving his own car, a white Toyota that was several models old but obviously well-kept and maintained. He knows somebody who knows somebody else who helped him get it at a good price from a dealer who imports used cars from Japan.<br /><br />He showed me around town. It was a short trip. There really isn’t much to see. I had a memory flash of doing the sand dune buggy ride in Dubai. Very few of Kalomo’s roads are paved.<br /><br />As we approached his neighborhood, he singled out points of interest to me. That neighbor just had his house painted. That hospital is new. That’s the school where his children go.<br /><br />We stopped in front of his house. It wasn’t a big house. One storey. An outhouse in the front. Clean yard. But with the dust from the unpaved roads and the unpainted outside walls, my impression was that everything seemed brown.<br /><br />The inside of the house was a totally different story . The sofa was covered in bright, unfaded red slip covers. There was a huge , colourful calendar advertising Ben’s company hanging by a wall. The furniture seemed like it had seen better days but, like the outside, everything was neat and orderly. This was exactly like the kind of house I grew up in. There was a television set and a CD player. There was even what looked liked the casing of a PC CPU. It was just the casing though. Nothing inside.<br /><br />Oh, did I mention that the entire neighborhood doesn’t have electricity yet? But Ben knows that they will. Very soon. Just wait and see, he says.<br /><br />There was a jug of juice concentrate , a jar of water and some glasses on the table. Ben said they didn’t have a refrigerator yet but the water was cold He wasn’t apologizing, just stating a fact. Setting aside thoughts of parasites - I mixed myself a drink , said a short prayer to the Patron Saint of Clean Water and Sanitation, took a tentative sip. A couple of days later, I haven’t had the runs and I’m still alive (CRASH!. My briefing documents say that water from unknown sources will kill you!!)<br /><br />His wife came out to greet me. Lily was very pretty but seemed shy. Like most women I’ve met in Zambia, she had a chitenga wrapped around her waist. Another chitenga wrapped across her upper body supported a 5 month old baby that was slung on her back. Remembering all I had read about women in Zambian culture, I thought – poor girl<br /><br />Well, not really. Lily is an entrepreneur. She buys and sells “salaula” (very much like the ukay-ukay used clothes sales popular in the Philippines). Ben and Lily have decided that whatever she earns from her business ventures goes to the maintenance of their daily household expenses. As Ben and I spoke, Lily was sorting thru movie and song CDs which I assumed she would sell to diversity her product line.<br /><br />After seeing how the wealth of some of his relatives were completely wiped out when disease struck their cattle , Ben promised himself that, if he had the opportunity, he would invest in property instead.<br /><br />Ben’s salary goes to what he calls their “projects”. They are building a much bigger house right next door. The house will be under Lily’s name so that should anything happen to Ben, none of his relatives can claim any right over it. The second house still needs a lot of work to be completed. Ben said that, as money becomes available, he’ll have work on the house continued little by little. Once done, they are going to have this house rented out. There are a lot of people from all over coming into Kalomo. He believes that any one of them would willing to pay a good price to rent a nice house like this. The good times are just around the corner.<br /><br />Ben also has a second car. That one is used as a taxi service. The earnings are invested on the completion of the second house and “other projects”. These will keep his family secure and protected. Healing, schmealing.<br /><br />Higher education is expensive in Zambia. But Ben is confident that his children would have the opportunity to study. If for whatever reason, he could not send them thru school, he knows that they would find a way themselves. He’s been there. His father could support his studies only up to a point. Ben took care of the rest by working and studying at the same time.<br /><br />I asked Ben how he and Lily decide how their money should be spent and which projects to invest in. He said they always discuss it carefully between the two of them, weighing the pros and cons. I asked him whether that kind of relationship was unique in Zambian culture. He said that he thought this was the norm among his circle of friends (CRASH. CRASH)<br /><br />I asked him if he had any plans of seeking better opportunities outside of Zambia. He seemed surprised at the question. He did not. He said there were enough opportunities in Zambia for someone who works hard.<br /><br />Lily didn’t seem comfortable speaking in English and didn’t talk much. But as I was saying goodbye – in easy confident tones - she told Ben something which Ben translated for me. I was invited to a meal sometime soon and Lily wanted to know what kind of food I like.<br /><br />Ben dropped me off at the guest house. He had to go back home to attend a neighbourhood council meeting. We made plans to meet again. I waved goodbye from the gate as he drove his trusty, white car into the horizon of the fading afternoon.<br /><br />I stood there a bit longer gazing at the slow descent of the red-orange sun.<br />--------------------<br /><br />Corollaries:<br /><br />I have met many intelligent, strong women in positions of leadership not only in Lusaka but also here in Kalomo. And of the Zambian brothers, I’ve met - My brother is not a chauvinist <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/07/secret-life-of-nora-aunor-and-michael.html">pig</a>! My brother is not a chauvinist <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/07/secret-life-of-nora-aunor-and-michael.html"> pig</a>! (For the last sentence to be even mildly amusing to you, you have to be Filipino and of a certain age). However, while great strides seem to have been taken by the Zambians in the areas of gender equality and women’s rights, this is not to negate the fact that a lot of the traditions are still very much prevalent in other parts of the country.<br /><br />That other loud sound you’re hearing? That’s my tummy grumbling. Subject of another blog post.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-78481675802358261742009-10-20T02:54:00.015+08:002010-10-10T21:56:38.456+08:00T.I.A.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1F1Xk440lXfjFHMnKdcfHDI86dSkOGgZep7DqACej-ewvzXSzd_dnc8wB_Fy7qAbImNjaBksj8Nwh3rnZy5OtwOZoqvVYBkyRZeRLsmzfZduFlt1nJaaEfjr7W9QPFZMMfBIGElx4Rc/s1600/kalomo+kids+3+comp.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526415904786002434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1F1Xk440lXfjFHMnKdcfHDI86dSkOGgZep7DqACej-ewvzXSzd_dnc8wB_Fy7qAbImNjaBksj8Nwh3rnZy5OtwOZoqvVYBkyRZeRLsmzfZduFlt1nJaaEfjr7W9QPFZMMfBIGElx4Rc/s320/kalomo+kids+3+comp.jpg" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">T.I.A. This is Africa.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>am told<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>that this is<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>a line from Blood Diamond (the Leonardo diCaprio move) and the line <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>is <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>often used by <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>expat <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>volunteers here in Zambia as a catch-all explanation for<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>a situation or experience that defies the muzungu (foreigner) <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>logic or paradigm<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Lusaka is the capital city <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>where my intake of volunteers (all from Western Europe except me) spent one week on training. Its sights and sounds were not <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>totally unfamiliar.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I have been to Africa before.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>This was the Africa I knew.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Yes, we had to walk 30 minutes to get there, but there was a strip mall 30 minutes away from the dormitory where we were housed.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>This temple of commerce, although smaller than what I am used to back home,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>was familiar and comforting.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>How could anything go<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>wrong if you have access to<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>a money exchange center ,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>a Subway outlet and a supermarket selling aromatherapy candles?<br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">That Africa seems so far away today.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I am on my second <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>day in Kalomo, 400 kilometers away from Lusaka. I am living in a guest house while my permanent residence is being readied.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>The guest house is clean and safe and the people working here have been very helpful.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I shouldn’t ask for more. I don’t have to report for work until tomorrow. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">This morning, I walked the dusty footpath from the guest house to the town market <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>to familiarize <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>myself with the place that will be home for the next six months.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">As soon as the market was in sight, my senses went immeidately <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>on overload. The heat of the late -morning sun was merciless.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I could almost feel the oil on my scalp and face sizzle. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>The <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>chitengas wrapped around the women’s<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>bodies and heads were wildly vibrant and unapologetic in their mix of patterns and colors.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">My nostrils were engulfed with so many new smells, not all unpleasant but <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>each one with an in-your-face aggressiveness to demand attention . A cacophony of noises (words I do not understand, roosters crowing,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>trucks honking, drums playing on a loudspeaker, children shouting)<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>surrounded <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>me.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I had to stop to get my bearings.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still as I reminded myself where I was and why I was even here.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I looked around and realized I was lost.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I didn’t know where I was or how I could get back to where I started my walk.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">People were looking at me.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I relaxed when I sensed no hostility. Their <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>faces and eyes <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>were friendly. I greeted them <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>with the few words in the local Tongan than I have managed to learn since arriving…… Mwaboka Buti,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Muliwutsi, Kabotu (Good morning, How are you?<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I’m fine)</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">A woman passed by running after a passel of young children.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>One young girl of about four – skin dark as ebony, <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>pigtails tied with<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>a red ribbon and with big round eyes -<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>stopped in her tracks, turned around, stared <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>and then made a sign towards me. I did not understand. The woman <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>laughed and explained to me in English -<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>She is blessing you.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>She is saying welcome.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>I felt my heart tighten and my eyes sting. What else could I say but - Twalumba (thank you). The little girl laughed and ran away with the woman chasing after her. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I took a deep breath and let my senses take everything back in.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>I found my way back to the guest house. My clothes, shoes and face were covered with a <span style="font-size:+0;"></span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>layer of red dust.<span style="font-size:+0;"><br /></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Six months seems like such a long time.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>But, today, the people of Kalomo see me. They <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>acknowledge and seem not to mind my presence, this stranger among them. I see them too,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>these <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>people who <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>will<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>become my neighbors, friends and <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>protectors.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">For <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>now, that is enough.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">This is Africa. This is my Africa.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-82332779133600306352009-10-05T00:55:00.007+08:002010-07-07T01:47:14.341+08:00Your Man in ZambiaIn 4 days, I am finally leaving for my <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/08/please-wish-me-luck.html">VSO volunteer assignment </a>in rural Zambia. While I am excited and remain very much committed to the endeavor, I will admit to some last minute jitters.<br /><br />I have no experience in grass-roots social development work. I have never lived in a rural community. While I sympathize with those suffering, I have never actively advocated for gender equality, poverty-alleviation and the rights of victims of HIV and AIDS – important issues I have to deal with in my area of placement.<br /><br />I have been reassuring myself that I have my good intentions and 20 years of experience in a high-stress industry to back me up . On top of that, I have been doing a lot of studying and have been actively soliciting inputs and tips from different people. <br /><br />VSO’s pre-departure trainings and expectation-setting sessions have been very helpful for my psychological and emotional conditioning. And I can’t discount all the positive juju from all the good wishes I’ve received.<br /><br />But, recent events have made me realize that my best preparation is having been born and raised in the Philippines I come from a strong, resilient and generous people.<br /><br />Many of the people with whom I will be working and living may not yet know of the Philippines. They will. This is what I would like to tell them :<br /><br />• I left for Zambia during a difficult time for my country but I am confident that the Filipinos will overcome – even if only thru the power of sheer will and faith.<br /><br />• When the system and the government fail us, we have our resourcefulness and strong sense of community and family to fall back on.<br /><br />• Filipinos will find something to laugh about even under the most adverse of conditions. We laugh because we are thankful for having survived; we laugh because it is one thing we can still share when everything else has been taken from us. We laugh because life will go on.<br /><br />• Filipinos are unfortunately only too familiar with the issues of crime, plunder and corruption . However, it is the heroic acts of ordinary people which tell me there is hope for my country. I will tell them about <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/wayoflife/03/05/heroes.efren.penaflorida/index.html">Efren Penaflorida</a> whose organization provides basic reading and writing tutorials to street children. I will tell them about <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/world/philippine-man-loses-own-life-after-saving-dozens-from-floods-20090928-g8o4.html">Muelmar Magallanes </a>who saved more than 30 people from floodwaters in the Philippines before sacrificing his life while rescuing a baby girl and her mother. I will tell them about my friend <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2009/10/so-ok-everybodys-probably-heard-of-that.html">Gisela Santos</a>, who with a group of other young people, immediately harnessed and mobilized the power of technology to assist in the rescue efforts for the victims of typhoon<a href="http://www.google.com/landing/typhoon-ondoy.html"> Ondoy</a>.I will share stories about my family and friends, whether in the Philippines or abroad, who sacrifice for those they love and who, on a daily basis, try to make a positive difference in the community around them.<br /><br />• The Filipinos have shown the world that a peaceful revolution is possible if you have group of unarmed civilians united and strengthened by shared ideals, a desire to do what is right and a shared faith.<br /><br />I am praying that by sharing the best of what I know from the Philippines , I can show the people in my community that great changes can come from ordinary people; that there is strength in unity and that there is always hope even in the face of adversity.<br /><br />In the process of sharing what I know, I also look forward to learning a few things from my community myself. I will be open to new things. I will listen. I will ask questions. I will be humble. I will participate.<br /><br />I know that this experience will be a test and a challenge. I hope to be able to come off it with a clear sense of what I can and cannot do and how I can make a longer-term contribution to society.<br /><br />The Philippines will always be home. I would like to be able to make that contribution here.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-81915695212878305892009-10-02T20:04:00.004+08:002009-10-05T16:19:58.715+08:00Test Post (Slide Show)This is a test post on the inclusion of a slide show in a blog post. The pictures below are all from my flickr accout as of today. If this works, I hope to be able to use this feature on subsequent posts. <br /><br /><br /><div><embed src="http://widget-f5.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=gn&il=1&channel=3242591731738470389&site=widget-f5.slide.com" style="width: 426px; height: 320px;" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed><div style="width: 426px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=gn&at=fl&id=3242591731738470389&map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-f5.slide.com/p1/3242591731738470389/gn_t016_v000_s0fl_f00/images/xslide1.gif" ismap="ismap" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=gn&at=fl&id=3242591731738470389&map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-f5.slide.com/p2/3242591731738470389/gn_t016_v000_s0fl_f00/images/xslide2.gif" ismap="ismap" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=gn&at=fl&id=3242591731738470389&map=F" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-f5.slide.com/p4/3242591731738470389/gn_t016_v000_s0fl_f00/images/xslide42.gif" ismap="ismap" border="0" /></a></div></div><br />It works!Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-77567177627275180002009-10-01T23:58:00.004+08:002009-10-05T01:09:59.266+08:00Gisela Santos is so cool and there's more like her where she comes from<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBwlEOeMjuf-ydPKRdJDd2uevF84KjLdlYPwCiNfmodCIxlNs_qRoC8uTOF9rHv2fL8i6TsjwIiMv9LdHBhM5yI6_rtyBLTjmm2xzsGHYh9nc1-rC5K3Z0gvC-g7TxQBFg8btw-e6Q70/s1600-h/gisela.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBwlEOeMjuf-ydPKRdJDd2uevF84KjLdlYPwCiNfmodCIxlNs_qRoC8uTOF9rHv2fL8i6TsjwIiMv9LdHBhM5yI6_rtyBLTjmm2xzsGHYh9nc1-rC5K3Z0gvC-g7TxQBFg8btw-e6Q70/s320/gisela.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387662417550146674" border="0" /></a><br />So ok, everybody's probably heard of that Filipina working in the UAE who posted disparaging comments about the flood victims on her FB page . She, or someone, has since posted a disclaimer saying that somebody else was responsible. Too much negativity, so enough on that already.<br /><br />Let me tell you instead about another Filipina working in the UAE. Her name is Gisela Santos. I'm proud to be her friend.<br /><br />Shortly after the extent of Ondoy's devastation become apparent - Gise - together with her friends - Serge Gregorio, Franklin Naval, Thomas Pestaño, Kaye Domingo, Jun Verzola, Eric Pestaño Smith, Vince Yamat and Jordana Calit - realized that so much information was being shared, but that it wasn’t being collated in one place.<br /><br />Wanting to do something to help their countrymen even while based outside the Philppines, they established a <a href="http://www.google.com/landing/typhoon-ondoy.html">Google “Ondoy situation map</a> for Metro Manila”.<br /><br />Realizing the urgency of the situation, the group acted immediately. Conceptualization, mobilization and execution took only a matter of hours. The site became a critical reference point for rescue workers, relief organizations and volunteers by pinpointing reports from all over the metropolis, so that , the media and officials could have a reference point to figure out what, exactly, was happening —and where help was most needed.<br /><br />Theirs is not an isolated story. We've heard countless reports of other Filipinos - from all walks of life - rising to the ocassion and doing whatever they can to help. You might even be one of them.<br /><br />Manuel Quezon writes about the Filipino sense of community and volunteerism in his <a href="http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20090928-227249/%91Bayanihan%92">regular Inquirer column</a>.<br /><br />These stories are so humbling but also inspiring. I am so proud of my countrymen.<br /><br />There are of course other people from whom we had expected more but then again - they will have their time of reckoning. Maybe the next typhoon will wash them away.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-20595854597561233252009-09-19T00:56:00.005+08:002009-09-19T01:04:56.448+08:00A Canvas of SocietyI found this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzYgSJCPEtY">video </a>is difficult to watch. Much in the same manner, I guess, that some realities in our society are sometimes too painful to acknowledge.<br /><br />Ignoring won't make the realities go away. There are no easy answers about what we can do to change things. But perhaps we can begin by asking ourselves that question.<br /><br />Please spare 20 minutes to view it. With English subtitles.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-24637600250452127742009-09-13T23:47:00.003+08:002009-09-19T01:06:18.940+08:00Happy Birthday to You (Yes,YOU!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomPVUPGkENh9T5LeTBOjpvQmJLE76KcQ0974MfkBsqUgG8ln1fakqQlNa2qv3wU-66Q0as5DvNt3jXFFxbKBzNGbPt6kMGU0GVVdQB3SfbAQfZz8fy27cgPXeMXQ_wkyC-3FlMm0-sSE/s1600-h/5452_1088490692998_1248367832_30215593_6111455_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomPVUPGkENh9T5LeTBOjpvQmJLE76KcQ0974MfkBsqUgG8ln1fakqQlNa2qv3wU-66Q0as5DvNt3jXFFxbKBzNGbPt6kMGU0GVVdQB3SfbAQfZz8fy27cgPXeMXQ_wkyC-3FlMm0-sSE/s200/5452_1088490692998_1248367832_30215593_6111455_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382850494765086546" border="0" /></a><br />I've always thought of my birthday as my very own personal Academy Awards Night I would welcome each greeting as a personal validation (i.e. Sally Field winning her second Oscar going, "You like me; you really, really like me!!!!").<br /><br />I must have been doing some serious growing up recently because for this birthday, I realize with the most liberating clarity that I don't need one day of the year to get my regular fix.<br /><br />In a world where there is so much uncertainty and despair, I know that joy, love and friendship also exist. On a daily basis, you reaffirm my faith in the human race and assure me that things<br />will be alright , that WE will be alright.<br /><br />So, today, on the eve of another birthday I am happy celebrating the day YOU were born. Yes - YOU whom I've known since childhood. YOU, from the group that I met other day and YOU who came into my life sometime in between.<br /><br />I am glad YOU are here in this world. I am so much the richer and better for it. Thank you for making me part of you life.<br /><br />I'd like to share with you this translated text from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, one of my favorite authors. He says what I feel much better than I ever can. Think of it as my birthday gift to you because YOU ARE MY FAVORITE :-)<br /><br />=================<br /><br /><span>If for an instant God were to forget that I am a rag doll and gifted me with a piece of life, possibly I wouldn't say all that I think, but rather I would think of all that I say.</span><br /><br /><span>I would value things, not for their worth but for what they mean. I would sleep little, dream more, understanding that for each minute we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.</span><br /><br /><span>I would listen when others talk, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream! If God were to give me a piece of life, I would dress simply, throw myself face first into the sun, baring not only my body but also my soul.</span><br /><br /><span>My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show. Over the</span><br /><span>stars I would paint with a Van Gogh dream a Benedetti poem, and a Serrat song would be the serenade I'd offer to the moon.</span><br /><br /><span>With my tears I would water roses, to feel the pain of their thorns, and the red kiss of their petals...</span><br /><br /><span>My God, if I had a piece of life... I wouldn't let a single day pass without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince each woman and each man that they are my favorites, and I would live in love, with love.</span><br /><br /><span>I would show men how very wrong they are to think that they cease to be in love when they grow old, not knowing that they grow old when they cease to be in love!</span><br /><br /><span>To a child I shall give wings, but I shall let him learn to fly on his own. I would teach the old that death does not come with old age, but with forgetting. So much have I learned from you, oh men...</span><br /><br /><span>I have learned that everyone wants to live on the peak of the mountain, without knowing that real happiness is in how it is scaled.</span><br /><br /><span>I have learned that when a newborn child squeezes for the first time with his tiny fist his father's finger, he has him trapped forever.</span><br /><br /><span>I have learned that a man has the right to look down on another only when he has to help the</span><br /><span>other get to his feet.</span><br /><br /><span>From you I have learned so many things, but in truth they won't be of much use, for when I keep them within this suitcase, unhappily shall I be dying.</span><br /><br />GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZTarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-67219661320219857902009-08-30T02:13:00.003+08:002009-08-30T23:48:08.276+08:00Something Smells Rotten in the State of the NationWhen something like t<a href="http://www.gmanews.tv/story/170245/Arroyo-party-gave-away-P6-M-tip-during-six-day-stay-in-US">his</a> happens in a country where <a href="http://www.cultureunplugged.com/play/1081/Chicken-a%20la%20Carte">this</a> is happening....<br /><br />......you have to wonder who has the real <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ng7spMHEolE">dignity</a>?<br /><br />I love my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooGtSV7UafI&feature=related">country</a><br /><br />But there are a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqH6_0pfbv7_jpPZcvmg9aPO789sFF8_bYtiysJ7PLmtR4WzcetdwErMx98rEgLm2PfqyCsdcj6FfE1SH8E-bJns9uhCwIQtC0fB44ypYMzbDqeL7_mwo4bkfNbeiVZKa13E-KlVgnS-Q/s1600-h/imelda-marcos__gloria-macapagal-arroyo.jpg"> few people</a> I don't like.Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821247742059414200.post-38848379728086976572009-08-23T23:12:00.006+08:002009-09-23T18:09:53.319+08:00Please wish me luck!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA_pt9CW6ceoF2WlNYpZ_vOY_BgXQCJch_x6CMk4OYVrLoCD-_ZT9M1T06D_PDU9fmybjDh_SWsRGU1CQkQ7sHUqIIhYcAB_r0v1pJ_Y_jnwW1SRfkzMzYvPPNA-VfzR9nPLrMridFyt4/s1600-h/zambia_map.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA_pt9CW6ceoF2WlNYpZ_vOY_BgXQCJch_x6CMk4OYVrLoCD-_ZT9M1T06D_PDU9fmybjDh_SWsRGU1CQkQ7sHUqIIhYcAB_r0v1pJ_Y_jnwW1SRfkzMzYvPPNA-VfzR9nPLrMridFyt4/s200/zambia_map.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373177772656521650" border="0" /></a> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> 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{mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} /* List Definitions */ @list l0 {mso-list-id:1304310532; mso-list-type:hybrid; mso-list-template-ids:1860470096 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715;} @list l0:level1 {mso-level-tab-stop:.5in; mso-level-number-position:left; text-indent:-.25in;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">This is my last week of work before taking an extended leave from corporate life.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I have been accepted<span style=""> </span>as a<span style=""> </span>volunteer of VSO<span style=""> </span>International for deployment<span style=""> </span>in the<span style=""> </span>Kalomo district<span style=""> </span>of<span style=""> </span>Zambia Africa.<span style=""> </span>I hope to be able to <span style=""> </span>leave <span style=""> </span>by the first week of October.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is the first time for <span style=""> </span>most of my friends and family members to <span style=""> </span>hear about this.<span style=""> </span>For their benefit, and peace of mind,<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I am sharing my answers to some Frequently-Asked-Questions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Where in the world is Zambia?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Once known as Rhodesia, this landlocked country is positioned in the Southern part of <span style=""> </span>Africa, and bordered by the countries of Congo (boomlay-boomlay-boom),<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Botswana, Angola, Namibia, <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Tanzania, Malawi, Mozambique and Zimbabwe.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">English is the official language of Zambia but the Tonga dialect is spoken in Kalomo.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Did you have a choice in your country of placement</p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Early on in the process, I did mention that I was interested in a placement in Africa but did not indicate a preference for a particular country. I was considered for assignments in Kenya, Gambia and Namibia. The Zambia placement eventually turned out to be the best fit for me in terms of skills required, timing, etc.</p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">What in the world is VSO International?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">VSO International is <span style=""> </span>a UK-based international NGO that aims to fight global poverty by sending<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>volunteers to share <span style=""> </span>their skills and experience with people in developing countries. More information can be found at their <a href="http://www.vsointernational.org/">website</a> .<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">What will you be doing as a volunteer?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The Kalomo district <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>is a <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>rural community with agriculture as <span style=""></span>its main source of livelihood.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">My placement is in line with<span style=""> </span>Kalomo’s <span style=""> </span>Integrated Development Plan <span style=""> </span>which aims<span style=""> </span>to promote economic and social progress while <span style=""> </span>utilizing <span style=""> </span>full community participation.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I <span style=""> </span>will be <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>assigned <span style=""> </span>as a “Resource Organizer ”for <span style=""> </span>Kalomo’s <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Gender Governance and Citizen Participation Program.<span style=""> </span><span style=""><span style=""> </span><span lang="EN-GB">My job is to help the Kalomo<span style=""> </span>district council<span style=""> </span>in the following areas:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""><span lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Developing training and livelihood programs for the residents, <span style=""> </span>especially <span style=""> </span>women and children <span style=""> </span>living with HIV and AIDS. <o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Increasing <span style=""> </span>women and youth participation and leadership at strategic decision making levels.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Enhancing the establishment and strengthening of decentralised district structures.<o:p></o:p></span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Isn’t this a bit sudden? Have you thought about this carefully?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Actually, it’s not. <span style=""> </span>And, yes I have.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>As some of you may know, <span style=""> </span>I had been searching for a similar opportunity for quite some time.<span style=""> </span>Until <span style=""> </span>I found out about VSO, <span style=""> </span>I<span style=""> </span>had difficulty finding the <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>right organization.<span style=""> </span>I <span style=""> </span>got in touch<span style=""> </span>with VSO sometime in 2008.<span style=""> </span>It took several months before I could be matched with<span style=""> </span>a placement and then several months before I could be confirmed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I had originally signed-up for two years.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Due<span style=""> </span>to budget cuts, <span style=""> </span>the program was shortened to six months. I was given the option of backing-out but I decided to proceed.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">What do you hope to accomplish?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When I was much younger,<span style=""> </span>I<span style=""> </span>thought that I had it in me to save the world from all its various ills. I<span style=""> </span>have been humbled by enough <span style=""> </span>experiences to know that this is not possible. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But –foolish or stubborn <span style=""> </span>-<span style=""> </span>I have enough idealism left in me to believe in the nobility of trying, regardless of what the end-results might be.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I believe that a sincere and full-hearted attempt to do good can, by itself, be a victory.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I want to try. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I may not be able to<span style=""> </span>save the world <span style=""> </span>but, in trying, <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I hope to <span style=""> </span>find my own salvation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And,<span style=""> </span>oh<span style=""> </span>yes,<span style=""> </span>I really <span style=""> </span>do<span style=""> </span>want world peace <span style="font-family:Wingdings;"><span style="">J</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Huh,<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>what <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>are <span style=""> </span>you trying to save yourself from?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">In my efforts to manage<span style=""> </span>my life over the past few years, my focus and span of interest have<span style=""> </span>become very narrow.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Paradoxically, while <span style=""> </span>my life has become very orderly and well-planned - <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I find myself feeling <span style=""> </span>disconnected and underutilized.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">This is my attempt to <span style=""> </span>un-fix the order and numbing certainty of my hours and days.<span style=""> </span>I hope that <span style=""> </span>from the mess that is <span style=""> </span>created, I could <span style=""> </span>open myself up to new learnings and adventures.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">What am I saving myself from? Complacency. Stagnation.<span style=""> </span>My own pettiness and small-mindedness. What-ifs, should-have, could-haves. <span style=""> </span>A life of waiting for things to happen. A life of making commentary but taking no action.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When this is over, <span style=""> </span>hopefully I can bring back <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>more than just the experience<span style=""> </span>but a fresh take on things and a <span style=""> </span>renewed appreciation of who I<span style=""> </span>am and what I can accomplish .<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Remind us again, why exactly are you doing this?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">At the time that I was<span style=""> </span>praying for discernment on whether to proceed with my VSO application<span style=""> </span>-<span style=""> </span>my friend, Renee, unknowingly shared a prayer with me.<span style=""> </span>I took this as a confirmation<span style=""> </span>of my plans.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" >Prayer of St. Francis Drake</span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:";font-size:85%;" >Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,</span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" ><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >When our dreams have come true</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Because we have dreamed too little,</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >When we arrived safely</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Because we sailed too close to the shore.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >We have lost our thirst</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >For the waters of life;</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >To venture on wider seas</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Where storms will show your mastery;</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Where losing sight of land,</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >We shall find the stars.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >We ask You to push back</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The horizons of our hopes;</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >And to push into the future</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >In strength, courage, hope, and love</span> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Some old entries from<span style=""> </span>blog<span style=""> </span>may also help explain the thought process that has gone into this decision. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While some of you may have<span style=""> </span>read these earlier posts, it may be interesting to revisit them knowing the full context behind these entries.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I wrote <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/09/drawing-line-here_25.html">this<span style=""> </span>entry</a><span style=""> </span>when I was first considering applying to VSO<span style=""> </span><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/09/drawing-line-here_25.html"><br /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/09/drawing-line-here_25.html"><br /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have also written<span style=""> </span>about other volunteers whose examples have inspired me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/11/wyatt-ammon-was-here.html">Wyatt</a> <a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/11/wyatt-ammon-was-here.html"><br /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-sam.html">Sam </a><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-sam.html"><br /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://mid-life-angst.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-sam.html"><br /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Whatever. So, why do you have to volunteer so far away? Why not find volunteer work in the Philippines</span>?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Part of my motivation is to test for myself how far my good intentions can take me<span style=""> </span>For this experience, I want to go as far away from my comfort zone as possible and see how much I can accomplish without having to rely on all the easy short-cuts and ways-out that are available to me in the Philippines.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But the Philippines will always be home. I can bring back this experience <span style=""> </span>with me and hopefully find <span style=""> </span>local volunteering or NGO opportunities that I can look into when I come back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What about your job? How will you support yourself during the placement and after coming back?</span><br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]--></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I will be on sabbatical from my job at Gurango Software. <span style=""> </span>My last day of work is August 28, 2009.<span style=""> </span>I am<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">expected to resume my post <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>on May 3, 2010.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">VSO will pay for air-travel.<span style=""> </span>While in Zambia,<span style=""> </span>basic housing facilities will be provided by the Kalomo district council <span style=""> </span>and I will be receiving a subsistence<span style=""> </span>allowance to cover food expenses.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">What about your health?<span style=""> </span>Will you have access to medical facilities?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am going through <span style=""> </span>a very thorough medical clearance procedure before departure. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Thus far, I have had about 6 different vaccinations for everything from flu, rabies, hepatitis and pneumonia. I have my vaccinations for yellow fever, dysentery and malaria coming up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">While in Zambia, there is a <span style="">private medical clinic within 25 minutes drive from the placement and<span style=""> </span>a <span style=""> </span>government district level hospital is also available within 10 minutes drive from <span style=""> </span>the placement.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Is Zambia safe? What happens in case of emergencies?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Zambia is said to be <span style=""> </span>one of the most peaceful countries in Africa. If , for any reason, a decision is made to evacuate its volunteers, VSO, as a UK-headquartered international organization, <span style=""> </span>calls on<span style=""> </span>the best available emergency services to get them <span style=""> </span>to safer locations as soon as possible</p> <p class="MsoNormal">.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">How can we keep in touch with you while you are in Zambia?</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Mobile phone coverage throughout Zambia is <span style=""> </span>supposed to be quite good .<span style=""> </span>I will <span style=""> </span>bring my local Globe SIM card. If<span style=""> </span>you are texting from a Philippine-based provider,<span style=""> </span>you will be charged regular rates <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>and I will not be charged for receiving.<span style=""> </span>I will surely be getting a local SIM card from which I will be sending messages.<span style=""> </span>I will let you know the number. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">At <span style=""> </span>present, the office where I will be working does<span style=""> </span>not have internet access. However, there are supposed to be <span style=""> </span>several<span style=""> </span>internet cafe in central Kalomo . <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I will check that out. Please note that Zambia is 6 hours behind the Philippines.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I<span style=""> </span>will try to post <span style=""> </span>general updates on my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/tarcs.taruc">facebook page</a> or this blog.</span><span style=""><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Private emails can be addressed to </span><a href="mailto:tarcs@yahoo.com"><span style="">tarcs@yahoo.com</span></a>. I apologize in advance for any delays in response time.<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Where can we find other related info on VSO and Zambia:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://ertzgaards.smugmug.com/gallery/6720910_bvD4D#429147181_S4PeX"><br /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://ertzgaards.smugmug.com/gallery/6720910_bvD4D#429147181_S4PeX">Pictures of Zambia</a> <span style=""> </span>- <a href="http://ertzgaards.smugmug.com/gallery/6720910_bvD4D#429147181_S4PeX"></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.vsobahaginan.org.ph/life-changing-stories/">Experiences of other Volunteer</a>s <span style="text-decoration: underline;"> </span><a href="http://www.vsobahaginan.org.ph/life-changing-stories/"></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xbIjrhq2NE">Two minute trailer for a documentary on VSO volunteers released last year</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=vsomediauk#play/uploads/15/O39yfQXjjjk">The work done by VSO Zambia</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">K, bye.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:10;" ><span style=""> </span></span><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p>Tarcshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14139022118791679826noreply@blogger.com5