The Dreamland

With the Manila skyline hidden around the bay and just beyond the town gate by the sea, rests a land of dreams. But it is not a kingdom of magic or a land you visit at night.

It is a land where a town dumps its trash and it never gets collected. In and amongst the odd shoe, fraying tarpaulin, worn boat, tangled fishing nets, chickens and distorted tide grows a slum with its maze of narrow paths adorned by unimaginable homes and small shops. The men fish, the children play as they always do and women sit scrubbing clothes stained with more than just dirt.

No one who lives here is actually from here. They come from all parts of the archipelago in desperate poverty to be closer to that skyline in the hope that by being closer, you are closer to finding a job. Closer to being able to provide something meager to your family. Closer to the dream.

With one in four people already living in despairing poverty, the typhoon has exposed these dreams more. In its wake, many of the people who lost their homes were flown from the affected areas to bigger urban centers. Eventually some will return. Others may not and stay closer to the dream.

And so, over a bit further down the shore, there is a new group of devastated dreamers with displaced dreams. They keep to themselves and no one is sure of this new reality, how they will fit in or what will come. They call this slum between the skyline and the sea the ‘Dreamland’. If you will it it is no…

after tremors of the heart

Santa Rosario is a barangay (neighborhood) on the Island of Bohol, which has now been hit twice; first by an earthquake a month ago and now by the typhoon. I was fortunate enough to be welcomed into this community at a moment it was particularly vulnerable, during a stress debriefing session. The session, much like the disasters themselves, crossed generations and spanned human emotions.

A shy lady, reserved and holding onto her dignity shared the anguish of how a landslide swallowed her home. The stories she revealed described the centrality of her home to her relationship with her grandchildren. As I reflected on the universality of this concept, she continued to speak, resting her head on the shoulder of her neighbor. The heaviness of the memories could not be overcome by the weight of the mud.

That twinge of loneliness was palpable when an elderly gentleman, the wrinkles on his face nearly matching the years in his life, verbalized man’s greatest fear. No matter how proud he was of his children’s success and how he wished them fulfillment in life, when the walls around him shook, he was the only one within them.

With tremendous passion, a young woman reflected on how the community as a whole achieved some sense of happiness through the power of sharing. By opening their fresh wounds together, it allowed them to start the process of healing together. Through this they will be stronger however uncertain future.

The respected barangay captain struggled as she looked at her fractured home and the tent that had replaced it. She is trying to hold it together and be strong for her family and community but even in the saturating rain I could see a tear no one else could escape her eyes.

And a man clutched his heart as he described the anticipation of ongoing aftershocks that accompany an earthquake like a shadow even at night. It seems long after the final aftershock, the after tremors of the heart will remain.

Changing Treescapes

Driving north from Cebu city towards Bogo, the treescape began to change. Here was a world turned upside down. Roots reached for the skies while branches were smashed towards the ground. Electricity cables that once lined the clouds now hem the earth precariously. Some people were on the streets clearing the debris, others sat looking emptily at the shells of their former homes, all trying to make sense of a world after a storm.

As we drove on the main street of Bogo you could see the Israeli flag adorning the hospital’s entrance. A young solider stopped our van to question us. Mike, the disaster management consultant in our team, answered in Hebrew and the solider broke out into the biggest grin and welcomed us in with true Israeli hospitality. Mike’s smile responded accordingly. It was heartwarming to see how proud Mike was. He was proud that his country gives of itself so selflessly and does so so quickly.  He was greeting each soldier like they were his best friends he hadn’t seen in years. It was hard not to feel proud and smile too.

There we met various young Filipinos making a difference. One group is a few friends who in the wake of the typhoon pooled their resources and energy together and set in motion a relief and rebuilding effort for the islands they call home. Another was a group of therapists and educators dedicated to community-based rehabilitation of children with disabilities, children who need additional emotional support through trying times like these.

These groups joined us on a tour of the hospital.  The field hospital is very impressive. A series of tents line the front garden of the pre existing hospital. Within it is fully functioning with operating rooms, X-ray machine and a laboratory. The doctors across all discipline serve hundreds of patients each day and treat each with the utmost dignity. Whilst it initially came to life to treat typhoon survivors, it now continues to look after patients. No case is too difficult, no challenge insurmountable. The first baby born there was named ‘Israel’ by his appreciative parents, fitting for a child representing a nation wrestling with its recovery.

The next day we visited schools in Daan Bantayan and Bogo. All three schools suffered considerable damage with roofs and classrooms blown away by the satanic winds. It was a chance to meet the teachers and children at the face of a storm. Somewhat surprisingly, the kids, with roofs and debris and fallen trees surrounding them, still manage to laugh and play and just be kids. Their smiles act as reminders of the resilience of the Filipino people.

We were also able to deliver first aid stocks to the local ambulance service. Various pharmaceutical manufacturers in Melbourne donated all this stock. I was amazed that when I called someone from customer service at one of the companies she said to me, “Leave it to me, I’ll get it organized for you.” An afternoon later she called me back with a list of places that had boxes ready for collection. Those supplies now fill the shelves of an ambulance that was completely empty.

I explained to the ambulance drivers where the supplies had come from. Their reaction showed they were clearly moved, “People from all over the world care.”

“They do,” I responded, “We do.”  And in that moment the world made just a little more sense.

a spirit of volunteerism

The National Resource Operations Center in Manila coordinates the collection and distribution of food and supplies to typhoon affected areas. As we visited the Center and walked around we were overwhelmed by a very special energy.

We met with Elma, a technical officer, who described the dire situation on her home island of Bohol, Only last month an earthquake struck and now it is also dealing with the strong winds and storm surges of the typhoon. As we met, the office around us was extremely active, updating information boards, coordinating with their regional offices and instructing volunteers.

The strongest feeling was that of the spirit of volunteerism. Filipinos from all walks of life come to the Center each day to help. The military are there twenty-four hours. School and university students help in droves, with teachers replacing regular classes with lessons of another kind.  A few foreigners were there too, some taking time from their holidays and others coming to the Philippines specifically to help. Many local businesses display a sense of corporate responsibility in sending their employers to the Center to help instead of their regular duties. For them a deeper sense of duty takes precedent.

We helped for a short time, packing and carrying supplies. The Filipinos around us were extremely touched and appreciative. They were moved by the fact that a team cares enough to come so far to help. For us it is the same deep sense of duty that compels our presence here.  

This tragic opportunity

Last night we arrived in Manila. There is a great sense of purpose to what we are doing.  For me this is a tragic opportunity. The responsiveness to times of need and crisis is exactly what international service is about. I have no doubt I will learn a tremendous amount from the team and the people we will engage with. The focus while we are here is meeting and connecting to as many people, organisations and networks as possible to try identify partners to begin the enormous task of rebuilding the country.

The Philippines is a country of 7107 islands but I cannot help but feel that the typhoon shattered it into many more pieces. We have all seen the images in the newspapers but I am struggling to fathom how all these pieces will look in the face of so much devastation. 

The people here live a simple island life. The water that was so central has destroyed so much. But within this simplicity lies a resilience of emotions and within this brokenness lies the true spirit of humanity. And within this tragic opportunity, further opportunities for hope and a tomorrow arise. 

the tube and the trotro

Every morning in London I nestled in the underarm of a complete stranger. It wasn’t so much in the romantic sense as sometimes I daydreamed it would.  It was more in the commuter sense, a game of sardine tetris called the daily commute. What is so weird about it is that you are so close physically to the people around you but you never say a single word. No one interacts at all. Grey buildings, grey skies, grey trains and grey silence.

I tried starting conversations with people about the books they were reading. This was met with unappreciative turns of the heads in the other direction.

I invited the person who was homeless asking for a spare pound to sit with me and share his experience.  I was hoping to invite him to my aunt’s for dinner. He said he couldn’t because he needed to keep wondering through the train to hopefully have collected enough to survive that night. My aunt flipped when I shared my plan with her. I subsequently always pretended to talk to someone as I entered the house.

I woke the drunk guy next to me to ask him what stop he needed to get off. He told me Stratford but then got off at Bethnal Green. I tried to tell him it was the last train that night but he was already off staggering.  Someone saw this whole interchanged and commented that it was a nice thing to do.

Nice. Such a British word. And if you look closer there are nice moments on the tube. There are the kind people who stand for the elderly and pregnant. There are friends laughing in unison and you cannot help but join and giggle as well. And there you can be, on the other side of the world, and by some random alignment of the universe be on the same line in the same carriage at the same time as someone you haven’t seen for years from home.

Now in Ghana I rely on share taxis and the tro-tro, a minivan that has seen better days. These follow certain routes and cost the same as a Macca’s soft serve cone. A guy leans out the sliding door’s window announcing the route with an accompanying dance move of a hand motion. The Ghanaian equivalent of commuters hail, hop on and hop off. We again play tetris but now there are animals in baskets and random furniture contending as pieces as well. Need I not mention the roof…

In complete contrast people want to talk. They ask in Dagbani, “How is your wife?” and I answer, “I slept well.” People want to know where you are from and what you are doing. One tell you to close the door more gently like I used to try to do at my parents’ place coming home late at night. Another bemoans the trial of last year’s Ghanaian election. And there are plenty of conversations you are not privy to. One time there was loud Western music as a group of expats organised a trotro pub-crawl. It was a great night of visiting almost every nightspot in Tamale. A few tro many beers later there is that o so familiar overfamiliarity on the dancefloor.  

And sometimes there is silence. It isn’t grey but I guess sometimes it is nice.