nuances in household routine

(Some parts of this entry regard where I previously lived and portions continue in my life now)

My alarm clock sounds a little different here, not woken by a device but the waking of the barangay. Whoever said roosters only crow at dawn clearly never lived on a farm or densely populated third world country, the hooting can be heard all day. This sound is exacerbated by barking dogs; rib-popping, disease-bearing howls toward one another. Chugging trikes start their day; jeepneys firing up for their routes. Working men hollering to one another from opposite sides of the road; women tending to the coals that provide food for their family and livelihood. It’s only 5:30 but the city has woken, and it is time for me to follow.

A new array of breakfast foods cover the lazy susan. On any given day the following may appear: bulad (dried fish), fried fish, a buttery omelet-type dish, fried pork/beef canned product, hot dogs (covered in bright red casing), ampalaya (bitter gourd), Filipino white bread with Cheese Wiz, boiled bananas, and copious amounts of rice. Luckily, it is acceptable for me to make my own oatmeal and only join in on a portion of the Filipino offerings. The entire family gathers for chatter and morning news (in Tagalog or Cebuano). We share our intentions for the day then wish each other well.

Bathing became a new process. A bucket and dipper (liter-sized scoop) now replaced the expected shower I took for granted in the states. Although a longer process for rinsing shampoo and needing to extend my flexibility a bit, I felt as though I conserved more water with this method. I am fortunate to have a shower now, still with only cold water. But frankly, hot water is rarely appealing in a tropical climate. The initial cool shock wears off quickly and the relief is comforting.

Dressing takes on an all new thought process. I am not wondering what looks cute or what I have not worn in a while. My daily predicament lies in whether I wear a tank top under my shirt to help soak in the sweat or stay a bit cooler without. Copious amounts of sunscreen, Off lotion, deodorant and baby powder are all applied to combat the elements. I make sure to pack a handkerchief, not only for wiping sweat from my brow (neck, back, everywhere), but to also cover my mouth from the dust and exhaust in the city. Also, can’t forget to restock my ziplock holding toilet paper for more obvious things.

When I first arrived here, I could afford to have my clothes laundered for me but that is no longer the case. I’ve hand washed before, but not every item I wear. My day off begins with laundering my clothes by hand. I fill a basin with water and Tide, then squat down and the scrubbing begins. Rubbing the fabric together on the meaty part of my palm; knuckles becoming raw from the abrasive and persistent action. After making it through the load, covered in sweat and water, two rounds of rinsing commence. Towels, sheets, and jeans are a burden with which my temperament is tested. Heavy without hope of ridding all the suds.  Dry in the sun on a line or hanger; the fabric becomes stretched and faded. Our luxuries in America allow for ambivalence to the daily routines of much of the world.

My constant battle with new creatures never ceases to amaze me. Rather than be frightened, I am angered by their persistent need to access my snacks packed away in ziplock bags. Upon arriving, the little lizards running about my walls and ceiling were a little alarming until I found out they are eating mosquitoes! They are now my little friends, even when one startles me by dashing across the floor. I was bewildered by the unique croaking noise randomly presenting itself in the evening, only to find a gecko the size of my forearm clasping to the kitchen wall.  No threat, yet still surprising to see every time. I despise spiders, so I will never forget the eight-legged devil bigger than my hand creeping along my wall. Ants are a never-ending nuisance. One little cracker crumb on the floor, you soon have yourself a trail of ants leading to the prize. Smaller than at home, they crawl with ease in and out of my laptop and tickle my skin as I struggle to find their location on my body. I loathe what seems like daily killing of hundreds of ants roaming on my floor, wall, desk, and garbage.

My scuffle with a rat was a proud yet shameful feat. He was squeezing into a small drawer where I kept snacks and apparently a free feast for his selfish taste buds. After scaring him off twice, clearing the drawer, and re-hiding the food that was still intact, I laid in my bed still hearing the pitter patter of his feet on the wood floor. I had forgotten about a plastic bag with food in my suitcase. With flashlight in hand, I snuck up and opened the bag. Out he jumped, successfully ripping into every package. After a trip to the garbage and sanitizing my suitcase, the rat was gone…or so I thought. He decided to terrorize my host sister’s snack stash later that night. We improved out hiding schemes and the two day battle ended: rat-four, people-one.

This adjustment on the home front is enlightening and makes me appreciate the simplicity of daily living back in America. Tune in next time for more cultural sharing…jeepneys, trikes, oh me, oh my!