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A quick overnight to the relaxed western Cebu town of Moalboal last weekend. The 2 ½ ride to and from was my favorite part. Winding through the mountains forested with palm trees, only to wind the bend and see the clear, cerulean blue sea dotted with fishing boats. On the trip home, I plopped myself next to a thin older man with worn skin and calloused hands from a long life of work; missing teeth and a bit uneasy about the bumpy bus ride winding around sharp mountain bends. I settle in with a book and glance closer at what he is holding, a rooster. I should not be surprised, how else would one transport a single bird. At the next stop a group of men lured a large, closed basket full with 20-30 roosters onto the roof; quite the excitement and noise coming from fowl and passengers. Another rooster joined in the painful squackle. This time he resided in a tightly woven hand basket with only his feet peering through the corner. The bus rolled on. No sooner did I settle back into my book did I find the very rooster once in my bus-mates delicate grasp but he was now being passed over my head. An intense bargaining ensued with the bird being hand weighed and observed atop my head. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how normal this all felt. I stuck my nose back in my book with a grin.
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I came across a rather cross woman on a jeepney the other day. I took my headphones out just in time to hear her say how "arrogant and unfriendly," people are on jeeps. Without skipping a beat she began asking me the run-of-the-mill 4 or 5 questions with skepticism. I could barely finish saying, “Peace Corps volu…” and she immediately discredited me by saying I should be a missionary instead. Feeling disheartened for a moment I was lightened, as always, to see the perked eyes and held-back smiles of fellow passengers surprised to hear a foreigner speaking the dialect and living in, not just passing through, town. Their reactions reassured me that they did not agree with the preaching Chinese-Filipina, which says a lot being in a very Catholic country. The sermon continued with interrogation, not to just me, but fellow passengers. She began to speak negatively about “drug addicts” who had just departed the jeep and I should be fearful. She also said she could not fathom why I had left beautiful America. I responded calmly with a big smile saying, “I came here to work with people like those “drug addicts” and looked down upon poor. I am not fearful, I am cautious. I am here to do social work and help those in need. I see the good in everyone, even them” Although this was said in English, it was received. The other passengers passed me an imaginary high-five with their eyes and grins. The woman took my response well, with a hint of surprise and uncertainty. After a few moments of silence she offered a few of us candy. The jeepney rolled to the terminal and we all went separate ways.
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I thought I might come across another notable experience to include in this entry but the jeeps, trikes, and taxis have all been rather routine. Taxis to and from the airport, sometimes with a declaration from the driver wanting to be my uyab (boyfriend) following a flood of compliments. Hunched back and squished long legs in trikes and jeeps. I’m not sure what I will do with myself once returning to spacious transportation of the first world. At least these modes keep things interesting.
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