Scott and Erin Farver

Peace Corps Philippines

2010-11-07T12:20:00.001-08:00

You may have come across this page looking for information regarding US Peace Corps service in the Philippines. We are not updating this blog any more, but feel free to browse the archive for some looks into our daily adventures as Peace Corps volunteers. Teaching in the US hasn't given us much time to write in our blog, so we have decided to leave it be.

Enjoy whatever you find. If you have questions feel free to write an email to:

scott.farver at gmail dot com.

Thanks for browsing!

Team Farver

Ringing in 2010

2010-01-01T10:46:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

In recognition of all the "Best of..." lists that saturate us this time of year, Erin and I sat down last night and came up with a few lists of our own. First, a joint list of what we loved to remember from 2009. Then, each of us tried to come up with some of the best things that have happened to us in the past decade (if you haven't tried that yet, I would highly recommend it!).

Best Memories of 2009 for Team Farver
(in no particular order)
-Buying our first home
-Spring Break with the Feddi
-A visit from Scott's parents in August
-Higgins Lake, Michigan in June with family
-Getting Kaiser, our first dog
-Spending Christmas with Erin's mom
-Each of us deciding to loop with our respective classes
-The last day of school for our first full year of teaching
-American Idol dinners with Gallup friends
-The parties at Mel's (White Trash Bash, Celebrity)
-Balloon Rally 2k9 with Team Szcodronski
-Building the first part of our new fence
-Camping in McGaffey
-Cornstalk 2009

Erin's Best memories of the past decade
(in no particular order)
-Getting married (2005)
-Moving to California the first time (2004)
-Traveling in Asia (2008)
-European Family Trip (2004)
-Buying a home (2009)
-Getting Kaiser, our dog (2009)
-Alternative Break programs (during college, 2000-2004)
-Peace Corps (2006-2008)
-Becoming a Teacher (2008)
-Our family! (2000-2009)

Scott's Best memories of the past decade
(in no particular order)
-Getting married (2005)
-Moving to Bielefeld, Germany (2000)
-Living in Heidelberg, Germany (2001-2002)
-Almost everything about Peace Corps (2006-2008)
-Buying a house (2009)
-Summer Camp with Adam at QLS (2005)
-Mansville's European conquest (2002)
-Traveling Asia (2008)
-Teaching in the Dominican Republic (2004)
-Our Family! (2000-2009)

What a great year (and a great decade!)
Thanks to everyone who was a part of making our lives better.

Scott and Erin

Good Intentions and not much else...

2009-11-21T12:24:00.000-08:00

While we were living in the Philippines, I made it a point to write in my journal a few times every week. I also made a point to write some kind of digital update here on the blog--not just because of the tens of people interested in our lives, but so we would have some sort of record of the stories that happened.

Since finishing the Peace Corps and getting real jobs and entering real life, it seems we have time for neither journal nor updating our blog. So much has happened in the last 9 months (no, no baby), but lots of changes.

This will not be a post to recap all the things that have happened since last March (like going on a cruise with the fabulous Feddes',

Buying a house,

getting a puppy,

grieving the loss of Grandma Ruth, driving to Michigan and back, a visit from Family Farver,

both Erin and Scott moving up a grade with their respective classes...), merely an attempt to remind ourselves that we want to continue to post things here.
;-)
With a pledge towards more frequent postings
Scott

March is upon us

2009-03-01T10:11:00.000-08:00

Our last post was in December? Ridiculous.
I'm not sure if anyone even reads this anymore--if not, I still like to read old posts to refresh my memory of the things we've done. So if nothing else, this will serve that purpose in another year or so.

Life is good. We've had too many adventures since the last post to list in specific order so I'll make some quick statements as to the good, the bad and the ugly of the past 2 months.
-Flew home for Christmas, wonderful, snowy time with everyone
-Got to see all the grandparents during break; very fun
-Had 6 snow-days this year (we are allowed 3 without makeup...oops)
-Erin and I (and our friend Mel) received Infocus projectors for our classrooms after ROCKING a district training
-Our cats Martha Washington and Dolly Madison are fat and lazy
-Erin's foray into yoga on Monday nights rapidly developed into her skipping the actual yoga part and instead watching the Bachelor with her friends
-Scott watches the Bachelor now, too
-American Idol fever has struck Team Farver, with my hopes and dreams placed squarely on Danny's shoulders
-Scott and Erin, after nearly 3 years of no television, may be going overboard now
-Master's classes are laborious, but going more or less smoothly
-Erin met a couple at church from the Philippines. From our island (one of the 7,000+). From the major city nearest us (Iloilo City). Who went to college with Erin's closest friend and co-worker. How crazy is that?!
-On a sadder note, Scott discovered one of his students (a nine year old) is a cutter. He's doing better now with therapy, but disturbing nonetheless.
-Scott and Erin will be going on a cruise in April to celebrate their marriage. Apparently 2 years living on a tropical island in the Philippines doesn't count as a honeymoon. Scott has been notified that a cruise does, in fact, count (there's something to do with the ratio of drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. Still don't quite get it...) So, almost 4 years later, it is honeymoon time!
-Peace Corps Philippines most beloved couple, the Moutsos',(we fell to a disappointing third after a nasty incident involving Erin, the game Cranium and some terrible Cloodle drawings by her husband) visited on their move to California. Wonderful time.
-Peace Corps friend Keith came to visit and check out some of the schools in our area and the Fellowship program in hopes of moving here next year. He got sick towards the end of his visit, but still a rollicking good time was had.
-The Farvers had a fun visit from Laura, another Peace Corps friend, as well. We sent her home with a terrible cold. Excellent hosts. If you want to get sick, visit us!
-The Farvers are also amateur Spelunkers if anyone wants to Spelunk with us (can that be a verb?)

We are looking forward to March, when Mama Szcodronski will make an appearance on her way to San Diego, the winds are promised to whip us into a spring frenzy and the beginning of the fourth and final quarter of the year will come.
Wow!

Take care all!

Team Farver

Snowy Days

2008-12-17T12:33:00.000-08:00

Erin and I have become amateur meteorologists this past week. We are now quite apt at following high and low pressure systems and predicting weather based on barometric pressure fluctuations.
How, you may ask?
Let us back up a little. This week is the final week of the semester for our students and the last week before our winter break begins. We had to plan extensively for all the little projects, activities and tests which need to be squeezed in before school lets out for 2 weeks and our students forget everything from the first 2 quarters. In order to celebrate the happy thought of being finished with the first half of school, we attended a wonderful Christmas Soiree (gaudy attire a must) with much singing of videoke and making of merry. It was a wonderful way to spend a final Saturday eve in Good Ole Gallup with friends old and new.
Driving home from the party that night, however, the weather took a turn for the worse and it started snowing. Not just snowing, but BLOWING and snowing--real blizzard material. It was quite a mess. We only had to drive a few miles home, but it was slow going. Erin and I were surprised--we really had no idea how severe the weather could get down here in New Mexico. I know when I had thought of New Mexico before coming here, I had pictures of red plateaus roasting in the high desert sun while Wile E. Coyote chased Roadrunner all over. I've been a bit confused not having seen any Acme anvils, but the snow thing really threw me for a loop.
When we got home, Erin and I checked the Weather Channel and saw flashing red warnings, alerting us to severe weather in our area. Suddenly, we were not teachers or even adults anymore--at the sight of the severe weather alerts, Erin and I instantly turned into 8 year or kids hoping for a snow day on Monday. If memory serves me right, I believe there was dancing and chanting in the kitchen. All of the things we needed to accomplish before the end of the quarter vanished as thoughts of lounging in our PJs and watching cartoons all day danced in our heads. We went to bed on Saturday giddy at the prospect of a day off sometime the following week and awoke Sunday to a white-washed world of wonder. There was snow everywhere! No school! We came down hard from our high when we remembered it was only Sunday. All afternoon our meticulous planning went out the window. In its stead lay mountains of data to sift through. Weather reports flowed in from NOAA, TWC, Channel 13 Albuquerque and Facebook (needless to say there was not much weather information on Facebook, but we did spend quite some time there nonetheless). We compared expert predictions and added caveats of our own. "The Weather Channel says it should snow a half-inch by 4am on Monday, but I'm pretty sure we'll get no less than 8 feet."
Our predictions for a day of reprieve failed us as we awoke at 4am on Monday to no snow and no cancellations or even delays. We were down, but not beaten and weather was the topic of discussion in the teacher's lounge that noon. I meticulously discoursed on the precipitation percentage possibilities to my fellow teachers, careful not to use the "S" word for fear of jinxing any chance of a day off. As soon as we returned to Farver's Doppler 8 weather station after school, Erin and I were at it again--plotting potential storm courses online in hopes of being able to click and drag the menacing weather system to the southwest of us right over Gallup. We went to bed with high hopes, as Arizona was pinkish/blue on the radar and that meant precipitation coming our way--well, at least a 40% chance anyways.
I slept little Monday night, waking up every 20 minutes to peek outside or to call the school delay and closing hotline (505-721-2233). Finally at 5:30 we woke up for real and heard the beautiful voice of the random district official telling us of a 2 hour delay! His gruffy baritone resounded sweetly in our ears. We jumped for joy and the joyousness of the joy we felt joyfully going through us was magnificent. Even more so when we found out 25 minutes later there would be no school! Yippee! Back to bed! Snuggle with the cats! A day of no school! Our computer crashed (not because of the snow storm, but perhaps from overuse the night before in trying to predict the storminess) but we were invincible! Not even the 2nd mass loss of data in 2 months could put us in sour spirits. Besides, I had a whole day to fix it (which I did 1001010101101). We figured a Tuesday off of school was enough--we would be ready for school on Wednesday, but the snow that came never stopped and we awoke Wednesday to even higher drifts and not even the need for a delay--pure cancellation. Our mystery friend at the other end of the phone did not seem happy, but we were.
So we lounged, ate pizza, fixed computers and relished a 2 1/2 day work week when word of another storm came. Right now, the weather Wednesday night is not looking good and there is a possibility of lots of "S" and even another "S-day" (still don't want to jinx it). Bad news, we just found out, is that the district only has 3 snow days built in and anything over that needs to be made up at the end of the year. Bummer. I'm sure this won't seem as cool then, but it's sure great now. So great, in fact, I'm going to go watch some Ducktales with my wife right now.

Gallup Balloon Rally

2008-12-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

This past weekend was the annual balloon rally in town. Also, our good friend Lauren from Michigan came to visit. Lauren went to CMU with us and worked in the Volunteer Center. She taught in South Korea last year and came to visit us in the Philippines during one of her breaks. She picked a great weekend to visit this time! Our graduate classes were finished for the semester so we were not too busy to hang out, plus there were over 150 balloonists in town!

We had gotten some advice from a friend in town to go to the state park (where the balloons were to lift off) early in the morning, as many balloon pilots were in desperate need of volunteers to help them crew their balloons. We got up early, drove to the park and sure enough, within 3 minutes, a pilot shanghaied us and put us to work on his balloon. For lack of better words, it was very cool--made even cooler by the fact that Erin and Lauren got to go up for a beautiful 1 hour ride while I helped the chase crew track 'em down. It was such a beautiful day and we got some great shots.

We're going back to MI for Christmas and a much needed break. While school is going well for each of us, we both need some time to recover from the first semester of teaching and going to school.

Balloonists getting ready

Erin and Scott Working

Filling it up with hot air

Erin and Lauren up in the balloon

A view from up high

Awesomeness

2008-11-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

Teaching is going well so far. We both have really great days and really bad days. It's like Peace Corps all over again. Our kids continue to amaze us each day with their wit and wisdom.
Here are some pictures of the area around Gallup.

100%

2008-09-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

The weeks are moving quickly for us now. Tomorrow is parent-teacher conferences and in two weeks we will bask in the glory of a week of no school. None. Zero. No students. No lesson plans. We will be leaving Gallup (destination unknown) for a few days to get the crazies out of our heads. It will be grand.

I am not here to brag. That is not my intention. So before going any further, know that this is not the Scott Show. I do not want people ooh-ing and ahh-ing us. All I want to do is tell stories from our lives.

That being said, I have gotten a lot of 100%s on tests and quizzes in my life. Erin too. Truth be told, Erin has probably has gotten more than I have since she was a spectacular Summa Cum Laude in college while I squeaked by with merely a Magma Cum Laude. But alas, this is also not the Erin Extravaganza. After all the years of schooling and all the tests and quizzes and all the assignments, we've gotten quite a few 100%s. When asked how many exactly, Erin said, "probably a gigajillion" (the majority of these 100% were not in math for Ms. Farver). I would say more in the range of a googlepahihodillion, but we're really just splitting hairs. Suffice to say, we've gotten a lot.

With that being said, allow me to introduce you to one of my students. Her name is Beatrice (which isn't her real name. I don't even think there were any 'Beatrice's' born after 1922..). Beatrice is a struggling student in my class and is having a number of difficulties with fourth grade subject matter right now. Her reading level is about that of a first grader. Her writing, about the same. But Beatrice is a smiler. Regardless of how poor she does on an assignment, she is always smiling.

I set up a meeting with her mom and the Student Support Team (SST) the other day, and we tried as a group to come up with ways to help Beatrice be successful in the classroom. We came up with some ideas, and in doing so, found out she had received inclusion Special Education services at her previous school (one would think such information would be somewhat beneficial to receive before the start of school 7 weeks ago... ) so we started getting our paperwork around in order to develop a new Plan for Beatrice involving Special Education Services. Good news for sure. Bad news, however, is Beatrice cannot benefit from Special Education Services until we hold a special meeting with tons more paperwork, lawyers, parents, principals, teachers, psychologists, and probably partridges in pear trees. That will take place this week. She will get the services, albeit a bit later than what would have been best. But, I digress.

Beatrice participates, as do all my students, in the Accelerated Reader (AR) program at our school. In AR, students choose books at their individual reading levels, read them and then take a quiz about the content to see how well they understood the book. Our goal in my class is for everyone to get at least an 85% on each quiz. Most are at that level, with a handful higher and a few a little lower. However, Beatrice has taken 5 quizzes over the books she read so far this year and has gotten a grand total of 4 questions right. Since there were 5 questions on each quiz, 5 quizzes makes it a 4/25 or 16%, somewhat under our goal of 85%. However, Beatrice keeps smiling, apparently oblivious to her inability to understand what she has read. Until last week. Her smile got bigger, her eyes got brighter and though she was too shy to give me a celebratory 'Farver High-Five,' I could tell she was proud.

While Erin and I look for our gigajillion- or googlepahihodillion-th 100% sometime in the near future, Beatrice will be quietly looking for her 3rd. You see, last week, totally out of the blue, Beatrice's big smiling, bright eyed, no high-fiving self got back to back 100%s on her reading quizzes. 2 in a row. I was so proud of her. It did not matter that I had helped her read the quiz questions, because Beatrice answered the questions totally on her own. It also did not matter the books she had read were at a first grade level. Looking at all the hoops we have to get through in our first year as teachers is daunting. Seeing the performance of our students on state tests can be distressing. Watching the paper pile up higher each week can be down right depressing. But seeing Beatrice's face after those 100%s, well, for a moment I forgot about all the rest. I was happy. Even if she wouldn't get me a high five. It didn't necessarily erase all the doubt and anxiety I've felt these first few weeks, but it reminded me of why I wanted to do this, to be a teacher.
Congratulations Beatrice!

Teaching

2008-09-08T20:19:00.000-07:00

For one of our graduate classes, we're reading a book with a story about Josh, a middle school student who cuts himself, and the question is posed, “how can a student concentrate on English or algebra when he feels unloved at home and unsupported by his parents.“ I was thinking about this comment while I was washing dishes tonight, after having listened to some political heads on some news channel discussing potential policies of the presidential candidates as it relates to education. I began to wonder how much good that money is doing for kids like Josh and many kids in my class who feel unloved and unsupported at home. I wondered how different the results of these efforts would be if the government stopped giving money to traditional education programs. What if they took that money, those hundreds of googledillions of dollars (I am pretty sure a googledillion does not exist, but since millions and billions do not make sense to me because they are such ungraspable numbers, people may as well start saying “googledillions”—at least that sounds fun) and put them towards programs that worked at the root of our problem in education. Hunger, abuse, sickness, neglect. To me, it is not that kids are dumb or cannot learn, but that they have bigger things to worry about than studying for their spelling test on Friday. Be it broken families, broken hearts or broken bones, these struggling students are struggling because school is not their life; life is. What if those googledillions of dollars went to programs designed to help people get jobs or pay for health care or do any number of things to help take the pressure off of these struggling families and help these kids not worry so much about living and helped them live a little? I think they would be more able to learn.
I met with our new counselor the other day. She had just arrived at our school; she had been hired this summer, but a condition of her employment was she was not going to be able to start work until this past week. She seems nice and she has been counseling for a number of years. I had heard from another teacher about a program the previous counselor helped to run. This counselor would pack up backpacks of food for certain students to bring home for the weekend, since many of these children receive most of their food from the free breakfasts and lunch the school provides, and do not have much to eat over the weekend. The new counselor told me she was aware of this program, and then gave me a list of all the counselor-y things she has to do. Give whole class counseling presentations. Meet with SST students. Worry about attendance issues. It was an impressive list, I am sure, and she added a caveat at the end of her to do list that if she could find some time later in the month, most likely October, she may be able to contact the food pantry. Even so, it would be a lot of work for her to get the food and pack the bags. I offered my own services to do the bidding, along with my class, the fourth grade as a whole and our whole wing of the school. I feel this type of program goes to the root of all the problems we see at school. I became a teacher because I want to help kids. These kids are hungry, they live with people who have other worries besides signing notes and selling cupcakes on Thursday nights and they need to eat. I feel like my babbling on about rounding numbers to the nearest hundred thousand is pointless to a lot of my students. I may as well be teaching them to round to a googledillion. The next line in the book reiterates why I want to teach. It goes to the heart of why I want to be in the classroom. The author says that maybe the best thing for a teacher to do is to listen to her student, as she may be the only one he opens up to. I want to be there for my students. I want them to learn but really, I want them to feel loved and to be nine and ten years old. If that means we, as a school, work together to make sure they do not have to have adult worries, like what they are going to eat on the weekend, so be it.

Mrs. Farver is not just my mother any more..

2008-08-14T20:34:00.001-07:00

We are teachers. Ready or not, Erin and I are now officially 4 complete days into being the heads of our respective classrooms. Mr. Farver. Mrs. Farver. Not my parents, but us--grownups--teachers. We are not Peace Corps volunteers anymore. We cannot get by on a smile, a quick song and dance and our pale white skin. We have to have lesson plans. We have to show up every day. We have to have substance. Most importantly, we can't wear sandals every day. That may actually be the hardest part, getting used to wearing shoes day in and day out. My feet hurt. They smell bad, too.

Last Sunday night was nerve-racking. We both desperately wanted the school year to start, if for no other reason to not be nervous anymore, but at the same time we were totally and utterly unprepared to be in front of a class and wanted it to be Sunday night forever. However, we did it. We have survived 4 days and are poised to finish out the week strong. There is so much paperwork involved in being a teacher at our schools--their lack of meeting AYP and perennial low scores on every test imaginable has the schools, teachers and students having to jump through more hoops than I ever thought possible.
My kids are pretty sweet. I really like working with 9 year old children. At least so far. We'll see what the next 170 plus days bring.

There is a town in New Mexico named "Gallup"--Giddyup, that's where we now live!

2008-07-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

Erin and I now have dresser drawers and a closet. For most, not a spectacular achievement. However, for Team Farver, this is a monumental accomplishment. Since moving from California to Michigan in March 2006 and then joining the Peace Corps in the Philippines for 2 years later that month, to traveling Asia in May of 2008, to returning to Michigan in June and July of 2008, we have lived out of a constant stream of suitcases, boxes and backpacks. Don't get me wrong. We loved the experience of traveling and living abroad, and without sounding like a braggart, I am now very good at packing for multiple year jaunts in less than 2 bags. During that time, though, we never really had that sense of ever being unpacked. There was always stuff we had not unpacked. Even while living in Casa del Farver in historic San Jose de Buenavista, Antique, Philippines for 2 years, we still kept some of our stuff (sweatshirts and parkas we had mistakenly brought, not knowing the temperature in our new home would never drop below 187 degrees Fahrenheit) packed away under the bed. There was also a sense of foreboding as we knew our time there was going to be more or less temporary. We also had a number of boxes (approximately 5,382) of things necessary for living when we would eventually return to America (like 2 punch bowl sets, my trusty walkie talkies and a candelabra) tucked away in over half of my mother-in-law's house some 7000 miles away in northern Michigan. Well dear friends, that time of struggle is behind us. We don't have sweaters under our beds or punch bowls buried in a Michigan basement. We are back in America. We have moved and taken everything with us and we do not plan on moving again for some time. Our backpacks are empty, our dresser drawers and full and we just purchased some appliances. We are back. We are Americans again and we are loving it.
Since we got home, being American has been pretty cool. It's funny. Erin and I thought we were so 'worldly' when we were Peace Corps volunteers. We wore sandals everyday. We drank out of coconuts. We walked everywhere. We had a mosquito net (which was actually balled up next to the sweaters and parkas under our bed). We roughed it. We vowed never to be sucked back into the commercial America whose grip we had escaped for so long. We would go home and be different than everyone! We would live simply! We would shop at local co-ops! We would be models of change for everyone around us! This lasted about 2 days. Not only have we NOT resisted the pull of commercialism so prevalent in the good ole US of A, we have succumbed to it with a vigor unseen in any our previous life endeavors.
Erin and I both got accepted into a fellowship program for returned Peace Corps volunteers at Western New Mexico University. We will teach in high-need elementary schools while going to graduate school at the same time. Erin will be teaching 2nd grade and I will be teaching 4th grade at different schools in the small town of Gallup, New Mexico. We emptied Erin's mom's house of all our stuff (with a special box for my walkie-talkies), tossed everything in a U-haul, and lumbered southwest, just over the continental divide into the one, the only, Gallup. It has been an exciting few weeks. Now, instead of a hut on the beach, we have an adobe house on a hill. Instead of hand washing clothes, we have a Maytag machine to wash AND another one to dry. Instead of riding to school on a motorcycle with 12 of our neighbors, we have a made-in-Detroit 6 cylinder hunk of steel to take us places. No more Asian, pirated, DVD's, we have satellite TV. And to top it all off, we now have a freezer filled to the brim with ice cream and Eggos. In all honesty, there have been a number of times when it has been a bit overwhelming to be back Stateside. Part of me misses the simplicity of life as a Volunteer, but another part is glad for the change. While we loved our time away, it is nice to be American again. Plus, I really missed my walkie-talkies.

Everywhere around the world...they're coming to America!

2008-06-10T21:03:00.000-07:00

We are home. Well, we don't really have a home per se, but we are back in the wonderful country where my mother-in-law has a room in her house with boxes of our stuff, and being here is every bit as good as we thought it would be. The portions of food are huge, I can breathe the air outside and if I desire to go somewhere I can drive a car to that place. I can see what Neil Diamond was singing about.

The day after we arrived at my parents' home in Michigan Erin and I drove to a Target store to pick up some essentials (like shampoo, baby powder and home gardening supplies) and stood in awe at the entrance, totally enchanted by the huge scope of what lay before us and a little frightened to enter. It felt like we were not good enough to enter the Target chambers. It was bright and shiny and had aisles and aisles of things that we desperately desired but had absolutely no use for. I went to the bathroom (which was clean, had soap and hot water--amazing in itself!) then played with the drinking fountain for a few minutes while Erin gawked at the stylish clothes that were made in sizes she could relate to. It was quite a morning. We were definitely on sensory overload and loving every second of it. The employees must have thought us to be quite weird as we moseyed around the store touching all the clothes, ooohing and ahhhing over the board games and generally just smiling the big goofy grins one would expect us to have after 2 years of No Target Time.
It's good to be back.
:-)

Adieu...Adieu...to you and you and you!

2008-05-10T00:08:00.000-07:00

Well, April has come and gone and our Peace Corps service has come to an end. The last two years have been so crazy--we had so many wonderful experiences we hope will be etched in our minds for a long time to come, but will probably be forgotten sometime early next week and we have had some so not great times that we probably will never forget, no matter how hard we try. Such is life.

One of the wonderful experiences we had was our going away party. We were going to try to slip away quietly into the night but when our neighbors found out our intentions to slither away unnoticed, they quickly pulled together and helped us to throw a moderately huge party. We killed a pig, made approximately 24,382,385,103 pounds of food (just a rough estimate) and rented a videoke machine. In a word, it was 'ausgezeichnet.' Somehow, since we arrived at our site, we managed to acquire nearly 15 times the amount of things we initially arrived with, so we decided to have a Farver-farewell-free-for-all Raffle at our party, and everyone loved it. All of the people who attended the party (teachers, co-workers, neighbors, local village officials and most importantly, random tricycle drivers) put their name into a box. We assembled all of the prizes (or in other words, things not important enough to stuff into our overloaded bags but not worthless enough to throw away) and it was quite an array--shoes, shirts, sandals, movies, books, pens, stickers, shoes, sandals, shirts, flashlights and shoes were laid out for everyone to ogle over (yes, Erin got a lot of shoes since being here...). All the party-goers were clamoring over and claiming the coveted goods in hopes of their names being chosen first. I personally thought the shoes were kind of silly to offer as gifts to our guests, but they were the first things to go. The Farver-farewell-free-for-all Raffle was a huge success and everyone went home with bulging bellies sore throats and tired legs (we sang and danced A LOT). It was nice to have a bit of closing to our time there and it was great to see how many people loved us enough to come to our party (who am I kidding, people love roasted pig--I'm pretty sure there were some who came in, grabbed a plate and asked who the funny looking white people were).
A few days later we left our site for good. Our neighbors brought us and all our junk (luggage) to the bus terminal. We had a convoy of 1 van, 2 tricycles and a handful of bikes to see us off and it was quite the tearful goodbye. Except that when we arrived at the terminal, all 18 of us, the bus had not yet arrived so we stood around and waited, not quite ready to be sad, but not much to talk about at 8am in the blazing tropical sun. Only when the bus came did the tears flow, and so we hugged and kissed and waved and hopped on the bus and left our province of Antique.
Except we did not leave the Philippines yet. We still had medical clearance, close of service meetings, pre-English language camp training and an English language camp to attend to, so while it was sad to leave Antique, it really was not goodbye in the least. We still had a month of living out of our bags before we left the Philippines for a month of living out of our bags in other countries. Yay! There's not much sweeter than the smell of forgotten dirty clothes crammed into a backpack full of fresh, clean clothes. Mmmm.
In one sentence, here is what we did between leaving Antique and leaving the country.

We left for Iloilo then took a flight direct to Manila for Erin to help with training for the new batch of volunteers then flew with our friend Alice to swim with the whale sharks in the Bicol region, had a birthday (Scott), flew back for Close of Serice (COS) conference with all of our batch-mates, had our medical checkups, planned a 2 week English Conference for teachers from the Mindanao region, got walking Pneumonia (Erin),facilitated said camp, had a birthday (Erin), partially recovered from walking Pneumonia (Erin), returned to Manila, said goodbye to our volunteer friends, boarded a cab then a bus then a plane and flew out of the Philippines, destination, Malaysia.
Phew
Erin says the whaleshark trip deserves an extra sentence because it was so awesome.
Here goes:
Swimming with the whalesharks was possibly the coolest thing we have done in the Philippines.
There.
Actually, each event could warrant its own blog entry, and were I not so forgetful and tired in April, you would have already read all about them. Being as I have an incredibly short attention span, I can not imagine other people wanting to read mundane details that happened a jillion miles away last month, so we'll just tell all 3 of you who actually read this all about our April adventures when you pick us up from the airport (Mom, Mom and Dad).

Right now we are in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (the cool people call it KL, so, of course, being as I never sat at the cool table, I will continue to call it Kuala Lumpur). We leave tomorrow for Cambodia to explore the Angkor Wat Temples. We return to the good ole' U S of A on May 27 and are looking forward to seeing everyone we love and then stuffing our faces with ice cream, cheese and steak, preferably all at the same time.
Thank you for your support during our Peace Corps service!
Love,
Scott and Erin

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

2008-03-31T21:57:00.000-07:00

I saw one of the most pristine and impressive sights my eyes have beheld here in my 2 years in the Philippines the other day. Before going any further, the enormity of this initial statement should be weighed appropriately. To say that one thing that I have seen is above and beyond anything else during my experience as a Volunteer is a pretty bold statement, and one that took careful thought and consideration before finally writing it. We live in a pretty impressive location and see impressive sights every day; our front porch overlooks the cobalt waters of the Sulu Sea while our rear bedroom window frames an expanse of rugged hills surrounded by glaringly green rice paddies. In my time here I have been able to dive on reefs seemingly created in stunning Technicolor and unspoiled by human destruction due to the fact they were literally in the middle of nowhere. I have hiked on the precipitous edges of towering rice terraces carved into the side of mountains. Nearly every night brings an impressive performance by the sun as She dawdles in the sky and then swiftly dips into the far reaches of the horizon, causing the sky to explode into millions of hues of red. I have had my share of impressive sights, so it is a big deal for me to say I had witnessed something that was more spectacular than all the rest.

I stood there slack-jawed and reverent in the midst of its beauty— the sheer number of objects was striking enough, but the colors—oh, the amazing colors—they were truly impressive! They were so vivid. So remarkable. My eyes roamed back and forth across its expanse, hungrily drinking in the beauty. It was something I wanted to relish and save in my memory banks for a long time. Erin was stunned speechless (itself an impressive feat) and I was merely able to mumble a weak “wow” as we just stood and enjoyed looking at it and being in its presence.

The cereal aisle at the Iloilo City Supermarket is really nothing compared to its cousins across the pond in Walmart, Safeway or the perennial Michigander one-stop-favorite, Meijer, but we liked what saw. We liked it a lot. It did not stretch as far as the eye could see, but it stretched far enough for us. The choices of yummy grainy breakfast foods at our site is limited to 2 or 3 varieties of stale, generic flakes of corn or crisped rice puffs. There are not even any cartoon characters on the boxes. How am I supposed to excited about cereal without any furry, funny or freaky character pedaling his or her wares?! For cereal aficionados like Erin and I, this lack of cereal has been a rather difficult time of adjustment for us. Our whole morning routine was thrown out of whack, not to mention the before-bed-bowl we were so keen to enjoy in the States. Erin and I have overcome a lot here; in the past 2 years, we were able, for the most part, to somehow negotiate around and through the complexities of the obscure dialect used in our rural province and string together various useful sentences such as “Where today go you really?” and “Taste good skin of goat.” We were also able to adjust to wearing jeans in stifling heat, being stared at, pointed at and laughed at every single day and sleeping amidst the cacophony created by the legion of roosters, cows and videoke machines that love to signal the arrival of 5 a.m. However, living without acres of cuddly characters celebrating their tasty wares of first-meal-is-the-most-important-meal-of-the-day-goodness, well…that has proved to be a little bit more trying. Seeing more than 2 varieties of cereal was, well, nice. Actually, I believe the correct pronunciation would be ‘niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.’

The initial awe was intense, but fleeting. At first we just looked and enjoyed our status as observers of this supermarket splendor, but then, somewhat suddenly, we both shook out of our awe and realized that these precious boxes were not just for looking at, they were designed to be purchased. They were made to be owned, however briefly, and consumed. Eaten. Gobbled. Scoffed. Munched. Not the boxes, the cereal (though sometimes we may have chosen to eat cardboard instead of some of the dishes we have been served here). Our gazes became more intense and our focus shifted from mere admirer to ravenous American Consumer. Erin ran down one side of the aisle and I trotted next to her. We shouted out names of long lost favorites back and forth to each other, giddy in our new find. They sounded foreign to our unaccustomed ears, but familiar all the same. Many of our conversations with other volunteers revolve around favorite foods. It was as if I was in 7th grade again talking with my friends about all the girls I thought were beautiful but were out of my league, and then finding myself face to face with all of them eager to go with me. “MMM…Honey Nut Cheerios!” “ Frosted Flakes! From Kellogs!” We were giddy and continued shouting out the names to each other. They rang so beautifully in our ears.

At last, out of breath, our smiles stretched to exhaustion, we found ourselves in front of Barney Rubble and his box of Cocoa Pebbles. From Post. Imported, but not stale (we made sure to check the expiration date at least 4 times). Most importantly, Family Sized. When we have had the inkling for generic made-in-Indonesia corn flakes, we found each box holds approximately only 1.6 bowls of cereal. Tiny bowls. Not even bowlfuls, really, more like spoonfuls. This has proven to be problematic for us, since the bowls we received at our wedding and had used in the States were roughly the size of our Crock Pot. We would each regularly put away 2-3 bowls (nay, barrels) of cereal in one sitting (did I mention we were a little, umm, overweight when we lived in the US?). To see a sinfully sweet cereal was joyous enough, but that it was Family Size was pure ecstasy. We could enjoy it for more than 5 chews! We snatched it from the shelf and ooohed and ahhed over the weight of so much cereal, quickly helped Barney find his Pebbles through the maze on the back and read the nutritional facts on the side (in case you are not familiar with Cocoa Pebbles, there are, in fact, no nutritional value to eating that crunchy chocolaty goodness). The price was almost equal to a weeks worth of food (about 5 USD) but we were ready to throw caution to the wind and our wallets out the window. While you Can’t Buy Me Love, Happiness does have a price, and it is 220 Pesos.

Now, this experience may seem a bit trite to some of our friends and family in the US. I can picture you now reading this and thinking, “Of all the things in that tropical paradise, cereal is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen?! Stupid hippie.”
I want to make clear that would not be an accurate statement. Nothing could be further from the truth. I do not, in fact, have long hair anymore and should not be labeled a hippie. That being cleared up, we would happily exchange a few of our palm trees for a couple of good boxes of cereal. Maybe some granola or muesli. I realize this is a bit ludicrous as well; I am not sure how I would even begin to bring a palm tree to the post office. In truth, though, I am familiar with Joni Mitchell’s (and more recently Counting Crow’s) inspiring words that, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” and I do not want to glaze over our experiences these past 2 years by seriously stating that we would rather have cereal than sunsets, reefs or palm trees. I know that as soon as we get back to the States and are walking down the endless miles of cereal aisles we will soon get tired of (and fat from) the thousands of choices available to us and will wish we were back here lounging in a hammock by the sea. But for now, we will cherish what we had, which was really the best of both worlds. We got a chance to eat yummy cereal on our porch watching a sunset amidst the palm trees, which was pretty great (even if it meant we could not afford to eat for the next 4 days). It was a perfect mix of both the familiar amenities of home with the wondrous surroundings of the Philippines. Now that we are packing up and ready to move on, I am realizing that, even though I miss some of the conveniences of home, I am going to miss the beauty and simplicity which exists here. If only I could figure out how to get some palm trees back to Michigan…

Moving On...

2008-03-16T19:47:00.000-07:00

The NGO Erin works for, Save the Children, has recently decided they will re-concentrate their resources from our region to the Mindanao region of the country--it's in the far south and due in part to its proximity to Indonesia, it's distance from Manila, a Muslim majority being ruled by a Christian minority, and many other factors, there has been a lot of violence in that part of the country in the past few years. Resources are in constant demand and the problems are real and pressing. The children of Mindanao really do need Save's help. Some places in that region are particularly dangerous for westerners to go to, and we are not allowed by our organization to even visit that region. Save the Children's projects in and around our region have become self-sustaining and now they are redirecting their efforts where they are perhaps more immediately needed. While this is great news for all of the children in Mindanao and we whole-heartedly agree with Save's move, this also means that Erin's counterparts will no longer be working in our province. There was a "Moving On" ceremony last weekend for the workers who will be, well, 'moving on' in their lives, and Erin was included in the ceremony as our remaining time here begins to run short. It was a wonderful occasion to be able to hear all of the accomplishments of the people and the organization over the past 26 years of operating in our region. Smiles beamed and tears flowed together during the beautiful ceremony as people reminisced and said their goodbyes. Some of the staff made a video collage of all of Erin's work over the past 2 years. As a proud husband, it truly made me misty-eyed to see all of the work Erin has done in the last 2 years. I know the video may be long, but it's worth the wait to watch it and to see a little of what Erin and Save the Children have done for the children of our region in the past 2 years.

Library Pictures

2008-03-05T02:00:00.000-08:00

In case your attention span is anything like Erin's (approximately .0432 seconds) and you can't wait for the video from the last post to load, here are some pictures of the library for you to enjoy.
Thank you again to everyone who supported us in this project!

The Library before the big opening

The other side of the library

The kids listening to the stories Erin and I recorded

Some teachers and I celebrating both my haircut and the Library opening

Reading is awesome!

It's Finished!

2008-03-01T01:57:00.000-08:00

The library project we started waaaaay back last October is finished. It was blessed and opened on February 28 during the Special Education Center's celebration of it's founding three years ago.
I haven't been posting pictures of the progress so that everyone would be surprised when they finally saw them. The kids love it so far and the books are being lovingly used every day. It feels great to be done.
The original video is higher quality but very large and it takes a long time to download. This video is smaller, but the quality is not as good..
Hope you enjoy it though!

Thank you to everyone who supported our community during this project!

Not sure what to write..

2008-02-23T03:01:00.000-08:00

Blah. I feel like we need to update this page because I get bored with it not having anything new on it. I had a whole article (is that what these things are called?) written about how daunting our impact as individuals is for us as Volunteers, but upon re-reading it, it seemed too melodramatic and contrived. Not that I’m not daunted (can that word be used in the past tense?) by the idea of everyone around me scrutinizing my every word or movement, I just couldn’t get my feeling down on paper (or keyboard, I guess) without sounding like a jaded hypocrite.
So I started writing about how our library is opening at school and how tiring it’s been the last few weeks preparing everything, but that just sounded whiny. Just what people want to hear is how tired I am. Right. I'll write more about the library after it's done.
Then I was going to write about how one of our friends from college who is teaching in Korea came over and visited us and how great it was to see our community through her eyes, but it was one of those things where you just had to be there. Great fun for us, but probably not much fun for anyone who would read it.
I’ve got really long hair right now and am struggling with whether to get a hair cut or to continue the facade that I am a hippie Peace Corps Volunteer. I thought for about 2 seconds that I would write about that. Oh, the drama.
Erin and I are awaiting word on our post-Peace Corps life. We’re not sure where we’re going to end up, so I can’t really write about that yet, either.
I think that people think that our life is exotic and exciting and I know that I think sometimes that it’s not. I thought there was nothing exiting about what we were doing. Every once in a while I forget about the magic that is living here and every once in a while when I forget about the magic that is living here, something happens to remind me of it. For example:

I was riding a tricycle home last night from an awarding ceremony in a nearby town with my supervisor and principal at around dusk. They were sitting in the front and I was in the back. Usually when I travel between towns, I’m contorted inside of a Jeepney, my head forced to tilt at a 70 degree angle with no real view of the outside world passing by. In my tricycle last night, the view was unobstructed and my head fit comfortably under the roof. As we were traveling back to our town, I found myself in awe of my surroundings. Everything seemed so beautiful, it was as if I was a tourist visiting for the first time. The rice fields glimmered under the setting sun and the mountains in the distance, while not Himalayan in size, took on an impressive stance just the same. Carabao were being led in from the field, people were busily cooking food at roadside stands, and the air, which had been baked by the 100+ degree heat of the day, felt unbelievably refreshing as we slowly sliced our way through it. My busy-ness of the past few weeks had made me forget that I live on a tropical island in Asia. It made me forget how different that is to the life I was leading in California or Michigan. So I smiled, clicked a few pictures, and tried to imprint the scene in my memory.

Kasadyahan and Dinagyang 2008

2008-02-01T23:17:00.000-08:00

Festival Season continues. . .
This time it was the Dinagyang Festival in Iloilo City, which looks A LOT like the Ati-Atihan Festival in Kalibo, only this time, Erin is in the parade! Save the Children marched (not only marched, but performed a choreographed dance routine over and over again for nearly 5 hours straight while marching 4 kilometers in 100 degree temperatures)in the Kasadyahan Parade along with many other community groups, businesses and tribal dancers. Save the Children joined in the festivities as an advocacy activity to promote maternal and child health. Let's just say we lined up at 5:30am and the parade finally wrapped up around 1:30pm. What a day! Yes, we really had a choreographed dance routine and matching neon green and white clothes. The TV cameras loved our group because we had 3 foreign volunteers marching among our ranks. Of course, being my camera shy self, I danced like crazy and hammed it right up for the crowd. It was a great day for a great cause.

Naira, Tita Norms, Naomi(Australian volunteer, also with Save the Children, but in a different city) and Erin showing our enthusiasm for maternal health and Dinagyang.

Check out those moves!

Healthy Mothers! Healthy Families!

Erin, Naomi and Star already posing for the camera at 6am

The main highlight of the Dinagyang is the tribal street dancing competition on the last day of the festival. Twenty different tribes (or performing High School/Community groups) from the island of Panay perform an elaborate dance routine at 4 different judging stations around the city. It is a sight to behold and one of my favorite traditions in the Philippines

And finally, no party is complete without chicken on a stick!

Ati Atihan 2008

2008-01-20T17:07:00.000-08:00

Festival season is upon us! (Although really all year long seems like festival season in the Philippines) We kicked off the season with a bang at the Ati-Atihan Festival on the northern part of our island, Panay. Ati-Atihan is the most popular festival in the Philippines, famous for three days of constant parades and street dancing at all hours of the day or night. Celebrants of all ages paint their faces with black soot and wear bright, outlandish costumes and just dance, dance, dance! The Ati-Atihan, is a feast in honor of the Santo Niño, and you can see Santo Niño statues in people's arms all around the city dressed up just as outlandishly as the people holding it. Shouts of, "Viva kay Senor Santo Nino! Viva!" can be heard over the pounding drums. We had a great time and were happy to join in the dancing, drumming, and drinking that this religious celebration has become.

An update in photos

2008-01-16T16:47:00.001-08:00

Our new house in San Jose...have we mentioned we moved? Well, we did and it's wonderful!

The fishing beach in front of our house

Houses along our beach

Erin with our two-day old godson, Chris Frances or "Chicoy"

Our very good friend, Clarence, or "Tata"

Holiday Pictures continued. . . .

2008-01-16T16:21:00.000-08:00

In a Cave on Bohol

A Christmas Eve Tarsier

What a great way to spend Christmas!

In front of our hotel, New Years Eve on Boracay

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Beautiful Boracay

What a wonderful trip!

We're so happy! Thanks Mom.

The Night Before Christmas...

2008-01-08T02:16:00.000-08:00

'Twas the night before Christmas
In our place by the sea
We were ready to celebrate
Erin, Karen and Me

We wore sandals and flip-flops
Not boots, gloves or skis
Swimsuits and towels
and a tan if you please

A tropical Christmas
A world far away
Our 12/24
Had been quite a day

We'd packed in the jeep
Buckled in for a ride
And listened to Eugene--
Our wonderful guide

"Look over there,
Tarsiers--they're so small!
And the Chocolate Hills
Have no cocoa at all"

We walked through a house
Where the butterflies meet
Saw a big giant snake
Who thought Scott was to eat

Next on the list was
A river lunch cruise
Then back to the jeep--
We had more to peruse

Some statues, a church
A hanging bridge, too
(it thought it'd be funny
to keep Erin's shoe!)

We zoomed zigged and zagged
Back to our abode
"Dinner at 7"
Was what we were told

The food was spectacular!
The colors divine!
I had second helpings
of Leroy the swine

After our feast
Some kids danced a jig
(and I snuck another
plateful of pig)

We had presents to open
Rip! Slash! and Tear!
Thanks to Aunt Sharon
I got new underwear!

We smiled a lot
We Aggh'd and we Ooo'd
(Most of our presents were
American Food)

The next day for Christmas
There were dolphins to see
Which was all well and good
But we got up early

4:30 was nigh
Awake, I was not
But the thought of whale watching
Helped motivate Scott

The snorkel went with
The camera, too
I wanted to share
Our whale watching with you

Alas Christmas morn
Our camera was new
The dolphins would jump
What should I do?

I looked and I clicked
but all I could make
Was not pictures of Dolphins--
Only their wake

All was not lost though
The coral was pretty
So we all donned a snorkel
To see Nemo's city

Then back to the beach
Some lunch and some sun
No White Christmas for us
But we had lots of fun

The 25th came,
And the 25th went
But we all agreed
A Christmas well spent

A Christmas abroad
Erin, Karen and I
Though we'll be ready next year
For the snowflakes to fly.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Learning How to Eat Rice...

2007-12-11T06:45:00.000-08:00

My plate was piled high with all of the necessary items which could be found at every party—various forms of chicken, beef, pork, goat (yes, goat), vegetables in mystery sauces, blood soup (made from a not-so-delightful mixture of pig intestines and blood) and of course, rice. There is always rice. Every meal. Every day. Rice. We had been in the country for over a year at this point. We had eaten a lot of rice. I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the deep fried and fatty assortment of meat and bones that a party such as this inevitably produces, but my palate, for lack of much variation in the food choices the past year, had adjusted to the cuisine. It’s not that the food is bad per se—it’s just not, memorable I guess.

As I stood there rapidly shoveling the blood soup down the hatch so I wouldn’t have to taste it, another partygoer wandered over to me. I almost knew what he was going to say before it came out of his mouth. I’d heard it so many times since being here. He looked at my plate, looked at me then looked at my plate again, shaking his head and smiling in apparent disbelief. It seemed as if he had never seen anything as spectacular as the scene in front of him. His smile grew bigger. He looked as if he was happier than he had ever been before in his whole life.

“So…” he said, not able to hold back the huge grin on his face. “You’ve learned already how to eat rice?”

Maybe for him, this was a perfectly logical question. He must have thought immediately of our physical differences. My shaggy, blond hair, mixed with my blue eyes and pale white skin on 6 feet of American-ness stood in stark contrast to his 5 foot-nothing frame, dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. We were dissimilar in so many ways. I had arrived from inner-city Oakland to this remote, rural province in the Visayan region of the Philippines. From here, it was a 20 hour boat ride to Manila, but it may as well have been 2 million hours. Many of the people from our province, especially those who lived in the mountainous interior, had not ventured very far out of their hometown, let alone to an urban center. Racial diversity was non-existent. The spectacle of a tall, light-haired, fair-skinned foreigner was probably too much for most to handle. And if that foreigner was eating rice…even more bizarre.

“You are, ahhh…learning how to eat rice?” he asked again, doubtless confident that the pile of small, cooked white grains were totally foreign substances to this gangly ‘Kano.’
In my head, I contemplated various answers to his question that I would love to give, but would never think of actually uttering aloud.

“Rice? Am I eating Rice? Is THAT what this is??”
or
“Yes. It is hard for me to learn how to eat rice. It must take years to master. How do you do it?”
or
“No, you idiot! We have rice in the US, too! The whole world eats rice! Are you a freaking moron? Get out of here!”

I held back on the sarcasm and rudeness and grinned that big, goofy grin that I give every time I’m asked this question. I grin a lot.

Then I thought a second longer about my answer. Should I use this time to gently correct him? One of the 3 goals of Peace Corps is to help foster understanding of American culture to the Host Country Nationals with whom we work. I should tell him, “Yes sir, we do have rice in the United States. Yes, I’ve eaten rice before. No, we don’t eat it every meal. No, we don’t eat it every day.”

But then I realized, what if he wasn’t asking me if I was literally learning how to eat rice. Maybe his question was filled with deeper meaning, masked only by his broken grasp of English. Maybe his real question was more like this:

“Since moving here to the Philippines and finding our culture embraces the virtues of rice at every meal, and since you, in your culture, do not have the same eating habits as we do, are you adjusting well to the changes you have to make in order to properly fit into our culture, not just in dining but in daily life altogether?”

I couldn’t be sure of his real intent. What was he asking? Am I learning to eat or am I learning to adjust? Was he really that shrewd?

So not sure of his intent, I merely continued to grin, shrugged my shoulders and patted his arm.

“Yes sir. I am still learning.”

He smiled an all-knowing smile at me, either confident in his pre(mis)conception that I had never before touched rice in my life, or that I was still struggling to adapt to a culture in which I had suddenly found myself immersed.

Either way, he shook his head, apparently satisfied by my answer, and walked away. In my head, he would have this story to tell his friends and family for years to come:

“You should have seen him—tall as a house and white as a ghost with blue daggers for eyes. And you know what? He was eating rice. Rice!! Do you believe it? I swear, I saw it with my own eyes. Just like us Filipinos! He wasn’t doing it very well, mind you, but he was trying.”

And so my story goes.

I may not have been doing it very well, but I was trying.

Long December...

2007-12-06T04:26:00.000-08:00

"A long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last..."
--"Long December" by Counting Crows

Actually, it's been a short December--one that is sure to disappear quickly from our view due to busyness this month. The song is pretty sad and melancholy (I'm not exactly sure what 'melancholy' means, but it seems an appropriate label for this tune), but my good friend Kevin, who was assigned a few hours away from us here and has since completed his service and returned home, would often text me those lyrics whenever he was having a tough day (or vice versa). However, these past few weeks have actually been pretty good, so if 'next year is better than the last', that would be tremendous.
:-)

An update for anyone who is wondering "What is going on with the library?"
Well, it's coming along. Slowly. But. Surely. We've almost raised all of the community counterpart funds. Students have worked fervently during their lunch period and after school to move nearly all of the old books and shelves out of the room. If only our camera hadn't decided that she didn't want to do Peace Corps with us anymore, I would show you pictures. While she's being repaired, let us now imagine a totally empty room with pristine white paint and windows that look out over a sparkling blue ocean. Now for this image to be accurate, scatter a whole bunch of books on the floor still waiting to be moved out, peel some paint off the walls from faded posters that surely were plastered there with super glue, taking huge gobs of paint with it when they were removed, block the view of the ocean with some decrepit buildings and cover it all with a layer of dust half and inch thick and that is what we have right now. It's very exciting! We plan to start repainting sometime next week and would love to have the flooring done before Christmas break. One thing may be difficult, though. It's December. Not much gets done in schools in December.

One of the many activities that that helps limit the amount of substantial academic (or library renovating) progress in December is Speechfest. It's a, well, festival of English in spoken (and written) form. Speechfest competed with various sports tryouts, academic competitions, cultural contests, party planning, party attending and--lest we forget, class--for the students attention so far in December. Yes, it is December 6. Yes, all of these things are going on simultaneously. Except for class that is...
Speechfest was an impressive array of competitions. It was the District Level Speechfest, which comes after the School Level, which helped to limit progress in November. Speechfest consisted of Storytelling, Character Interpretation, On the Spot Poetry and Essay Writing and finally, a Spelling Contest. Our school, the SPED Center, with its proliferation of FL (Fast Learner) Students, won every category at the District Level. It was a little embarrassing to win every award, but it amazed me how much brighter the FL students are compared to the "regular" students. There's a socio-economic factor in there for sure, but I'm too tired to extrapolate on that topic tonight (wait..did I just use 'extrapolate' in a sentence?? Goodness, I don't think I know what that means either. Silly thesaurus...)
The whole point of this isn't to brag about some of the amazing students that go to my school or to reason as to why they perform at abnormally high levels in comparison to their peers, but to describe the Spelling Contest.

Spelling Contests (or 'Bees'), in my mind, are amazing displays of adolescent nerds performing at their best in front of large audiences. Why do you think I love them so much? It makes me nostalgic for my pre-pubescent youth. Big glasses, squeaky voices, side spiked hair and "antediluvian" (the winning word for the 1994 Scripts Howard Spelling Bee won by Ned Andrews. I was 14 that year. Sadly, I still wouldn't be able to spell it). Ahh, academia...
So our American image of a Spelling Bee (thanks in large part to ESPN2 and their coverage of the live action) involves these nerds, standing on stage, asking for alternate definitions, roots of words, and use in a sentence before they spell "serrefine" (2007's winning word by Evan M. O’Dorney). The Spelling contest here is a bit different.

First off, nobody stands. Everyone is sitting at their desks. At the District Speechfest, 54 students qualified for the Spelling contest. All 54 had a desk in the large auditorium. The students need their desks because they do not spell the words out loud, but rather on a piece of paper. This is how the process goes--
There are 3 levels--Easy, Average and, of course, Difficult. Each round consists of 5 words that are randomly drawn from an envelope corresponding to the appropriate level. The Quizmaster (how much did I want that job after I first heard the title...) reminds everyone to hold their markers aloft, reads the word, gives a definition of the word, uses the word in a sentence, says the word again and then says "Go". The students have 10 seconds to write the word legibly on a strip of paper with their corresponding number on it. After 10 seconds, a bell is rang, the Quizmaster gives the correct spelling of the word, and the students either cheer or bemoan their written interpretation of the given word. Correct spelling of a word in the Easy category receive 1 point, Average 2 points and Difficult 3 points. Proctors collect the strips of paper from the students and read whether that student was correct or not. For example, "Number 1, wrong, Number 2, wrong, Number 3, wrong" and so on and so forth until number 54. The first word of the contest was "mete"--as in "to distribute or allot". Every single contestant spelled it "meet". It was a little depressing hearing every number between 1 and 54 be wrong, but at least their were 5 different proctors so there was a different voice every once in a while.
The whole time the proctors are bellowing the results of the students best efforts, another proctor is meticulously recording the points on a chalkboard for everyone to see. It's an interesting process to watch, this Spelling Contest. The furious writing, the proctors granting points or no points (much like the Caesar in 'Gladiator' with his thumbs up or thumbs down), the disturbing number of 0's that appeared on the board and of course the Quizmaster. Out of a possible 30 points, the winning student (who hails from our school) scored.......drum roll please....12 points. She was followed closely by 2 other students (also from our school) who topped out at 9 points. I was excited that our students had won but sad that 0 was the most popular score. Many students from some of the far flung barangay schools, who had to win their Spelling Contest to qualify for the District Contest, spelled 0 out of 15 words correct. Mete. Depot. Fateful. Truth be told, though, 54 students did correctly spell 'faithful' while trying to spell 'fateful'. The Department of Education is pushing the teaching of English very hard right now. Science, Math and English are all supposed to be taught in English, which is hard when most teachers don't have a good grasp on English. (Extrapolation on that subject to come later as well...)

Maybe scores would have been higher if I had been Quizmaster...

sdf

Awesomegiving

2007-11-27T15:17:00.000-08:00

A weekend of Friends, Food, Fun and of course, Fatness (actually, ‘Gluttony,’ but that doesn’t start with an ‘F’). This past Thanksgiving (henceforth to be referred to as ‘Awesomegiving’) was a huge success.

Getting There
Regardless of what others may say, Erin and I weren’t really in charge of Awesomegiving this year. It wasn’t at our house, but since we have the mighty force of the Internet at our disposal, we took it upon ourselves to relay important information to the rest of the volunteers who were attending. Our original plan after Thanksgibbons last year (we miss you Kevin Gibbons by the way!) was to have this year’s Awesomegiving at our house. Better stated, our previous house. That house had a private beach for roasting any number of our gobbling friends, lots of room for turkey-stuffed volunteers to sprawl out in, and perhaps most important of all, an oven—intricate in the development of our favorite addition to any holiday festivities, pies. Sadly, since we’ve moved, those amenities are not available to us anymore. If we had celebrated Awesomegiving at our new house we would have had to fight with hundreds of fishing boats for roasting space on the beach, many volunteers would have had no covered space in which to sprawl and our tiny toaster oven most likely would have left us with a black hulk of damaged dough instead of pies. We couldn’t imagine 25 volunteers with a pie-crazed look in their eyes. It’s too scary to imagine. Fortunately, our good friend Ian knew about a place that could take care of all our wildest dreams and more. We rented a house (nay, a Mansion…yes, with a capital ‘M’) that gave us a private beach, an oven, many rooms (which happened to have AIR CONDITIONING and HOT WATER) as well as a Videoke machine. It was perfect. We leapt at the chance to celebrate Awesomegiving in our rented Mansion.

One of the biggest challenges of Awesomegiving was that no one could find turkeys. Last year it wasn’t much of a problem, but this year, we figured they must have gone into hiding. Word must have leaked out in the Turkey community that Americans were in the area looking for proper Awesomegiving essentials. We had spread the word to all of our friends, co-workers and even random people on the street that we were on the look-out for the elusive Awesomegivingus Hugeus Birdus. Our landlord’s brother (who is also our neighbor) was getting a new alternator for his van the week before Awesomegiving when he saw some baby turkeys running around the shop. I’m not sure why baby turkeys were running around an auto shop. They weren’t even old enough to drive. Anyways, he knew we were Turkey hunting and asked if there were any bigger Turkeys lurking anywhere. There were. He saw. He liked. He called. We went. We saw. We liked. We bought. We were very happy. Two 8+ kilogram birds hiding out on a Turkey farm. Who would’ve known to look there?!

We picked the birds up on our way to the Mansion, intending to place them in boxes and bring them with us on a bus (the fact that sentence sounds normal should indicate how much we have changed since arriving here). The first bird went in without any questions or worries. I think he was excited to see the Mansion. Apparently the second bird had received some form of information about what was to happen to him and his friend at the Mansion, and he was determined to make a break for it. Fortunately he broke the cardboard bonds that were holding him before we left the farm. (I say ‘fortunately’ because the only thing worse than the thought of my trying to catch a loose turkey and putting him back in a box is…wait…I can’t think of anything that could possibly be worse. That is my nightmare. My fear of fowl runs deep—a well tossed stone a number of years back on the shores of Lake Michigan at a gull’s head that resulted in his death has made me wary of all birds and their impending retribution. But I digress.) The turkey worked his way out, but after catching the loose turkey (the Farmer, not the Farver) and putting him back in the box, an overly generous amount of duct tape and string was applied as our protection against any further escape attempts. Our journey on the bus was as uneventful as riding a bus with live birds in boxes should be. We transferred the birds to a tricycle (I wish our camera wasn’t kaput so you could see this sequence of events...) and a few minutes later we arrived at the Mansion with 2 boxed birds and 3 boxes crammed with miscellaneous Awesomegiving paraphernalia, pots and possible prizes (pending playing of plenty of party games).

Lord of the Ring and Bratwurst, too
The night before Awesomegiving we celebrated the wonderful holiday of Lots-Of-Americans-Who-Get-Together-And-Grill-And-Eat-Real-Bratwursts Day. It’s a wonderful (as well as self-describing) holiday. Erin prepared and baked yummy fruit pies and everyone talked about how awesome Awesomegiving was going to be. That evening, we celebrated Lots-Of-Americans-Who-Get-Together-And-Grill-And-Eat-Real-Bratwursts Day by doing just that. It was wonderful. Real brats. Real mustard. I wish this holiday was celebrated more often here.

Awesomegiving Day itself was a flurry of activity. Some of the less-girly men of our group woke up early, killed and prepared the Turkeys on the beach before the sun even knew what was going on. Others (mainly the women and I) stayed in the kitchen and prepared the other necessary items for a successful Awesomegiving. Our list of items includes Baked Macaroni, Green Bean Casserole, Squash Soup, Mixed Veggies, Cranberries, Stuffing, Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Gravy, 3 Pumpkin Pies, 2 Apple Pies, 1 Cherry and 1 Blueberry Pie, Biscuits, freshly baked breads, Brownies and 4 Slow-Roasted-on-the-Beach-Turkeys. The cooking was amazingly laid back as we timed everything with German precision. Our experience of last year’s Thanksgibbons (where we had 1 knife and a kitchen built for 2) prepared us to be, well, better prepared. The atmosphere was so relaxed that I even had a chance to go play some football in the ocean.

Some of Ian’s friends from college were visiting (they had provided the beverages for Lots-Of-Americans-Who-Get-Together-And-Grill-And-Eat-Real-Bratwursts Day) and someone else had brought a real, honest-to-goodness American Football. I haven’t thrown a real, honest-to-goodness American Football for a while, so I excitedly scampered into the water to toss around the pigskin. Since I hadn’t killed any Turkeys that day, I needed to do something to raise my testosterone level to appropriate levels. We tossed, we joked, it was great. Just like Thanksgiving at home, except in an ocean. Everything was going well. That seems to be when something goes wrong. At least for me. After one particular botched catch attempt I looked down at my hands and saw, well, nothing. Not just no football, but nothing. For single men, this shouldn’t be a problem. However, I am married, and this was cause for considerable concern. My wedding band had decided it didn’t want to play football any more. I wish it would have told me. I would have gladly gone back inside. Instead, it must have jumped off of my finger while I was chest deep in the water. I immediately froze and tried to scan the bottom. It was pretty clear. I could see the thousands of rocks that littered the ground with little effort. Thousands of perfect places for a perturbed ring to go and hide in. Ian, in his infinite wisdom, had brought his mask and snorkel, so he donned it and proceeded to slowly circle the area that we had been playing in. We joked about how cool it would be when we found it—it would be just like Lord of the Rings. He looked, I looked, other people took turns swimming around the area, but the Ring did not want to be found again. His freedom was apparently more important than my commitment to my wife, because after an hour of intense searching, he did not show up again. It was like Lord of the Rings except we didn’t find the Ring. For what it’s worth, Erin thought it was kind of funny that I was the one who lost his ring, since I have been worried for over 20 months that she would lose her wedding band. No worries, we’re still married; I just don’t have the ring to prove it anymore.

Dinner was spectacular to say the least. We ate at around 4 in the afternoon after I forced everyone to gather in a circle and tell what they were thankful for. Actually, most people were very eager to share what they were thankful for. Many of us were thankful for the tight bond that exists among the group of us assigned to this particular region of the country. I really appreciate the people that I’ve met here. They have been the ones I’ve worked with, played with, griped with and celebrated with since we arrived in country some 20 months ago. Although we celebrated a wonderful Awesomegiving together, it will be nice to celebrate next year with our family at home.

A picture of Erin and our Awesomegiving spread

The Long Walk Home

2007-11-16T05:23:00.000-08:00

For those who don’t know, we’ve moved. Our old house was in an area of ill repute, and Peace Corps thought that it would be better for all parties involved if we were to move. It was hard for us—the house was beautiful. Facing the ocean we could cook dinner and watch the sunset every night if we wanted. We also had privacy, something that can be rare in a country that stresses family, community and interdependence. However, we didn’t really have many friends in the community over the age of 12 and it was a long commute into town. To make a long story short, we moved closer to town into a house that is part of a “compound.” The compound is actually just 4 houses that a few brothers own and live in with their families. It’s a brother of one of my close friends and co-teachers at school.

It’s great here!

We have our own space if we need to get away from the world for a while, but at the same time, we are part of a wonderful community of families that enjoy hanging out with us and looking out for us. It’s still on the beach but it’s closer to town. We are happy living here.

Now…There are three ways you can get to our house from my school. The first is to hire a private tricycle (a motorcycle with a covered sidecar) and fork out 15 Pesos for about an 8 minute ride. We really only take a private tricycle if we’re in a hurry or if we want to get home quickly. Wait, that’s the same thing. We also take one if we don’t want to have 3 people sitting on our lap. It’s a luxury that we can afford once in a while not to be squished. Another way is to get home from my school is to walk to the terminal where the tricycles gather. This is usually the way I go home. Getting to the terminal is a journey in itself. Not in distance, but rather in fortitude. Usually between 40-60 tricycles gather at the terminal, each having its own distinct color indicating the barangay it is traveling to. It’s pretty loud at the terminal. Not jet-blast loud, but loud enough to not be comfortable. The constant clamor of revving 4 stroke engines is matched by the chatter of people waiting for their tricycle to fill up (they won’t leave until there are 8 people who are willing to shell out 5 Pesos each for the privilege of cramming themselves into a vehicle designed to hold 4 comfortably). There are also the ubiquitous vendors chanting out the necessity of purchasing their particular products. Peanuts, bread, barbecue, banana-que, various forms of sticky and sweet rice, water, juice, fruit, and for the more courageous, balut, that delicacy of hard boiled, embryonic duck egg that has yet to tickle my palate. The balut vendors are my favorite because their calls of “Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalut!” are followed by the squawk of a bicycle horn. I guess the vendors aren’t really my favorite. Just the horn. And just sometimes. Other times I want to shove the horn down their throat and punch them in the stomach to make it toot. I wish I knew how to type the sound it makes. The best I can do is to compare it to the Honkers from Sesame Street.

Click here to hear the sound I mean

http://freesound.iua.upf.edu/samplesViewSingle.php?id=27882

After rigorous training I now can weave through the ruckus with a lowered head and a quick first step and can find my particular tricycle rather quickly. Most of the time between entering the terminal and finding my tricycle I only get shouted at, pointed at, laughed at and made fun of for whatever reason about 643 times. On a Good Day I can ignore it. On a Not So Good Day I utter expletives not fit for a blog my Grandma reads.

The guys that drive our tricycles all know us (our alien whiteness and gargantuan height tend to make us stick out) and love to chat before the tricycle leaves. So far I’ve explained to them how I can’t have a Filipino wife because I’m married (“Yes you can, just have a few other wives on the side”), tried to convey that we want to wait until after Peace Corps to have children (“Well you should have one that is ‘Made in the Philippines.’”) and doled out personal financial information as requested (“How much do you make? How much do you pay in rent? How much did your bike cost? How much is a ticket to the US? Will you buy me a ticket to the US?”). On a Good Day I enjoy the fact that these guys know my name. On a Not So Good Day I just want to be shoved into the tricycle with everyone else and be driven past the shouts of onlookers. Either way I save 10 Pesos (about $0.20).

Yesterday, I walked home. I’ll make it known right off the bat that I don’t do this every day. I had to mentally prepare myself for a good 3 hours before setting off for home. It’s probably a less than 2km (a little over a mile). It took me almost an hour. It was quite an experience. To get to the ‘goal’ of home (I had to make the walk like a game, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it), I have to walk through two communities before I reach our barangay. The road is, for the most part, unpaved and strewn with potholes. Where there are strips of pavement, speed bumps reward tall passengers of fast moving tricycle drivers with a bruised head. The street hugs the shoreline and the houses, food stands and people literally spill onto it. At around 4:30, when I was on my way home, the thing for everyone to do was to hang out and watch me. I actually think a memo was passed out to all residents along my intended route for them to come out at the appropriate time and just watch. The path is long and straight, and my bobbing blond hair could be seen from quite a ways away.

I know we’ve written this before, but I believe it needs reiteration. The first phrase we learned in Kinaray-a was “Di-in kaw ma’agto, haw?” (Where are you going, really?). Even if I’m not walking, I hear that about 2,340 times between school and home. That’s about once every 3 feet. The proper response, “Ma-uli rin lang takon” (I’m just going home), brings about a smile and a nod from the Inquisitor (notice the capital “I” in “Inquisitor.” Like the Spanish Inquisition. It can be that rough sometimes). On a Not So Good Day, I tell them out loud where I’m going while in my head I tell them where they should go. I think the familiarity of knowing where it is I’m going makes them happy. Sometimes I just tell people that I walk past that I’m going home, even if they didn’t ask and sometimes if they’re not even looking at me (wait…that has never happened once here. Everyone is always looking at me).

For the people who don’t know where I’m going or where I’m coming from, I tell them. I work at school. Yes, I’m a teacher there. Yes, I’m married. No, not to a Filipina. No, we don’t have children yet. Yes, I live over there in that barangay (which I point to with my lips). Usually, that satisfies most people, and I tromp off towards the next cluster of eager eyes of all ages, awaiting news as to the exact destination of my current journey. Surprisingly my destination doesn’t change in the 5 feet I cover to get to them. In the course of my walk yesterday I chatted with some boys taking their pigeons to the beach (after giving them a polite yet firm reminder that my name is, indeed, ‘Scott’ and not ‘Hey ‘Kano (Ameri-kano…get it?...clever, eh?) or how they like to pronounce it
‘HEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY KAAANNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO’), learned that one of the grilled banana sellers lost in the recent local elections, got invited to drink coconut wine with a group of men who had been at it fervently for at least 10 hours (I politely declined), got dance lessons from a man who had drunk too much coconut wine in the past 10 hours (I think he may have been waiting for me to return after he saw me leave for school at 7 a.m.) and had ice cream with a barbecue vendor (it was her brother-in-laws birthday), whom I love and adore because she knows my name and uses it when she addresses me. Then I got home.

I don’t have the gumption to do that everyday. On one hand it’s nice to be in a community and to get to know the people here. On the other hand, I am only 1 and they are multiplying at a disturbingly rapid pace (Erin’s work in Reproductive Health may help to stem that…). Obviously there are more of them than there are of me and I can only take so much. Some days are harder than others and I just want to get home and grouse and complain to Erin. I don’t want to put the effort into walking and chatting with everyone. But I do love our new community. I’m so glad that we moved. And I’m glad that I walked home yesterday.
:-)

I rode a tricycle home today, in case you wondered.
:-)
sdf

Me and Headlamp

2007-11-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

If you own a headlamp you know the primal power you posses when you wear it and turn it on. If you’ve never experienced the power of a headlamp, this may not make sense to you. Actually, according to Erin, even if you do own one, you may never have felt like this. To tell the truth, I’m pretty sure that no one else in the world but me does things like this…

Now right off the bat, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the manliest of men. I’m not a girly man (like my baseball coach loved to call me) but I’m not a manly man, either. I’ve watched Hugh Grant movies and like to drink tea and I don’t mind putting the seat down on the toilet after I’m done with my business. For some reason though, I don’t thrive on doing the stereotypical manly things that I imagine most manly men must do (not being a manly man myself, all I can do is imagine what manly men do...wait...not that I spend time thinking about other men all the time...not that that's bad or anything...) For instance, I can’t seem to go on long jaunts into the woods with my buddies, tracking vicious animals that threaten man’s very existence (such as the ever-dangerous Michigan White-Tailed deer…). I just can't. I’ve tried wearing camouflage and hunter’s orange, but I couldn’t really pull off either color very well. I’d rather drive a compact, fuel-efficient car across the country than a Bigfoot wannabe through the fields or woods. Though I enjoy spending time with my buddies throwing back beers (or in my case, sipping hard lemonade) and watching the Big Game, the only reason I watched the Super Bowl last year was because I wanted to spend a weekend in an air-conditioned hotel room with a hot shower and cable. Plus the commercials are nifty to watch.

This being said, I was just finishing eating dinner with my wife the other night when the power went out, a not uncommon occurrence here in the Philippines. We calmly went around lighting candles and unplugging important appliances so they wouldn’t get electrocuted when the inevitable power surge brought our power back to us. Pursuant to clause 3, section B, subsection 14 of our totally informal and unofficial marital agreement (notarized in 36 US States and 14 foreign countries as well as Guam and Puerto Rico), Erin cooks and I clean the dishes. Since she had cooked our dinner, I was under obligation to wash the dishes. However, candles just weren’t giving off enough light and we were out of kerosene for our lamp. Knowing light had to be produced so that dishes could be washed, I moseyed over to our bookshelf and nonchalantly grabbed our trusty Headlamp. As I held the small device in my hands, I could feel the energy flowing from its 3 AAA batteries to the depths of my soul. I slowly slipped the weather-beaten elastic band over my head and knew that something in me would change—it always did, but I could never stop myself. With the band slung snuggly against my forehead I slowly raised my head, as if recently knighted by King Arthur himself and pushed the “on” button. Bright, LED light flooded my field of vision. Quickly, I turned my head and of course, the beam followed. The wonders of a Headlamp—it follows the path of ones head, leaving hands free to do work…the work of a man. Headlamp had freed me from the dark. Like a trusty steed, Headlamp nudged me on. We had some major work to.…some major manly work.
Suddenly instead of washing dishes, I wanted to kill animals. Big animals, small animals, it didn’t matter. Our cat, seeing the new fresh fire in my eyes, smartly ran away. She had seen this transformation before and knew no good could come of it. What else did I need? TVs. I needed TVs. Not one, many. Enough TVs to be able to watch all the major sports leagues with nifty 3 letter acronyms at once and at least one extra TV in case the demolition derby came on replay on cable access channel 3. Headlamp and I needed a truck, too. A big truck. A big truck with big tires. A big loud truck with big, big tires. One that could run over any wussy hybrid while hauling an array of off-road vehicles and deafening small children with the roar of its diesel in the process. Headlamp made me forget that I needed to wash dishes. Wash dishes? Mere women’s work! Not the work of a man—especially not the work of a man with a Headlamp. No, there was surely a piece of metal outside that needed welding whispered Headlamp in my ear. I needed to hammer something, skin something, bash something. I needed to do something manly. I needed to work out. Yes! Work out! Headlamp and I would get chiseled and buff and manly. I tore off my shirt and Headlamp shone on the floor as I effortlessly pumped out 3 whole pushups. I ground out a fourth and ended my grueling workout, quickly looking for other manly tasks that Headlamp and I needed to accomplish. Thank you, O Headlamp! Thank you for showing me my inner man! I never knew it existed! Buried deep within, my manhood merely needed unlocking with the click of a button. No more talking about emotions! No more reading books recommended by Oprah! No more!…

Then, the inevitable happened. With a Click, Pop and a Buzz, it was bright all around me, not just in my field of vision. Headlamp’s light was not the only light I saw. The lights in our house began to blaze; our temporary power outage was over. My shoulders slumped as my manliness swiftly slipped away. Erin was already waiting for the transformation. She stood there, the cat at her feet watching me closely, hand outstretched, waiting for Headlamp and I to go our separate ways. I reluctantly dropped it in her hands and sulked back to the sink where my real work waited for me. I washed the dishes (making sure to get the pots and pats sparkling clean while not getting dishpan hands) and thought about the silly things Headlamp made me want to do. I mean, really, I’m fine with who I am. Maybe I am a wussy man. Maybe my coach was right and I am a girly man. I’m ok being a non-hunting, eco-friendly guy who likes candles and reading. At least that's what I tell myself while I wash dishes or fold clothes or condition my hair. Truth be told though, I am secretly looking forward to the next power outage. I can’t wait to hang out with Headlamp again.

2007-10-26T21:39:00.000-07:00

Overwhelmed. That is what I am feeling right now. Not in a bad way, not at all. I'm overwhelmed by the support that our friends and family (basically people who are reading this right now...so most likely, YOU!) have given us for the library renovation project at our school. The funds have been totally raised! If you go to the Peace Corps website linked in the last post, you will not find our project proposal because it is completely funded from the American side.
Awesome!

Thank you so much for your generosity. Because of a mix of holidays and semester break here, we will not be able to proceed with the project for another week or two, but we are beginning the initial stages of preparation. The teachers are excited to begin.

If you were able to donate, thank you very much. If you were willing, but unable to donate, thank you as well.

If anyone is still interested in donating books you can email me at scott.farver@gmail.com for more information.

We will continue to update as the project progresses.
Thanks again!!
Scott and Erin

2007-10-15T18:19:00.001-07:00

I'm very excited right now. I just found out that the proposal I was working on with my counterpart here has been approved!
"Proposal?" you ask. "What proposal?"
Well, let me tell you about it.

To make a very long story short, we have a library at our school that is not currently functioning because--
a....there is no full time librarian at the school
b...many books are not suited to elementary school students
and
c...the library is not an inviting place for young students.

Many organizations from the US and other countries have made generous donations to the library over the years. The books were given with the best intentions, I'm sure, but here are some examples of what has been donated:

-California Driver's Education textbook, copyright 1978
-Architecture Today (45 copies), 700+ pages
-World Economics, copyright 1966
-Modern Science, copyright 1964 ('...There are plans to one day land on the moon!')

Our goal at the school was to put good, relevant children's books into the hands of the students. Many new donors have done just that, generously giving over 1000 children's books that the students are excited to read. Many of these new books are favorites of mine, including:

-Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day
-Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus
-There's a Monster at the End of This Book
-over 25 Magic Tree House books

...just to name a few. One of the 5th graders volunteering right now in the library is striving to read all of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books that we received.

So we have books (though we are always on the lookout for more!), but the library still is not very inviting for the students. It's dark, the tables are big and most students can't reach books on the higher shelves.

This is where our proposal comes into play. Our project is to renovate the current library to make it more accessible to the students. We're going to install a new tile floor, paint the room brighter, add mural, have new lighting installed, put fans in so it doesn't get 323489734 degrees (Celsius--around 108 Fahrenheit I think) and build new bookshelves that kids can reach.

The main idea of the Partnership Program is basically to allow friends and family of Peace Corps Volunteers to help partner up with community members in the volunteer's host country to complete a project. Every PCPP project has to have a counterpart by the community involved. In our case, the school is willing to counterpart around 33 percent of the total cost of the renovation. This counterpart allows them to have a stake in the project and gives them ownership of it.

This is from the Peace Corps website explaining about the PCPP:
"You can support Peace Corps projects all around the world by donating through the Peace Corps Partnership Program. All donations are tax deductible and 100% of your contribution goes to the project you select."

If anyone is willing to donate to our project they can go to the link below.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/donors/contribute/regioncontrib.cfm?region=asia&

If you're feeling especially generous, remember, there are programs and projects like this going on with other Peace Corps Volunteers all over the world. This link is just for projects in Asia--there are loads of other projects that can be partnered with as well--everything from water pump installation in remote villages to running sports or theater camps to building or renovating libraries.
:-)

Again, like the website says, all money donated is 100% tax deductible, and the community receives every cent that you donate for it's project.

It's probably easiest to donate online, but if you're not comfortable with that you can write a check or there is also a toll-free number you can call.

800.424.8580 ext. 2170

Please don't feel that you need to donate a large amount, either. Every dollar literally counts.

Also, if you or someone you know is interested in donating books to the library, please email me

scott.farver@gmail.com

Thanks for any help! We're excited to get this project going!

Scott

Our Library before the book donations

Some of our Library Volunteers helping sort the books we received

Another shot of the current library

Cataloging and sorting the books

2007-09-30T19:50:00.001-07:00

One reason I am here is the beautiful students at the special education center where I work.

Here are some of them--

2007-09-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

Why am I here?
I joined Peace Corps for many reasons--some that I can roll around in my head and pop out as words and other reasons that continue to dance around the mulberry bush of my mind, refusing to be relegated to exact words. One of the reasons I joined that can be squeezed and extracted into syllables and words is because I wanted to get away from the materialism and selfishness that I so easily fell into in the United States. Constantly thinking about products and things and brand names. I wanted to get away from that and do something pure--something that would release me from the bonds of American consumerism, obesity and overall obsession with ownership. I wanted to help others in the process. I wanted to do away with me and focus on everyone else.

The irony
All of this has been floating around in my head as we've been in Manila these past 3 weeks, wading in and out of various doctor's offices on medical hold. Along the way to these appointments I see the vast discrepancy between the upper, refined echelon of society and the ragged lower part. In the province where we live, the differences are not so extreme--community is the way of life. Children run from house to house, rice is shared and fishermen help one another mend nets or patch boats while farmers help plow, plant and harvest fields. Everyone, for the most part, is on the same plane--with a few exceptions riding past the flock in their fancy cars and gracefully gliding into the their multi-storied, gated homes. I was pondering these differences and realizing how akin he situation here is to America--hustle bustle for yourself in the big cities, tighter knit communities in the country.
On my way to drop off laundry yesterday, I walked past 3 of the finest hotels the country has to offer--the Pan Pacific, the Diamond and the Hyatt. A stay at any of them would mean a minimum of $150 (US) per night (as opposed to around $18 a night for the room we have in the pension). Impressive to say the least. As I looked up in wonder at the sparkling structures with their formidable view of Manila, I have to weave my way between begging mothers and their children. Clothes are few and far between on the children, as teeth are for the mothers. In Manila, I don't mind dropping various coins or food items in outstretched, malnourished hands. However, my pace is usually quick. I'm uncomfortable walking here. Tagalog is foreign to my tongue and comes off in broken pieces--fragments of "Here you go" or "You're welcome" or all perhaps more often, "Not today, I'm sorry." Eye contact varies according to how guilty I feel.
I wanted to help. I wanted to make a difference in the world. I wanted western materialism behind me. These thoughts echo and bounce in my head with every stride. They weigh on my back, hindering my quick steps past the begging children and their mothers. I walk quicker, the echoes reverberate louder. Help. Others. Away. Materialism. Maybe those thoughts and words are not on my back--maybe they are cradled in my left hand like a precious treasure. All of my thoughts about motives for joining Peace Corps and poverty and helping others and economic disparity and small precious hands reaching out--they are all silenced by the incredibly loud sound made by the coffee dancing around in the telltale white Starbucks cup, clutched greedily in my hand.
I am pathetic. The ideals I claim to possess are much harder for me to swallow than a white mocha cappuccino.
So the question continues to beg answering
I'm afraid. I still don't know.
Why am I here?
Can I really get away from the monster of myself?

2007-09-02T20:59:00.000-07:00

Happy Anniversary to us!
Yes, it has been 2 whole years of marriage. Some words to describe them:
wonderful, fun, exciting, scary, arduous, difficult, happy, hard, beautiful, easy.
Some of the memorable things we've done in the past two years:

-got married at Frog Pond Village :-)
-danced and danced and danced at Frog Pond Village
-played Bocce Ball at a rest stop in South Dakota
-visited Badlands National Park
-visited Windcave National Park
-stayed at Lake Tahoe
-walked across the Golden Gate Bridge
-drove from Michigan to California (and back)
-played glow in the dark Frisbee at night in Michigan with Rachel
-visited Alcatraz with Karen and Joe
-ate at Mongolian BBQ with Hanna and Adam
-ate the biggest ice cream sundae ever with John, Dan and Sam
-shopped our butts off in Chinatown with Donna and Sara
-had late night chats at home with Dan
-ate ice cream with Grandpa and Grandma Fleischmann
-ate pie with Grandma Farver
-toured SVSU with Steve
-played with Mac and Jake in Colorado
-stayed at Hotel de Aunt Michelle in Colorado
-played Scrabble with Grandma Crittenden
-visited and chatted with Grandma Skid
-went to church in Armada
-moved to the Philippines
-lived on the beach
-learned another language
-ate goat intestines
-hiked in a rain forest
-hiked through rice terraces with Karen
-adopted 2 cats
-learned how to shuffle and play cards (Erin)
-learned how to scuba dive (Scott)
-read over 180 books (Scott and Erin)
-played Dirty Clubs with Kevin (and Lance)
-roasted turkeys on the beach for Thanksgiving
-got amoebas and roundworms
-lived with 2 wonderful Filipino families
-met wonderful Filipinos friends
-watched sunsets from our porch
-slept in our hammock
-played Complicated Charades of Death and Made Up Game with our awesome fellow volunteers from the Visayas (and beyond)

Thanks to everyone who has contributed to these and all of our other terrific memories the past 2 years. (Feel free to add any we may have forgotten...)
:-)

2007-08-31T20:56:00.000-07:00

Swirling, whirling, twirling and blurring, the days of the past 2 weeks have managed to twist themselves together and mesh into one giant blob of gooey memory. Everything started innocently enough, with Erin and I bidding adieu to our lovely little life in rural Philippines to visit the big bad city of Manila for our mandatory medical and dental check up. We plodded our way through trike and van and plane and taxi until we made it to the Peace Corps approved pensionne, where we holed up with our fellow volunteers awaiting our turn to be poked and prodded by the powers that be. That part was actually pretty fun, as we got a chance to tell tall tales with our friends from different regions who we had not seen since our last mandatory Manila meeting. I was lucky enough to bring along a small traveling friend with me to my check-up, a roundworm, who somehow migrated into my intestines, most likely through my contact with someone else who had contact with, well, poop. Sadly, after taking 1 pill, my friend was nevermore and I left him somewhere in the Manila sewer system. After getting approving nods from our doctors and dentists, we all managed to find our way to a local resort where we had our Mid Service Training (MST), which was a rather useful assortment of volunteers sharing experiences (good, bad and ugly), local resource people giving advice for future projects (again, good, bad and ugly), and evenings off to relax and laugh and burn off steam with our volunteer friends. It was well designed and totally useful to some of the projects that Erin and I have planned for the next 9 months or so. Amidst the clatter of seminar-speak we managed to frolic in the wave pool, go duck-pin bowling (where we served as our own "pin monkeys", setting up and retrieving both balls and pins for one another) and, for those who chose to participate, showed off the various mustaches that we had brought for the unofficial Mustache Bash 2007 Celebration (though some would dub it a competition...). In the end, fun was had by all and we returned to the middle of Manila to finish up medical appointments that had not been completed. I was the proud recipient of 2 moles, freshly removed from my back by a skilled dermatologist, as well as a rectal probe, which, while not refreshing in any way, shape or form, proved that nothing dangerous lurked in my nether-regions. Erin, however, was not so lucky. Though she did not experience the joy that is a tube in the butt, the dentist told her that she needs to have a wisdom tooth (or 2) taken out. While dentists and Peace Corps medical staff in Manila and Washington have been conferring as to the details, Erin and I have been dutifully waiting the process out at the aforementioned pensionne (which, by the way, serves up a rather delightful club sandwich, complete with tuna, bacon and cucumber for a rather reasonable 80 Pesos) with other misfits who are on medical hold. Fortunately, Erin's appointment for extraction is next Tuesday, however, she will not be able to fly until at least Thursday, which means we will continue to bide our time here for another week. We decided to take the opportunity presented to us and make lemonade, however, and have been busily researching various graduate programs for our post-Peace Corps life while concurrently learning the ins and outs of Metro Manila with our other sick friends. Misery loves company, so we jokingly rejoice when someone returns from an appointment with word that they have to stay in town for another appointment in a few days, which guarantees us pleasant company for at least a spell longer.
A haiku, if you will

Manila, you stink
Busy, crowded, unfriendly
But, Taco Bell? Yum.

Scott

2007-07-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

Up and down, the roller coaster ride that is Peace Corps continues. From the intense highs of this past summer to the lows of this past month, I'm sure that our experiences here mirror those of anyone's 'normal' life back in the states--the extremes, I think, are merely more accentuated by being here in a place so far removed from home and from everything familiar. I don't want this to be a depressing rant or for people to think that we are having a horrible time--I just wanted those of you who care enough to read to know what is really going on in our lives. With that, story time. We explain in our own words.

Scott
"Once upon a time there was a young prince name Ttocs, married to a beautiful young princess, Nire. Ttocs and Nire lived in a far away land--a magical land of beauty and bounty surrounded by lush jungles and expansive seas, the land called 'Senippilihp.' Though Prince Ttocs and Princess Nire did not rule the kingdom of Senippilihp, their light complexion and long noses combined with their relative giant-like height was highly regarded by the Senippilihp-an people. Ttocs and Nire loved their life in Senippilihp--simple comfort and friendly people. Life was good for the couple.
Now, Prince Ttocs was thought to possess magical powers by some, as he had, not ever since living in Senippilihp, succommed to the evil diseases that continuously stalked the land. So it was with great surprise when Princess Nire found Ttocs in bed one morning with a head boiling like fresh, hot magma. Nire mixed some potions and tended to Ttocs with the loving care she was known for far and wide. Ttocs beat back the evil disease and was whole again, only to by knocked down by it again a week later. Ttocs was prepared for this battle, though, and fought back valiantly on his own, as his love was away on a royal mission of sorts with the fair maiden Hteb, who had come from afar to visit the couple. The disease was vanquished this time, but was wily and cunning and after a fortnight (that's two weeks to the fairy tale rookies out there) attacked yet again, rendering Ttocs utterly useless. Nire knew her kindness could only work so well against the disease and this time, communicated with healing entities from the enchanted city of Alinam, who instructed the prince and princess to proceed directly to the nearby city of Olioli. The pair fought in Olioli, together with the healers, for 3 days and 3 nights, but the mysterious disease would not reveal itself through any form of trickery or coercion. The healers of Olioli knew not what was wrong with young Ttocs, for it seemed as if the disease had retreated yet again. Ttocs and Nire returned home, dejected and exhausted at having been fooled yet again by the stealthy and cunning disease. Ttocs suggested the disease may have come from Ninjas visiting in the night, buy nay, with a wave of her hand, Nire dismissed the notion. They returned to their own abode by the sea for rest and recuperation.
As the pair arrived to their home, they were greeted enthusiastically by their two vicious yet gentle guardian cats, who protected the dwelling day and night--or so Ttocs thought. Ykcir and Ybbob, the cats of glory, had, alas, failed the prince and princess. To their dismay, Ttocs and Nire found they had had a visitor of ill repute while away--perhaps the ninja that Ttocs had suspected earlier? Whoever it had been, instead of leaving disease of any sort to confound Ttocs, they chose instead to take what was not theirs--a memory box, nay, a magical memory box, capable of oh so many wondrous things. It had stored written memories and picture memories inside its sleek, black body of plastic, and had allowed the royal pair to communicate, not through owl or looking glass, but rather through an even more lovely medium--Tenretni--to their friends and family far away. The local sheriff was summoned immediately, but could find no evidence to point to the guilty party. The prince and princess were saddened even more--they had recorded all of these memories onto another magical box, this one of happily humming silver--and this box, too was missing. The sheriff promised that the evil henchmen who did this dastardly deed would be apprehended, but Ttocs and Nire were not comforted. Alas, 'twas not the loss of memory in black and silver boxes that troubled them--No, that loss was difficult, but not lethal for them. What crippled young Ttocs and Nire was that someone from Senippilihp, from their own neighborhood perhaps, had taken the pairs' gestures of kindness of living in this wonderful land and ground them into the earth with their heel with this horrible act.
As Ttocs and Nire explored the nearby village in the days that followed, Ttocs, who earlier was known for being able to only see good in people, could now only make out the darkness in every heart that passed. Every smile seemed to him a fraud, every hand seemed guilty of taking not just boxed up memories, but his deep-seeded belief that all were good. Ttocs was saddened by his change of heart.
The Prince and Princess would not, however, let this unfortunate turn of events bring them down and defeat them. Nay, they were more powerful than that. The two would rise again and they would see this as this work, not of many, but of few. Ttocs' heart softened to those around him and his dim mood began, ever so slowly, to brighten. Prince Ttocs and Princess Nire would prevail. Oh yes, they would prevail."

Erin
"Scott got sick a few times. We finally went to the hospital. Blood tests showed nothing. Went home. Computer and external hard drive had been stolen. Sad that someone would break in, but we're better now. Scott wrote stupid story. The End"
:-)

2007-07-06T19:46:00.000-07:00

We recently had the joy of sharing our life here with our friend Beth when she came to visit for two weeks. Enjoy the new pictures!

2007-07-06T01:40:00.000-07:00

A Peace Corps Project, Very Great!
My Summer Part II

So Summer was not all diving intertwined with instant coffee while lounging against breath-taking backdrops of tropical paradise—like I mentioned in the last post, this summer was actually the most productive time for me since being here. The saga of summer continues…
For the past few years, Peace Corps has teamed up with the US Agency for International Development (USAID) for a project they dubbed ‘Tudlo Mindanao,’ which means “teach Mindanao.” Now, there are 3 main regions of the Philippines—Luzon in the north, the Visayas in the middle (where Erin and I are) and Mindanao in the south. There are a variety of reasons for the decision, most hovering around the conflict between Muslim separatist groups and the Philippine government, but in short, for a number of years now, the Mindanao region has been deemed too dangerous for PC volunteers to be assigned to or even to visit. There is a problem with this decision, however, as the Mindanao region is the most economically and politically disadvantaged region in the Philippines. There is a real need for PC there—it is exactly the type of place where volunteers like us should be. But it’s unsafe and we can’t go there and that is that. So USAID and Peace Corps came up with the idea that, instead of sending PCV’s to a place believed to be dangerous, they would bring people (more specifically teachers) from Mindanao to us. USAID helps to fund the transportation and lodging costs for these teachers to come to the Visayan region (namely, Cebu City) for teacher trainings put on by PCV’s. The volunteers have facilitated trainings on a number of topics that were relevant to these teachers including developing students’ critical thinking skills, reading comprehension and making low cost instructional materials. This has been a very successful program for a number of years now. However, there was a sense that something was missing—namely, the teachers’ English skills. So this year, instead of a teacher training program, we developed an English Language Camp (ELC). The goal of the camp was simple—to help these teachers to be more confident and proficient in the English language.
This year USAID helped bring around 140 teachers, 6 PCV’s and 6 counterparts from Mindanao (who had experience in the past working with Tudlo) to Cebu City during the last 2 weeks of May for our Language Camp. We PCV’s were responsible for developing 5 original sessions each to help the teachers improve their confidence and ability in English. My sessions focused on general oral communication—speaking and listening. We taught the same session 3 times a day for 2 days while the participants rotated to the various classrooms. I thought at first it might get monotonous teaching the same session 6 times, but really, every class was unique and different, which helped to keep us all on our toes. Plus, by the 6th time, I knew what worked and what didn’t work so well in my lesson.
A majority of the teachers that attended the training hail from the Muslim area of Mindanao—it was the first time for many of us volunteers to have any contact with Filipino Muslims. It was great cultural exchange! They had a lot of questions about America and us personally, and we, too, had many questions for them. Most of these teachers had never been out of their particular corner of Mindanao, let alone been on a plane to a different region of the country. Keith Solle, one of the other PCV’s and a good friend of mine, had a great idea for a journal write that I also used to begin class one day. It was fascinating to read what these teachers wrote. We asked, very simply, for them to describe how they felt before they left for this training. The teachers were all very open and honest in what their writing. Some wrote about how scared they were of leaving the only place they’ve ever known for 2 weeks and others wrote of how they didn’t’ want to leave their family for such a long period of time. Almost all were terrified when they boarded the plane, even more so when they were in the air. Some were extremely nervous to work with Americans—they wondered if they would be able to understand American English or if the Americans would even like them at all. It was great to see them be so open and honest with their feelings, and it helped to break the ice during those scary first days. The very first day of camp, the teachers were all visibly nervous—some were actually crying because they either missed their families so much or were just nervous about what was to happen at camp. 2 weeks later, at the end of the camp, tears were shed again, but this time because the teachers were going to miss us. Amazing.
We decided that in order to encourage the teachers to speak English all the time, a “Stick to English” policy would be in effect. From 8 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon, English was to be used at all times. Anyone who was “caught” not speaking English had to surrender a sticker they had been given earlier. The homeroom that had the least number of stickers at the end of the 2 weeks was going to win a prize (which, unbeknownst to them, everyone would eventually receive). At the beginning of the first day, the teachers were nervous to begin with, but they were even more nervous to speak up in class for fear of slipping and uttering a word of their local dialect and losing a sticker. However, we ended up turning it into a fun game, and by the end of the first day, the group really started getting into it. The teachers themselves ended up being much stricter in monitoring each other than we ever could have been! The highlight of this ongoing competition was described to me by one of the teachers in my homeroom sometime during the second week of camp. She and some friends had gone to the mall to get dinner the previous evening. It was after 5 pm and they forgot they did not have to “Stick to English”, and went on speaking English to each other. They talked to the cab driver in English (who, funnily enough, responded to them in English) and they chatted with clerks in the mall in English. It was only a while later, when they were ordering dinner, that one of them finally realized the group had been speaking English and not their dialect to each other the whole time. They laughed, and when Jet (the teacher) described that to me the next day, I, too, thought it was hilarious. Maybe our plans had worked too well.
At the end of the ELC, everyone had a chance to share some sort of presentation to highlight the differences in culture. The teachers brought native costumes and music and performed amazing, colorful dances. They were beautiful! It was so awesome to see the different dances, and hear some of the legends and songs, especially from our new Muslim friends. Plus, some were extremely talented. The PCV’s were asked to present something as well. At first, we were stumped. What unifying culture do we have in America? Amidst all of these deep-rooted traditional dances and beautiful displays of pride for their Filipino way of life, the Americans, well—we showed them a piece of America—MTV style. It took an unbelievably long time to film and edit, but our mock music video was, judging by the reaction of the teachers, a huuuuuge hit. Everyone thought it was the bees knees.
You can check it out for yourselves here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HM9feghIpvQ
Amazing. Tiring. Fun. Draining. Wonderful. Exhausting. The ELC was 2 whole weeks. 14 days is a very looooong time to do anything. It was worth it, though. I met some really great people and I look forward to helping out again next year. I know it sounds like an After School Special, but really, Tudlo Mindanao was the best thing that I have done since being here, hands down.
-Scott

2007-06-09T22:15:00.000-07:00

It’s June now here in the Philippines. With the time difference and all, I’m pretty sure that makes it close to early February back in the States—I’m still not quite sure how that works. June’s arrival brings with it a few different things—first and foremost the end of summer (and subsequently the beginning of school), the start of rainy season, and perhaps the most difficult to comprehend, the knowledge that we have less than one year to go in our Peace Corps service. We have been in country for 15 of our scheduled 27 months, so everything now feels like a repeat of my senior year of high school. “The last time we’ll celebrate this fiesta” or “Only one more birthday here in the Philippines” or even “This is the last June 5th sunset that we’ll ever see during our Peace Corps service in the Philippines” (sometimes we like to make grand gestures out of relatively small events…).
So it’s June and summer is finished. Ironically, as most of Erin and I’s work is performed in schools, summertime proved to be the most productive time of year for each of us yet. Actually, May was hands down the best month so far for me since arriving here last year. Peace Corps life closely resembles a roller coaster with its extreme highs and lows. We have become very mindful of these trends and try to make the most out of the high parts, with the knowledge that a low could be right around the corner. Because May brought with it seemingly abnormal (yet much appreciated) extreme highs for me, I wanted to share those experiences with you (all 4 that read this) quickly before a ninja-like ‘low’ crouching around the corner takes me by surprise and I get all sulky and moody and don’t want to write. Let the words flow!

Not a Peace Corps Project, But Great Nonetheless
My Summer, Part I
I half-heartedly agreed to go with Ian on his harebrained scheme of a dive when I got his text late last October. Diving? In the Sulu Sea? You in? It sounded like fun. Sure, I could probably do that. I had just gotten my dive certification a few months before and I had also just returned from a great 2 day dive trip with Ian and a bunch of other PCV’s at beautiful Apo Island—more diving would be fun for sure. Around February the details started to slowly seep out. Mid-May. Perfect, summer vacation, no school. On a boat. I like boats. 6 days at sea. That’s exciting. Lots of diving. That’s what I want to do is dive. Expensive. Ouch.
Being married has changed the way in which I look at money. Whereas before I was married I had my own money—albeit very little—and I could choose how I wanted to spend it (we won’t get into the argument whether my choices of spending were wise or unwise…) Now, in the glorious state I live in named ‘matrimony,’ not only do I not have money, it seems as if I can’t even choose how to spend the money I don’t have. You may have heard the saying, “What’s mine is hers and what’s hers is hers.” That about sums up the financial situation in the Farver hut. We have nothing, but it’s all hers. When I brought up the possibility of this dive to Erin, expecting fire and brimstone, I was shocked to be greeted with sugar and gumdrops. “Wow, what a great idea!” she told me. “You’d get to hang out with some close friends—it’s a great chance for you to bond with them and have ‘guy time.’ When are you going to get an experience like this again? Plus, you’d be gone for 6 whole days?! Wow! Do they have any longer trips?!” It was a serendipitous turn of events that at the time we were discussing this we got our return from the previous years’ taxes (yes, we pay taxes on our PC earning…) from our distant relative, Uncle Sam. That little piece of chance helped make the Dream Dive a reality, at least financially. What I didn’t know was how brutal a 5 day dive trip in the middle of the Sulu Sea could be. Silly, silly Scotty.
We were steaming full throttle towards a very small group of islands to the southwest of Panay called the Cagayan-cillio Islands. They’re nearly uninhabited chunks of dryness jutting up in between our island to the east and Palwan to the west. Our dive master, a good friend of Ian’s named Gert, is a Belgian with something close to 3000 dives under his belt. He wholeheartedly claimed that he had the best dive of his life the previous week when he swam with a giant docile whale shark flanked by a few hammerheads at the same place we were going to. A statement like that is bound to get 6 guys like us very excited. We knew that you never really know what to expect when you dive, but after hearing about whale sharks and hammerheads, our anticipation was extremely high as we tried to snatch tiny nuggets of sleep on our way to the Promised Land of Diving According to Gert. One of my buddies, Lloyd, remarked that he felt like a 10 year old trying to sleep on Christmas Eve. We were not to be disappointed.
When you’re in the middle of the ocean, the sun rises around 5:30 in the morning. I had heard the throbbing diesels lose some of their intensity in my sleep-like trance in the bowels of our little boat, so I peeked my head above deck to see why we were slowing down. I was met with one of the most amazing scenes I have ever seen. In my life. Honestly, it was that good. We were surrounded by ocean—literally in the middle of the Sulu Sea—except for a tiny island directly to our port side (yeah, you learn to talk like a sailor after that long at sea. Truth be told, I’m still not sure which side is port and which is starboard, but I like being able to say ‘port’ and ‘starboard.’ I’m probably going to start using them in normal conversation soon…) Anyways, we were just dropping anchor, there was ocean everywhere, a beautiful yet tiny white sand beach about 200 meters from us and the sun was trying to stretch and peek its head over the horizon behind all of that ocean.

All 6 of us were up by then, totally awestruck by the scene as it unfolded before us. We were commenting on the surreal-ness of the situation to each other and enjoying a wonderful 3 in 1 coffee brew. Incredible! As if the island and sunrise and everything else weren’t enough to overwhelm our senses, there, swimming in the stunningly crystal-clear blue water by our bow (sorry to all the land-lubbers who won’t understand this extremely complex and technical sailor-speech) was a sea turtle, welcoming us to his little piece of paradise. We hadn’t even been in the water yet and the trip was already worth it for me. Just Incredible.

Diving turned out to be even better than our initial arrival, if that is even possible. The details of the individual ventures under that paradise are jumbled my head—we made 15 dives in 5 days—an incredible physical feat that I paid for dearly in the weeks that followed. Though it may not sound like much (I actually did 14 dives in 4 days—the last day I could only muster enough strength for 1 dive), we were totally and utterly exhausted after the trip. I had “land legs” for at least 2 days and my ears were still gurgling and popping a week later from the 50 meter maximum depth I had hit. The most I had ever dove before was 2 times in 1 day down to a palsy 15 meters and I was beat after that—this was a whole new level of tiredness I had never experienced before. A tiredness mixed with extreme awesomeness. To make a long, babbling and incoherent rendition of all of the sights that we saw short, the colors of the coral were amazing and there were thousands, nay, more than thousands, of fish. The absolute highlight of my trip had to have been either the 2 sharks that we swam with or the school of over 20 barracuda that we stumbled upon. We saw lobster (one of which we ate topside), lionfish, huge clams, sea turtles big and small, fish of every color—I also finally found Nemo in his anemone as well. He and his 4 million cousins. Dolphins jumped and played and frolicked near our boat as we headed back to land. The Flemish word for incredible is Ongelooflijk, and that was the catchphrase of this trip. Anytime something was incredible (which was quite often), we would look at each other and utter the glottal “Ongelooflijk!,” complete with hand motion (in case we were underwater). A truly incredible trip. The best thing I have done since being here.

After the sun had risen...

Enjoying one of many 3 in 1 coffees on board

A moment of rest on our trusty boat

In the water before (or after??) a dive

The group of fearless divers

For a more technical account of our dive, check out Ian's site. You can find his link on the side or click here

2007-05-07T18:02:00.000-07:00

The time is near. It's heating up. They're on TV, radio, in the newspapers. They say how much better things would be with them instead of the other guy. "I vow to change the way things are run!" they bellow. Signs, placards, billboards, posters, t-shirts. Election season here feels, well, like election season back home. The same promises. The same accusations. The same politicians tossing around the same political rhetoric that you hear anywhere in the US every few years. There is, however, one thing that makes the political season here in the Philippines especially interesting. It's not a particular candidate or issue. (You must understand, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I am not allowed to venture into the world of politics. I am required to remind you that we are, as an organization, apolitical. So I won't tell you that one candidate or another is better or worse.) This season is not interesting because of the many cheesy TV advertisements (though there are some that are particularly delightful...) It's the jingles. Political jingles seem to be what everyone uses to try and get elected over here. A lot of volunteers are annoyed by the barrage of political jingles that has been dumped on us this past month. I can empathize. Erin and I have the luxury of living outside of the town proper, so our exposure to the songs is more diluted than other volunteers who actually live in a town and who are constantly bombarded by these various and ubiquitous melodies. However, even though we live in a remote barangay far away from the town center, we still get them. Oh yes, we get to hear them all.
Before I go any further, I don't want anyone to get a false impression of what I mean when I write "jingle". Re-Reading this, if I wasn't here listening to them every day, I would think, "By golly! Jingles, huh? Those sound cute and fuzzy and like they're on the radio. If I didn't like one, I could change the station." They may be on the radio. Some of them are for sure. They may be cute. The first few (dozen) times. But the majority of the jingles, cute or not, are found on trucks. Big trucks. Big trucks with big speakers. Not big speakers. Huge speakers. Big Trucks With Huge Speakers. Big Trucks With Huge Speakers that you can't turn off. Every day, these Big Trucks With Huge Speakers (we'll refer to them as 'BTWHS' from now on) roll through town, around town, outside of town--everywhere. Every day, they blare their wares for everyone to hear, whether these people want to listen or not.
The best thing about these BTWHS is what exactly they are blaring. Now, every candidate here, from what I've seen, needs to have some sort of theme. First, they need to have a color for all of their signs and paraphernalia. Then, they need a font and/or a catchy slogan for said signs and paraphernalia. Fonts and catchy slogans are just as important as colors. But definitely, more important than anything else a candidate can do, is their particular jingle. These BTWHS are draped in colorful signs with carefully picked fonts blasting their jingle. From my research and extensive first hand experience with these jingles, I've developed a 3 part theory of what politicians look for when choosing a political jingle. While they may at first seem like simple songs extolling the virtues of a candidate, these jingles are complex things and are not taken lightly.
First, a good jingle needs to be loud. The louder (it seems) the better.
Second, it needs to be sung to a catchy (or even better, a popular and catchy) tune. Third, it needs to be,well, really loud. I like to imagine these politicians in their strategy sessions huddled around a table in a smoke-filled room strategizing for hours trying to find the perfect decibel level for their perfectly chosen song (140-180 seems to be the level used by most BTWHS)
Politician--"I like it, but it should be louder."
Strategy guy--"WHAT?"
Politician--"I SAID I LIKE IT, BUT IT SHOULD BE LOUDER!"
Strategy guy--"OK, I'LL GET YOU SOME MORE POWDER!"
Politician--"NO THANKS, I'M NOT HUNGRY. I DON'T EVEN LIKE CHOWDER!"
So inevitably, the BTWHS are blaring their respective songs very loudly. Remember, that is usually the first thing that is looked at when choosing a song. After agreeing on a level of loudness, there needs to be consensus as to the actual tune itself. A lot of candidates choose cool 80's American songs. Those are good choices. Very catchy, lots of repeated refrain. An 80's song is a good choice. Others go for popular Filipino songs. These candidates know their constituency and their jingle reflects that knowledge. My vote, however, for Favorite Political Song Set to a Popular Tune (**Insert Official Peace Corps Disclaimer Here Regarding Apolitical-ness**: Any preference stated herein, within or hitherto is that of a song (i.e. "jingle") of a particular candidate who shall, and will, remain nameless. This preference does not in any way shape or form reflect an advocacy or support, implied or otherwise, either on my behalf or US Peace Corps as an organization, as to this unnamed politician. The author and his boss (Erin) just feel that the song is cool. **End of Official Peace Corps Disclaimer**) goes to a particular mayoral candidate whose feats and ambitions are set to the noble and refined Ricky Martin tune, "Livin' la Vida Loca." It's really original and wonderful. Original, wonderful and, of course, loud. The words are great, I think the refrain, when translated, goes something like (remember, sung to the tune of Livin' La Vida Loca) "Please, Let him be your mayor!" I do have to admit, as loud and sometimes annoying as these songs are, they can be pretty catchy. After one of the BTWHS passes by our house, that particular song will be stuck in my head until the next truck rumbles by (there's usually only a few minutes between BTWHS) and I have for a period of time what the Germans lovingly call an "Ohrwurm" (pretty easy to translate--literally "Ear Worm" but contextually, "Song stuck in your head for a long time." Really. That's what it's called). Active campaigning is prohibited here for 2 days before the election, probably so people will get a chance to 1.Regain any lost hearing incurred by the slew of BTWHS and 2.Get rid of any Ear Worms they may have and try to make a sensible choice for their vote.
So that is a tiny glance at the world of politics here. The elections are on May 14th, and to be honest, I'm going to kind of miss the trucks and the signs and the songs. It's exciting. Loud, but exciting. For now, though, I'm going to go take a nap. If I could only get this silly worm out of my ear...

Scott

Not the biggest of a BTWHS, but big...and loud.

A little bit bigger, a little bit louder.

2007-05-02T23:48:00.000-07:00

FLOW Camp

We recently had a wonderful time facilitating a FLOW (Future Leaders of Our World) Camp up north in Baguio City with some of our Peace Corps friends. It was a three day youth camp covering topics like; self-awareness, leadership, environment and relationships. One of the camp's many highlights was when the winning team at the end of the three days was rewarded with the opportunity to cut off Scott's hair! Enjoy the pictures!

Erin's team, the Crazy Caribou!

A large and probably dangerous human pyramid

All lined up for relay races

A before picture, one last look at that flowing mane

The Dangerous Dragons, the winning team, begin to chop away. They left a mullet for quite a while and then cut it down to just a tail in the back. . .yuck!

Snip snip, these kids were not messing around!

And. . .the after shot! He is smiling because they don't really have mirrors in the Philippines. He didn't even know what it looked like until I, his caring wife, made him go to a barber shop a day and a half later!

All in all a very successful week. We hope to duplicate the camp a few times back on our island.

2007-04-30T01:00:00.000-07:00

Farvronski Family Fun Tour!

At long last here are some photos from Erin's Mom's fun-filled visit to the Philippines at the end of March. We had a wonderful time. It was so good to see a familiar face and fitting that she arrived on our exact one-year anniversary in country. We spent an exciting 12 days traveling, catching up, playing games, swimming, hiking, and more. . .we can't wait for our next visitors!

So, due to a canceled flight, Mom was able to experience travel in true Philippine fashion. Unfortunately for her, the first two days of her trip were spent on buses. This is one of those buses. Actually, one day of our trip involved just about every mode of transportation used here. . .we went from the island of Boracay to our home in San Jose by tricycle, pump boat, jeepney, another tricycle, a bus, and another tricycle! Mom was an excellent traveler!

Just one of the many breathtaking views of mountains and rice terraces along the long and bumpy bus ride

Our first official vacation spot was the beautiful mountain town of Sagada. This place was unlike any we have seen in the Philippines, the weather was refreshingly comfortable, not unbearably hot, there were no vehicles and therefore no fumes and no noise, we walked everywhere, the views were breathtaking and we saw it all. . .rice terraces, waterfalls, hanging coffins and caves! It was great and a big thank you goes out to our fellow volunteer, good friend, and tour guide, Kelly, pictured here with Mom and Erin!

Our comfortable, cozy Sagada cabin

Enjoying a break from all the hiking by the cold water

Scott making the jump from the waterfall. These beautiful little falls seemed to come out of nowhere in the middle of rice fields. It was a great hike through the farms down to the river and falls.

Scott and Kelly spent one afternoon spelunking in the local caves. . .here is one pic of their exciting adventure

It didn't take long for Mom to make some friends!

A quick pose along the path through the rice terraces

2007-04-30T00:34:00.000-07:00

One of the mountainsides with the famous "Sagada hanging coffins" If you look closely toward the bottom of the picture, the coffins are hanging off the side of the cliff. There are a few different theories about why and how people were put to rest this way . . .protection from grave robbers was one we heard quite a bit. . .

Bones from a coffin that didn't stay "hanging." We found the fallen coffin and these bones in a small cave along the trail.

Ready to board the small plane and head off to the next adventure. . .

The next stop on our adventure was beautiful Boracay Island, just off the northern coast of our island of Panay. Here we enjoyed a luxurious hotel and swimming pool,parasailing, gorgeous sunsets and great music on the beach. This was truly vacation!

The beach was full of sailboats offering sunset cruises.

As well as professional sand castle constructors!

And of course the beautiful sunsets. . .

2007-04-29T22:19:00.000-07:00

IN MEMORY: Julia Campbell

As many of you have probably already heard, this month was a tough one for Peace Corps Philippines with the unexpected death of fellow volunteer, Julia Campbell. She went missing Easter Sunday and her body was found a week later. Julia arrived in the Philippines a year before us and would have closed her service and returned home in June.

The following is an excerpt from the program at Julia's memorial service.

When Julia entered a room she filled it with her love for life which infected all people. Julia's curiosity gave her the ability to live each day to the fullest, never leaving a rock unturned or a question unasked. Julia's compassion for others led her to join the Peace Corps. Her love has changed many lives, both in the Philippines and in the Peace Corps community.

Julia, you were: a friend, sister, mentor, teacher, leader, a great cook and a catalyst. You were courageous, adventurous, spicy, caring, dedicated, sharp, quick, curious, strong, ambitious, confident, intelligent, independent, stylish, compassionate, giving, zesty, spunky, humble, driven, radiant, and we will miss you deeply.

Love,
Your Peace Corps Family.

2007-03-15T04:39:00.000-07:00

Standards for Silent Reading:
1. Sit erect
2. Hold the book with both hands
3. Read with your eyes and do not move your lips
4. Do not point to the words
5. Do not move your head
6. Know the hard words
7. Understand what you read
8. Get the thought of the story

These standards for silent reading are posted in nearly every classroom that I’ve been in here in the Philippines. Every day when students come in to in my office/classroom to read, they break almost all of those rules and I love every wild, lawless moment. Where to begin…
One of the things that I do as a Peace Corps Volunteer at the school is I sit. I do this very well. I sit in my office/classroom where the 100 or so children’s books friends and family have generously sent to us and I watch the children as they come in to read. Before these books were donated, the only books the school had available to the children here were sometimes high school or college level textbooks horded in the library, which is only open for 1 hour every morning and remains locked the rest of the time. So now there are real children’s books in my room and the students can actually touch them and read them. It’s awesome!
I’m assigned to the SPED center which includes in its students with “special” abilities—students who are Fast Learners (FL) as well as students who are “slow learners” (SL). There are also many Hearing Impaired (HI), Visually Impaired (VI) and Mentally Impaired (MR) students in the SPED center as well. The vast majority of students who visit me at lunch time or during recess to read are FL students. They usually have a few minutes of downtime before their parents come and pick them up for lunch so they choose to read. There are also a lot of “regular” students who come from various grades and squeeze into what little space I have for them to sit and read as well. Reading time is funny—it is never a silent affair. I’m not sure how or even if silent reading is taught here, but whenever any students come over to read, fast, slow or otherwise, everyone is mumbling and reading out loud at once. It’s really a joyous sound—I love hearing the murmuring and page turning and giggles. I love how it goes against the posted rules and how by defying the standards of silent reading they are learning.
Intermingled with the FL students are always a few SL students who seem to hang back at the doorway, every day initially too shy to come in. All of the SL students are deemed to be “slow” for having failed the previous year of school. The only SL classes that we have are 1st and 2nd grades—but the students range in age from 6-11. They failed last year (and some the years before) for a wide range of reasons—some because of a lack of attendance, some because they sat in the back of a classroom of 60 students and were never attended to as an individual learner, others because they have more important issues at home—like how many times they will get hit or whether or not they will eat enough to fill their tiny frames or figuring out how they can help take care of their 6 or more siblings. For whatever the reason, they did not pass 1st or 2nd grade last year and were labeled to be “slow learners”. There’s even a sign outside the classroom door that reminds them that they are “slow” in case they forget, regardless of how I’ve tried to convince them otherwise.
Unfortunately, the major factor that distinguishes a FL student from a SL one is purely socioeconomic. Simply put, FL students are pegged as “fast learners” because their families have the means and desire to encourage learning at home. FL students have parents who are educated and who have a high interest in educating their children. This higher education helps them to have well paying jobs where they can afford such luxuries as books, computers or other learning materials for their children. Slow learners on the other hand, generally have poor parents who work long, hard hours to provide a sustenance income for sometimes 6 or more children. Education is not encouraged—there’s simply not time for it. If rice needs to be picked or fish need to be sold, the parents cannot afford the loss of labor to school. Even at such a young age. With no resources at home and very few opportunities to use resources at school, most SL students don’t even know how to properly hold a book or how to color within the lines of a picture (though I must admit that I still have trouble with that one…). So I take special interest when SL students come into my reading room because it’s a place where things like reading and coloring—learning, really—are encouraged. I love it when they pick up the colorful children’s books and “read’ them to each other. Some Ooohing and Awwwing over the pictures, some pointing out and naming objects they recognize to their friends in a mix of Kinaray-a and English, and some others sit hunched over their desks detailing the story to themselves, making it up as they see fit and happily turning the pages. I love it when one student notices something of interest in the story and he jumps and runs to the other side of the room, points it out to his friend and scampers back to his seat to continue reading. Because of the over-crowded classrooms and the apathy that is so rampant among teachers, this small room is a little reading haven for these students who normally would not get a chance to read otherwise. I always feel guilty if I have to leave for lunch and there are still a few students in the room, so most of the time I stick around a few extra minutes so that hopefully, somehow, that extra 2 or 3 minutes will be worth it to them in the long run. So for those of you who have donated books to our little reading area, a huge Salamat gid! I can promise you that the books, with their now dog-eared pages and grimy handprints plastered all over them, are being put to good use.
Scott

2007-03-11T21:19:00.000-07:00

A Lazy Weekend at Home. . .

Our nice relaxing porch and hammock

View of our yard and the ocean from the house

Dance party in the kitchen

All the kids watching a movie on our computer - at one point we counted 19 kids around the screen!

2007-03-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

Cute little Charlie resting on the hammock

Our porch is the neighborhood hang-out and jungle gym!

Lots of kids busy reading and playing card games

Cute little Raymon posing for the camera

Kids sweeping our yard. They love to do jobs for pencils, stickers, and pesos.

Once again - the cute sleeping cat

2007-03-05T00:34:00.000-08:00

This is a short video of the caribaw fights in San Joaquin. It's only 9 seconds because I ran out of power...Grrr....

2007-02-12T19:18:00.000-08:00

I wrote this a few weeks ago for our volunteer newsletter. The only coffee available to us here in the Philippines is instant powdered coffee. I was at school dreaming of real coffee one day when I remembered my first experience with the stuff back in 1994.

I am sitting here writing in my journal while drinking some “coffee”—the finest 3 in 1 instant powder brew to be had in these parts. I do not miss many things here in the Philippines; I can survive ok without hot showers, fast food in the States just made me fat and ESPN has wasted more hours of my life than I would care to admit. However, good, real coffee is one thing I do enjoy and miss. My first brush with coffee is etched vividly in my mind.

As neither of my parents ever drank the stuff, it was always exotic and mysterious to me while growing up—it was something people other than my parents drank. Friends’ parents would drink it after I spent the night at their house teachers would sip it behind the restricted doors of the Teacher’s Lounge and old people, like my grandparents, would drink it en masse during coffee hour after service at church. It was at one of these coffee hours where I found my first temptation from the glorious beans I so delight in calling close friends these days.

Now, if you have never gotten the chance to experience a coffee hour at a small, Midwestern church, I pity you. I really do. You are missing a necessary life-experience, like seeing the Great Wall of China or stopping at Wall Drug in South Dakota. Allow me to paint a picture for you: Coffee Hour seems to inevitably be held in the church basement. True, sometimes they are upstairs in some sort of multi-purpose room, but you will find the finest Coffee Hours in the basement The basement will likely be adorned with peeling, faux wood paneling. Folding chairs filled with bulging hulks of farmers and their pretty wives will be sitting huddled around folding tables—the same tables hauled upstairs for the women’s bake sale in May, and on which various Christmas decorations will be placed in November. Coffee cake and other delectable items from the local grocery store (half-off when you buy the day old goodies) will sit placed on the counter. Of course, amidst this all, there is coffee. Everyone (again, except for my parents) will be sipping a steaming cup, talking about crops, weather, or the football team. Coffee hour was the reward of making it through another week, another sermon.

It was in exactly this environment where I found myself one fine day many years back. We were in the basement of the Fremont United Methodist Church visiting my grandparents at their church. My grandparents’ church is an aged one—not the building itself per se, but more the people. Most of the people there are, well, older. Old people seem to drink coffee exponential to their age, so naturally, there is always quite a bit of coffee to be had at their church. I sat and listened to crop and weather and football reports, coupled with choruses of “You must be Johnny’s grandson” or “I remember when you were this big.” As my awkwardly disproportioned, acne-splattered, side-spiked 14 year-old self took this all in, I felt caged. Caged by a sea of gray hair, blue suits, giant broaches and the aroma of bulk coffee being drank by the gallon all around me. My watered-down, orangeish-flavored drink was gone and I needed an avenue to escape this cheek-pinching carnage, so I quickly shook myself out of my stupor with a voice-cracking “I’ll be right back.” I deftly scurried away but, alas, when I arrived to the drink-counter, there was no more cold beverage to be had— orangeish or otherwise. I did not want to return quite yet to stories told by these German farmers, most of them distant relatives, but what to do?

As I slowly turned in a full circle, unsure of where my next step should be, my eyes were suddenly transfixed by a twinkling light. There, in the corner of the table, sat twin glimmering, gleaming, highly-polished aluminum canisters with the ominous warnings—“Regular” and “Decaf.” Those words seemed exotic in my non-bean world—a world in which the only fix of mind-blowing caffeine I knew was found only in the words “Coke” or “Diet.” I had obviously heard the words “Regular” and “Decaf” at restaurants, parties, and of course, church basements for years, but I had never been face to face with them like this before. It was as if Kelly McGillis had magically peeled herself off of the screen of Top Gun to materialize right in front of me in the flesh. I could deal with seeing her on the screen, but not with the real thing. I was tongue tied, my mouth was dry, my silk shirt was clinging to my back. Regardless of my misgivings, I decided, it was time. This was going to be the day. This was my destiny. I had to have this forbidden fruit.

With trembling hands and an unsure step, I moved slowly towards the stacks of upturned Styrofoam towers, removing the topmost one, choosing it as my chalice of fortune. With head spinning and sweat dripping, I turned to the steaming, hissing monsters. What I had at first thought to be a necessary step in my passage into manhood now seemed ridiculous. Did I really need to do this? YES! Something inside me screamed. You must! You have to do this! But choose—choose wisely. With eyes darting back and forth from one sparkling container to the other, I quietly mouthed the words to myself. Regular. Decaf. Regular. Decaf. I did not know the difference between the two. What did those words mean?! With a deep breath and a feeling of pure adrenaline, I veered to the left and, moments later, steamy, black “Regular” goodness oozed into my cup. The warmth and the weight of the disposable container felt good—it felt right. I cupped my prize with both hands and bent my head over the concoction, greedily breathing in the intoxicating fumes and eyes nervously flitting around to see if my shenanigans had been witnessed by anyone. A smile crept over my face. A smile of triumph, of conquest, of battling the unknown and slaying the beast. As I moved away from the counter I thought to myself, This is what it’s like to be a grown-up. This is what it’s like to live. I directed my short breaths towards the top of my prize, gingerly attempting to cool it for my eventual victory consumption. With one last glance around, I slowly raised the cup to my lips, gave a final cooling puff, and ultimately, destiny was fulfilled.

As the java sloshed its way through my mouth and slowly trickled down my throat, one thought ran through my mind. As the Drink seeped into my body, changing me forever, I could only think one thing. Yuck! This is disgusting! After the message moved from my taste receptors and slowly made its way over and through the billions of synapses of my brain, I finally sputtered, coughed and swallowed. Why would people want to drink this? It tastes like—well—boiled beans. I do not know quite what I expected. I think I expected to drink something akin to liquid gold, but even then I was not exactly sure how it was supposed to taste. A full half-glass later, my attempt at exorcising fear and experiencing grown-upped-ness was cut short as I quickly tossed the disgusting beverage into the nearest trash can, filled with a sudden urge to empty my bowels. As I strode to the bathroom, past the crowds of gossiping farmers happily drinking the sludge I had just forced down, I was happy. I was not happy my intestines felt like they were going to burst, or that my mouth tasted like the inside of my old baseball cleats. I was happy I had faced manhood and the challenge of the unknown and had not drawn down. With this happiness, though, I was confused. Why would so many people willingly allow this goop to invade their bodies? It would be years later in the magical far off land of Germany when I would finally understand the delicate balance involved in adequately preparing this magical drink. Through intense observation and repeated trial and error, I would finally stumble upon the perfect mixture of cream, sugar, and that glorious, magnificent coffee. This beverage would eventually come to be a warm comfort to me through hundreds of conversations, both meaningless and world-altering, and join me on unnumbered adventures through books, term papers and amateur guitar players of all sorts and colors. Though my first experience in that mid-Michigan church basement amidst the crows of farmers and family was by no means perfect, I find myself now irresistibly drawn to coffee. Even if it is a perfectly mixed 3 in 1 instant beverage posing as the real coffee I now know and love, this beverage has become a vital part of my life and will, doubtless, continue to join me for many years to come.

As a side note, this was written only days before a brand new French Press and REAL, yummy coffee was delivered to me from our good friend Ari-Anne in Hawaii. Thank you soooo much for that!

2007-02-10T20:44:00.000-08:00

CHRISTMAS IN FEBRUARY: Thank you for the wonderful Christmas packages. We received four this week and we know more are on the way. Thank you so much to our wonderful, genorous families! We love you!

A happy, long-haired, Christmas in February, SCOTT.

FIESTA TIME: Fiestas are in full swing across the Visayan region. Here are a few photos of dance competitions and caribou fighting from the Pasungay and Bayluhay Festical we attended in San Joaquin. More fiestas to come. . .

Caribou Fighting

More. . .

Tribal Dance Competition

2007-01-25T17:41:00.000-08:00

Our cute neighbors Mimi and Jonjon playing at the beach

Here we are with our friends and the ocean in the background

Bambam - isn't she beautiful?

The "Amazing Book Corner" at Scott's school - the start of a library! Before Scott (and your generous donations) the only books in the school library were ancient college textbooks (it's an elementary school)! Scott has been requesting and organizing children's books for the school and reading aloud in the classes. For the first time students are able to check out books and read for pleasure!

Our new kitten, Charlie

2007-01-23T01:16:00.000-08:00

I (Erin) recently visited a school in a remote village in the mountain town of San Remigio. To get there we had to cross the river by riding on a small balsa, or bamboo raft pushed by a local man in his underwear against the current. It was a good day for me. Here are some photos of the experience.

Here I am ready to cruise across the river
Some curious kids posing with their "kana" visitor
The new classrooms under construction at Baladhay Elementary School
My coworker, AnnMarie's, supercute daughter Toni, posing with the vegetable plants growing at the school from seeds donated through Save the Children

2007-01-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

From Erin

Life is Good. . .

It feels good to type that and mean it. For some reason today feels right here. Life in the Peace Corps is, of course, a rollercoaster of emotions. And unfortunately, it seems like I have spent a disproportionate amount of time in the downward loops of the ride since arriving here. But, today, life seems right. Riding my bike to the market today in the safety of the early morning cloud cover, cruising along the ocean, passing the people bathing their children at the water pumps, sweeping their little dirt yards and shouting, “Morning,” I didn’t want to be anywhere else. As I rode home with my backpack full of fresh vegetables down our long dirt road, I felt content realizing I finally know where to go, what to buy, how much to pay, and how to carry on conversations with the people I meet. This feels like my life. That may sound strange, but for the most part, this experience feels like, well, an experience; just this thing we’re doing for two years, before we start our "rea"l life. I spend so much time noticing what’s different and frustrating and lonely, I don’t really realize how much I have adapted. But today, riding my bike along familiar paths, being greeted by familiar faces, I knew this is real life and I am thankful for it.

Ringing in the New Year, it was strange to think we will spend the entirety of 2007 here in the Philippines. Nothing will really change, no huge events to look forward to, no moving, no new jobs, this is it. This is our life. At first I was sort of depressed thinking about that, but today I am content. This is our life and it is good. Our life includes killing giant spiders and wiping lizard droppings off our bed before we sleep, it includes scrubbing our laundry by hand, taking cold bucket baths and struggling to convey our thoughts in a language we don’t always understand. It’s waking up with the roosters and sleeping with the mosquitoes. Our life is often lonely, frustrating, and not at all what we expected it to be.

But our life is good. It is listening to the waves hitting the shore at night, it’s riding our bikes to and from work, it’s buying fresh fruits and vegetables at the market and receiving flowers and seashells from neighborhood children. It’s sharing stories with other volunteers and writing letters home. It’s playing uno and building playhouses out of rocks and shells. It’s stumbling over our words, but eventually communicating in full sentences. It’s trying to help, but often feeling useless. It's tricycle rides, "hey joe's", fiestas and roasted pig. It’s simple. It’s beautiful. It’s difficult. It’s real. It’s life, and I am thankful to be living it here.

ERIN:)

2006-12-16T00:43:00.000-08:00

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
A Long (well actually short) December. . .
It has been a crazy month of typhoons, amoebas and trainings! We will post more detailed stories when we have time, but here are the highlights. . .
1. 2 fairly large typhoons hit the Philippines in the last two weeks, one of which stranded us for a few days in Kalibo, Aklan due to flooding. It was really sad to see the damage. The storms didn't strike close to us though, so thankfully we and our house are fine!
2. Amoebas made their home in my stomach for a few days which also contributed to our being stranded in Kalibo. But, antiobiotics did the trick and E. Coli and her persistant friends have now moved on and I am feeling better
3. I attended some amazing events for World AIDS Day, including presenting at a few high schools, marching in a parade through typhoon rains and judging a transgender fashion show - wonderful craziness!
4. Scott did a 3 day training for teachers on environmental education with other volunteers
5. I took a learning Adolescent Reproductive and Sexual Health field trip with 22 high school students from a mountain school. It included stops at a shady "massage parlor," a strip club, a social hygiene clinic and sessions on health and leadership for the kids. It was an educational and eye opening experience for the kids and me too!

December is flying right by!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL! We love you.

ERIN:)

2006-11-26T21:22:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving!
We had a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration in Pandan, Antique with about 15 other volunteers in our region. It was definitely a Thanksgiving to remember. Four turkeys were killed and then roasted on the beach! We feasted on mashed potatoes, stuffing and pies, pies, pies, things we have only dreamed of tasting for the last eight months – and it was everything we dreamed of! DELICIOUS! After eating, we walked along the beach, played cards and ate some more. Here are some pictures of our Thanksgiving celebration. Happy Thanksgiving to all! We are so thankful for your love and support this year

Cooking Thanksgiving dinner on the beach - can't beat that!

Live Turkey

And, not so alive anymore. Four turkeys were killed, boiled, plucked, stuffed and roasted all by fellow volunteers.

Ian and Lloyd roasting the turkeys on the beach

The whole gang!

2006-11-08T21:29:00.000-08:00

Our New Friends. . .

2006-11-08T18:45:00.000-08:00

We have friends!
Ok, maybe not real friends, but we have kids who come over and call us Tita (aunt) Erin and Tito (uncle) Scott. That is close enough to friends to make me happier than I’ve been in a while here. Since we arrived in the Philippines, it seems we have been in constant transition: from orientation, to training, to host family, to site, to new host family, and finally to our house. All of this moving combined with the cultural and language barriers have made it difficult to build relationships. In picturing Peace Corps before we began, I imagined living in a tight knit community with friends and neighbors always in and out of the house, a flow of children to read to and play with and meals shared between friends. I guess I pictured my Peace Corps experience to be like Mission Year in Oakland was, only this time, international. Well, so far, this has not been the case. Meeting people seems full of barriers sometimes. . .

-Kids and adults are shy around us because we are foreign.
-Kids and adults are intimidated because we can speak English.
-More often than not, children run and hide when we’re around (they aren’t exactly lining up to play with us)
-People prefer to yell “Hey, Joe!” rather than learn our names. (read Scott’s last post about THAT one)
-Conversations tend to be superficial when we are speaking a foreign language. (What’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? Where are you going? Do you have children? Why not? What’s wrong with you? Etc.etc.)
-Instead of getting to know people, we are often having the same conversations over and over again. (What’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? Where are you going? Do you have children? Why not? What’s wrong with you? Etc.etc.)

I was beginning to let go of my picture of our ideal little Peace Corps community – I figured it just wasn’t going to happen. Thankfully, I may have given up too soon. There is hope of community on the horizon!
It all started one regular morning last week. I was waiting at the corner near our house for a tricycle to go to the market. In our new barangay the wait for a trike to town can vary from 5 minutes to 45 minutes, depending on the time of day. This time it was about 20 minutes—Just long enough to have one of my regular conversations with some new faces from our barangay. I launched into my spiel, the same spiel I give everyone and to most people more than once. While I only know so many sentences, other people seem to only know so many questions, so my half of the conversation almost always sounds like this.
“Ako si Erin. Taga USA ako. Peace Corps volunteer ako. Nagaobra ko sa NGO nga Save the Children. Oud, may bana ron ko, ngaran tana si Scott. Indi Pinoy tana, kano man. Wara pa ti bata kami. Nagaistar kami jan sa Dalipe.”
(My name is Erin, I am from the US. I am a volunteer working with Save the Children. Yes, I have a husband, his name is Scott. No, he’s not Filipino, he’s American too. No, we don’t have any children yet. We live here in Barangay Dalipe).
Then, I asked my usual questions of the one adult and 7 kids standing around staring at me while I waited on the corner. The difference this time was, THEY ANSWERED. No one ran and hid. It was amazing! The kids told me their names and ages and grades in school. YAY! They can speak. Just when my spirits started to soar, a trike rolled up, and away I went. I thought that was probably the end of that, but I was happy. I had a two-way conversation with people in our neighborhood. Exciting! (we go for the little victories here)
Well, thankfully, I was wrong again – that was not the end of that, but just the beginning. The next morning, the kids stopped in front of our gate and yelled my name. I thought I was hearing things – there was no way Filipino children were actually yelling my name. But it was real. There they were standing at the fence. They were gathering firewood along the road for their families to use for cooking. I told them to come on in and together we gathered up all the wood in our big yard. Our yard was full of branches and brush we had been meaning to burn, but since Scott and I cook with gas, we didn’t need it. The kids were overjoyed at their find and I was overjoyed to have people at our house. After all the wood was gathered they offered to clean up the yard for me, because they didn’t have any work or school that day. I said “Sure,” and they swept and burned all our leaves and debris while I washed clothes. After their hard work, I invited all 6 kids inside for juice and paid them each 5 pesos, a pencil and some USA stickers. They were so happy! I was so happy!
So, truth be told, yes, I bought our new friends. I am not ashamed. They are poor and I am desperate for companionship. So, I bought them for some firewood, 5 pesos and some American trinkets. In total, I paid them each 10 US cents to hang out with me for the day. It was well worth it. And most importantly, they have been coming back every evening after school to read and play . . .for free!

2006-11-04T22:00:00.000-08:00

A Very Good Day…

“Hey Joe!” is easily the most common greeting that I receive as I struggle through the semi-urban jungle of San Jose de Buenavista every morning, deftly maneuvering and pedaling between smoke-belching trikes and jeepney drivers who are religiously set against any using of brakes or blinkers, on my way to school. The greeting, which stems from the US of A’s illustrious stay here in the archipelago of more than 45 years, and the soldier “Joes” who were (and somehow still are) synonymous with every American ever born, is not meant to be derogatory; I know that in the depths of my soul—these people are reaching out to me, trying to be kind in one of the ways that they understand. Somehow, though, it hurts. I don’t understand. Every time I hear it, part of me, the deranged maniacal part that I keep bottled up and only let out when I play video games, wants to jump off my bike, throw my helmet at their heads, run at them, scream and wave my arms, all the while letting off a slew of that’s-not-my-name-just-because-I’m-white-doesn’t-
mean-I’m-an-American-even-though-I-am-that’s-not-the-
point-my-NAME-IS-NOT-JOE-it’s-Scott-and-I’m-a-person-
and-I-have-a-PERSONALITY-if-you’d-just-stop-calling-me-
Joe-and-got-to-know-me-you’d-find-out-that-I-came-here-
to-help-in-some-way-but-when-I-get-screamed-at-like-that-
by-people-like-you-I-want-to-go-home-and-forget-that-I-
was-ever-here
sort of tantrum at them (though I’ve never really thought about it really…). Instead, I smile as big as I can, nod my head, raise my eyebrows in the ubiquitous Filipino greeting, and cheerily shout out “Myad nga aga!” which means “Good Morning,” even if sometimes in my head I translate it to mean “I Don’t Like You Even Though I’m Smiling At You.”
Actually, as far as greetings go, “Hey Joe!” isn’t as bad as the occasional “WASSUP DUUUUUDE!” chanted by small groups of young, pre-pubescent boys who’ve equated everything western with rap and hip hop (thank you MTV for your wonderful stewardship of American culture). Usually that greeting is paired with a short burst of fancy, hip-hoppish, dancy sort of footwork and ends in some sort of hand signal that makes them look as if they are trying to form a shadow butterfly on the wall. Regardless of the greeting, my answer, like my pedaling and my route to school, is steadfast and sure. Smile, I tell myself. Look. Eye contact. Myad nga aga. Oops, veered off the road. Veer back on. Thaaaaat’s it. Once I think about it though, even a thuggish “Wassssup Dude!” is better than the “Hey Mr. Scott, F&*# You!” I got from one of my doting 2nd graders, whose less-than-perfect-grasp of the English language didn’t quite allow him to understand why that might be considered offensive in some parts of the US. It was a teachable moment if nothing else.
All of that said, I was pedaling my way through the bumpy gravel ruts loosely referred to as a “road” around the corner from our house this morning, mentally preparing myself for the onslaught of greetings sure to be flung my way, wishing that people would just get to know Erin and I as people. Our barangay is pretty small, I just want people to know us here. Usually, we're just "Joe" or "Dude." As I was saying—I was making my way to school when a trike passed me; in itself, not an unusual occurrence. Oh no! I thought to myself, A trike FULL of young kids. Great. What’s my response to them going to be? Do I just nod and smile? Should I risk a wave on this road? I have to grit my teeth whatever I do. I HATE it when they call me Joe. I hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it. Gosh, I want to knock people OUT when they do that. Goodness, this road is bumpy. I wonder what I'll have for lunch. As my mind reels and my tires slide around and through the loose gravel, I look up just as the trike pulls in front of me, and instead of just a bunch of kids riding this trike, lo and behold, an angelic host of children sit upon the smoky beast—their voices ring out above the whiny din of the 2 stroke motor, through the black shroud of exhaust and flit about my ears, tickling and tingling as they reach me, enveloping me in warmness even before my mind recognizes the sweet content. Can this be real? Am I still in bed dreaming? Nope, that was a big pothole—don’t get many of those in my dreams. A smile wraps itself from ear to ear, goose bumps penetrate past the 90 degree early morning heat and I want to stop my bike and dance for joy. If I went home right now, I would be happy. My time is NOT wasted here. Even as I continue to ride on, my mind replays the scene again and again, each replay making me forget about the problems of the day (and the oncoming trike—yikes, veer to the right! VEER! VEER! Phew! That was close…). Instead of “Hey Joe!”, “Wassuuup Dude!” or even the random explicative tossed my way, those children, those beautiful examples of everything that is good in humanity today, greeted me with the simple harmonious chorus “Good Morning Sir Scott!” Nothing could get me down today after that. Except for that jeep, HOLY SMOKES FARVER are you even watching where you’re pedaling! You’re not going to get many more greetings like that if you don’t look where you’re going…

2006-10-23T02:50:00.000-07:00

Mothers in a Parent Education Session

Erin’s work, in pictures.
My job here is somewhat random. I envisioned myself working at an orphanage or girl’s home, and incidentally that is what many Children, Youth and Family volunteers do in Peace Corps Philippines. I, however, was assigned to the international NGO (non government organization), Save the Children. Save the Children does so many wonderful things in our province. I spend my time traveling to different communities with my coworkers and offering trainings on various topics, such as: English teaching, HIV/AIDS education, adolescent reproductive and sexual health issues (quite amusing in a foreign language, as I’m sure you can imagine), preschool teaching methods, and anything else that comes up. Save the Children provides funds to build new classrooms for struggling schools, offers supplemental feeding programs in poor districts, distributes deworming medications in elementary schools, builds sanitary hand washing stations and restrooms in schools, hosts trainings, and so much more. I am lucky to be part of such a great organization, even if my job doesn’t have one clear direction. I was originally assigned as their adolescent reproductive and sexual health volunteer, and have therefore spent a lot of my time working with high school students. We train nominated peer facilitators to educate their classmates on issues like, reproductive health, decision making, and rights and responsibilities. Here are some photos of our work in the area. . .

2006-10-23T02:37:00.000-07:00

High school facilitators in a fun training activity

Happy teachers during a Save the Children training

Workers building a school in another remote mountain barangay

Here I am with two of the peer facilitators in Sibalom, a nearby town

These are students at a remote school in a small mountain barangay. It is a three hour hike to get to the school, no roads, and it is not accessible in the rainy season. STC built school buildings, bathrooms and handwashing stations for the students in what was before a one room bamboo school.

2006-10-09T22:33:00.000-07:00

A view of our province, Antique, "Where the Mountains Meet the Sea."

Laundry time, finally, after two weeks of rain. This is our washing machine - Erin and a water pump.

Save the Children staff walking around the landslide

Wet kids after the rain

The results of the recent storms, Landslides. Many roads were shut down due to landslides like this one. Scary!

This is a more realistic picture of a jeepney near us, full until it's bursting! "There's always room for one more."

2006-10-05T18:05:00.000-07:00

Here is our address here in the Philippines too, just to clear up any confusion!
Scott and Erin Farver
c/o United States Peace Corps
PNB Financial Building, 6th Floor Bayside
Diosdado Macapagal Avenue
1308 Pasay City, PHILIPPINES
Whatever you send there will be forwarded to us here at site. THANK YOU!

2006-10-04T17:21:00.000-07:00

A beautiful cold spring here in Antique. It felt just like jumping in Torch Lake, it was wonderful!

A Tricycle, our main mode of transportation here
A jeepney, not a great picture, we'll take another

Crossing the hanging bamboo bridge

2006-10-04T00:58:00.000-07:00

That one is for you mom, is that the one you were looking for?? Erin and Bea, such a beautiful baby

Just some kids in the ocean. . .

Erin with the students at a peer training session in a high school

The white sand and crystal clear waters of Boracay. We forgot to take pictures on the beautiful, clear sunny days so you don't get the full effect, but it's wonderful just the same.

Here we are on the beach on Boracay.

Here is Scott in front of the dive shop in Boracay!

2006-09-26T23:20:00.000-07:00

Well, after 3 weeks away, we finally made it back to San Jose de Buenavista, (there's a town song that's pretty catchy, I can't really describe it, but it's upbeat and has clapping. If you sing and clap and say the name "San Jose de Buenavista," you'd probably be Left soon after.pretty close to what it really sounds like. Try it and see!...) and our trip was quite an adventure. Without going into too much detail, here are some things that happened while we were away:

-We took a 20 hour boat with fellow volunteers Ian and Tim from Iloilo to Manila.
-We arrived in Manila and were awed by the "Big City."
-I drank coffee. Real, brewed coffee. Not instant. Real. It was wonderful. Real wonderful.
-We went to the Mall of Asia. We walked there. Almost 5 kilometers. In sweltering heat. Bad idea. Marriage was rickety.
-Marriage back on solid ground as we ate Ice Cream at Mall of Asia.
-Watched people ice skate at Mall of Asia.
-Watched IMAX movie "Everest" at Mall of Asia. We had all just finished reading Jon Krakauer's book "Into Thin Air" about, well, Mt. Everest. It was big.
-We had Mexican Food. Maybe the best meal since being here.
-We had Wendy's. Maybe best meal since Mexican.
-We had Middle Eastern Food. Definitely best meal since Wendy's.
-We went to what we thought was an Irish Pub. It wasn't. It was a GRO bar. (Guest Relations Officers--a coy term used for people who are paid to, well, "relate" to wealthy, old, disgusting Americans) Oops.
-We went to Silang, Cavite to our training. 1 week of technical skills in Education and Child, Youth and Family training.
-Erin got her purse stolen. At Pizza Hut. With 6 people at the table. Cell Phone, thumb drive, wallet, ID, cash and cool purse. Not so awesome. Boat tickets back to Iloilo were there, too. Non-refundable boat tickets.
-Had Ice Cream to soothe sadness of lost purse.
-Flew back to Iloilo in 45 minutes for about 4 dollars more than what we paid to take a 20 hour boat. Still working on my remedial math skills and why we took the boat in the first place...
-Went to Boracay. Awesome. Beautiful beaches.
-Got SCUBA certified. One of the coolest things I've ever done.
-We had Mexican Food. Maybe best meal since Middle Eastern Food.
-Visited fellow volunteer in Pandan. Went to cold springs. 30 meters deep. Perfect blue water. Pictures to follow later.
-We got back yesterday. Tired. Laundry up to our ears. It's raining. Can't do any laundry. We stink, but we're happy.

Thank you for the Emails, thoughts and prayers. We love you all.
Scott

2006-09-04T01:20:00.000-07:00

Here are a couple shots of our new house, and one of a frequent visitor of our house, a giant damang (spider). He's about the size of an adult hand. We are really happy in our new place. We can barely see the ocean through the trees and we can always hear the waves from our porch. We do have two bedrooms, so visitors are MORE than welcome. We're a little remote now, so we both have bikes for traveling to and from work. We are really enjoying riding along the coast, cooking for ourselves, and even handwashing our clothes. We are currently on the look out for a stray pet to keep us company.

2006-08-28T23:03:00.000-07:00

2006-08-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

Our experience in the Peace Corps thus far has been marked by a series of transitions. First, we had to move everything we could squeeze out of our cramped apartment in Oakland into our little 4-door sedan and drive it across the country from California to Michigan. After gutting the car and transferring all of our remaining prized possessions into Erin's mom's house, we had to consolidate what was needed for our journey to the Philippines into a few tightly packed bags.. Our journey continued as we stayed at the luxurious Crowne Plaza hotel in less-than-picturesque Romulus, Michigan for the duration of Peace Corps pre-departure training. Island Cove Resort in Cavite, outside of Manila let us grace their heavenly grounds for another week and allowed us a wonderful reprieve of cool air-conditioned rooms and wickedly fast water-slides from upcoming periods of heat torture called training. The assignment of the Western Visayas region brought us to a fishery training center named SEAFDEC in Tigbauan, Iloilo, where we spent another few days getting burnt out on PowerPoint training presentations and cultural adjustment. After SEAFDEC, we had the wonderful opportunity to live with our first host family in Igcocolo, Guimbal, where we began learning our language of life for the next 2 years, Kinary-a, figured out how to shower with a bucket and a dipper, awoke at the crack of dawn (or before) to roosters and dogs every morning, and really learned what everyday life is like for people here in the Philippines. When Peace Corps decided that we were amply trained, our "real" assignment in San Jose de Buenavista, Antique, began with another host family. Riding trikes to school and eating various foods made from animal parts that we had never envisioned eating became commonplace as we tried, despite our white-American-ness, to blend in culturally while beginning our work assignments. It has been 3 months in San Jose now, and time for what should hopefully be our last move for about 2 years. Thanks to some help from a fellow volunteer, we found an amazing house that needed loving tenants while the owner lives in Manila. The house just happens to be nestled between palm trees, overlooking the northern part of the Sulu Sea, with a beautiful view of ocean and horizon from the front porch. It's a perfect house in a small coastal barangay for a young married couple like ourselves.

This intimate narrative can be serned up in Erin's words as:
YAY! WE FOUND A HOUSE! I AM SO EXCITED!!!

We will move into our new house this weekend, 1 year to the day when we exchanged vows a world away and what seems like a lifetime ago. I (Scott) was having trouble figuring ouerneat to get Erin for our first anniversary. I had thought that the traditional 1st anniversary gift is something paper, but, much to my chagrin, when I looked online it said right there in plain English that the traditional 1st anniversary gift is a cottage on the ocean in Southeast Asia. So, I guess I hit the nail on the head on this one without even knowing it! We do have an extra bedroom, so if you know anyone who wants to spend a week, two weeks or even a month, we've got the room.
Happy Anniversary to us!
Scott and Erin

If you have time, please read the following article or visit Ian's blog to read about the recent terrible oil spill on our neighboring island of Guimaras. It is heartbreaking, not only the environmental losses, but the loss of livlihoods as well for thousands of people.
http://newsinfo.inq7.net/inquirerheadlines/regions/view_article.php?article_id=17319

2006-08-11T20:49:00.000-07:00

Erin had a fever of around 100 degrees last Saturday. She also had some other random symptoms including body aches, which are signs of dengue fever. Scott convinced her to call the Peace Corps doctor, and because a volunteer nearby (Ian from Colorado—he has a blog and there is a link to it on the right side of the page) had just gotten out of the hospital from dengue fever, Erin was instructed to go to the hospital, pronto. It was 4 o’clock on a Saturday and the hospital is a 2.5 hour drive from our town. Checking into a hospital in the US can be daunting, but here, it is nauseatingly difficult. In fact, it is mandatory that one have a “kasama” or companion to aid in all of the running around before and during one’s stay. Here is an instruction sheet that we wish we would have had before we went to the hospital to aid us in the check-in procedure. Erin stayed in the hospital for 2 nights and no signs of dengue were found. We did get to have air conditioning and cable TV for those days, though, so that made up for the IV of dextrose that Erin had to put up with the whole time.

Arrive at the ER (even if there is no more fever, per Peace Corps doctor’s instructions).
Wait in the ER without getting talked to by any staff member who passes you.
After talking to a nurse and giving vital information and symptoms, proceed to the ER waiting room.
When the doctor comes with an entourage of 3 nurses, 2 interns and a handful of medical students who came to see the sick white person, give all of your symptoms (even if they are embarrassing) to them in front of the rest of the people waiting with you.
Take a form to the laboratory where you will get your blood tested. Urine, too.
After arriving in the lab, take said form to the pharmacy to pay for blood tests before they can be performed.
Follow pharmacy’s directions and go to the business office to pay for blood tests before they can be performed.
After talking to the people in the business office, return to the pharmacy to pay for blood tests before they can be performed. They are transferring there for the night. They will complete your transaction there.
Return to pharmacy. Wait for business office people to arrive to complete your transaction.
While completing transaction, remind the people from the business office that the patient is a Peace Corps volunteer and that Peace Corps will pick up the payments for the blood tests.
Return to the lab to get the patient’s ID.
Get ID.
Return to lab with ID.
Present ID, complete transaction. Cost of blood tests to be covered by Peace Corps, 210 Pesos ($4.20).
Return to lab to present receipt so blood tests can be performed.
Answer “Yes” to question regarding whether urine test was requested by doctor. Remind the lab technician that you do not have a form for that.
Take hand written form from lab tech obtained after her calling the ER doctor to the pharmacy to pay for urine test before it can be performed.
Return to lab with hand written sheet properly documented by business office employees in pharmacy.
Patient goes to disgusting bathroom to give urine sample, returns to lab.
Patient gets blood drawn for testing. Do not be alarmed if lab technician does not utilize gloves of any kind.
After blood is drawn, return to ER to wait 1 hour for results.
Consult with PC doctor as to further action to be taken. When she recommends to be admitted for the night, inquire to ER doctors if the steps for admittance can be started now while waiting for the blood work results.
Wait for blood work results per ER doctor’s orders before continuing steps for admittance.
Return to lab to get results after 1 hour.
Wait longer, watching Disney Channel Asia with 3 families, all 22 eyes fixed on the 2 white people in the lab waiting area.
Get results from blood work.
Return to ER doctors to show results.
Receive official fluorescent yellow laminated card that says “For Admittance” from ER doctors. Instructed to take card to “Admitting” for admittance.
Proceed to Admitting to check patient in while patient gets dextrose IV in ER bed area.
Pull on “Admitting” doors. If locked, go to “Information.”
Begin admittance procedures at Information Desk.
When filling out forms, be sure to indicate religion. *Note* For future reference, our religion as entered by clerk is “American Christian.”
After filling out forms and signing waivers, return to ER with admittance paperwork, leaving official fluorescent yellow admittance card at Information Desk.
Wait in ER for paperwork to be further completed by ER staff
After paperwork is completed, patient is wheeled to proper room.

Congratulations! You are now successfully checked-in to a hospital in the Philippines! Remember, though, that there is no toilet paper, soap or towels in the hospital, so you have to bring those items yourself. Also, patient/doctor confidentiality does not exist, so know that you will be visited by no less than 27 different staff members in your time here, many of which will tell you about the various ailments of other patients on your particular floor.

2006-08-01T22:17:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone! Here are a few new pictures. I tried to upload more, but I'm having trouble with the connection. No funny stories today - sorry. We did have the chance to attend a teacher training up in the mountains. Here are some photos from the trip!

Laundry and bath time in the river.

2006-08-01T21:58:00.000-07:00

The view on the way into Valderrama - there is a 300 meter hanging bamboo bridge to cross the river.

Save the Children friends posing in the rain

Here we are in Valderrama

The beach in San Jose after sunset

Our first host brother, Badong, in Guimbal working in the yard.

Bea and Jared in Guimbal. We just celebrated his 7th birthday.

Babygirl, how cute is she?

2006-07-20T21:18:00.000-07:00

Hello! I thought that you may want some insight into what Scott's job is. Here is an entry from my journal from earlier this month.
My job is frustrating at times. I work in the Special Education Center (SPED) at the Delegate Angel Salazar Junior Memorial School (DASJMS) in San Jose (SJ) with the Learning Disabled (LD) who, more specifically, are Slow Learners (SL). So really, I am at the DASJMS SPED in SJ working with LD students who are SL. This country is full of acronymns. That is besides the point. While I am sure that every PCV (there we go again with the acronymns--Peace Corps Volunteer) has his or her share of frustrating days, it seems that my job at the SPED center brings about a special frustration nearly daily. I have tested the children who are repeating grade 1 (about 25-30 this year) to see how well they can read. They cannot. In fact, most of the students cannot recognize individual letters or sounds, a key part of learning how to read. The average number of letters these children can recognize out of 26 is just over 6. Most of the students are 8 or 9 years old, some as old as 10, making this their 3rd attmept at 1st grade. Let me stress that these students are not typical of grade 1 students in the country. They have repeated for a variety of reasons--some as a result of having to help work on the farm for many weeks of the year, others because they have no stable home structure encouraging them to attend school every day, but others still are repeating grade 1 as a direct result from having over 60 students and 1 teacher in a single grade 1 classroom--grade 1 being the first exposure to school that many students have. There are bound to be some who are left behind in these circumstances. The sad thing is, Tagalog, the national language, and Kinaray-a, the local dialect, have the same letters as English, so it really is not an issue of their inability to read or recognize English alone, but the inability to recognize letters and sounds in general. I have set up, with the wonderful help of Save the Children, a remedial reading program for these 25-some students. Every day I pull out students individually for 30 minute sessions to help them with their letter recognition, and ultimately, their reading skills. Here is an excerpt from one of our sessions:

Scott (S)-Good Morning! Myad nga aga!
Pupil (P)-*Blank stare*
S-Ok, are you ready to read?! (Goofy, overly big smile) Gusto mo magbasa?
P-*Blank stare*
S-Excellent! All right, can you read this for me? Palihog, magbasa. Dyan lang. (Gives pupil a primer-level reader entitled "I am Kim")
P-*Blank Stare--blinks twice*
S-That's right! (Big smile still) "I....am...Kim!. Let's try it again. Liwanabe, palihog.
P&S together-I.........am...................K......K.....K....Kim
S-Good! What is this letter right here? (Pointing to "I" in previous sentence) Ano ang letter dya?
P-*Blank stare*
S-You can do it! Kaya mo! You know it! Kamaan kaw. Ano ang letter dya?
P-.......S?
S-(still grinning) No, actually that is not an "S." It's an "I." Can you say "I?"
P-(confidently) I.
S-Good! So what letter is this right here? Ano ang letter dya? (Pointing to "I" again)
P-(confidently) Key.
S-(Grin growing weaker) Actually, "key" isn't a letter. In fact, your teachers teaching you that the letter "K" is "key" is wrong. But this isn't the letter "K," either. It's "I." Can you say I?
P-(confidently) I!
S-Good! Now what's the next word? (pointing to the word "am") Ano ang word dya?
P-*Blank Stare*
S-Let's sound it out. Ahhhhhhhh (pointing to the letter "a")
P-Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
S-Mmmmmmm (pointing to the letter "m")
P-(confidently)MMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!
S-Good! So what word is this? (pointing to the word "am")
P-(confidently)AHHHHHHHH!!!!
S-Almost! (grin still fading) "Am." The word here is "am." I (pointing to "I") am (pointing to, well you get the picture).
P-I...........am.
S-(Ecstatic) GREAT!!! Good job! Alright! Ok, what word is this? (pointing to the word "Kim," the main character in our series of 20 books, each one having her name in it--at this point in our tutoring session we have "read" this particular book no less than 10 times).
P-*Blank stare, followed by dropping of jaw,* Filipino for "I did not understand, comprehend or hear what you just said to me.")
S-(twitching slightly) Kim! Kim! Remember, Kim! Can you say "Kim?"
P-(confidently) KIM!! (Smiles broadly)
S-Good! Let's try to read it again! Magbasa kita! I (pointing to "I")
P-(confidently) I!
S-Am! (I am sure you understand by now where I was pointing...)
P-(confidently) Am!
S-(pointing to the word "Kim")
P-*Blank stare, dropped jaw* (again)
S-(bangs head against desk)

This, of course, is not an exageration, but an actual transcript of a session last week. Really. Ok, maybe not "exact," but close enough to give a good idea of what I experience every day. Not all of the students are like this--some, in fact, are very capable and are progressing nicely. There are, however, no less than 4 students who stare at me very, very well, regardless of whether I speak Kinaray-a, English, or German (I was desperate to get through to these kids and was trying everything. Important note to self: Filipino children do not understand German). They cannot, for the life of me, seem to get their minds around the idea of certain letters representing certain sounds, which, when combined together form syallables or even words. Really, I do not blame them. After all that we have done in just these first few weeks, I do not want to read about Kim's stupid adventures, either.

2006-07-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

Donna Farver, Karen Szcodronski and Rachel Holbel
We'd like to take this opportunity to thank some very special people who have supported us this month. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PACKAGES. You brightened our entire month and are therefore our official MVP's for July, 2006! We love you.
A special thank you aslo goes out to Molly Hanson and Steve Farver for calling - you have also brightened our lives here significantly!

2006-07-13T22:47:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 19, 2006

My heart was broken today. In the city of Iloilo, getting across the street is quite an ordeal—almost worthy of Olympic competition. It is almost suicidal to cross from one side of the street to the other, even if it is in the confines of a crosswalk. Traffic seems to speed up as they see hapless pedestrians (especially white ones) trying to make their way across the street. To solve this problem, the Filipinos have developed an ingenious system of pedestrian overpasses that crisscross various major intersections, going up and over any one of the four possible intersections. They are very handy for safely crossing the street. The sad part is that many very poor people live in Iloilo City and a lot of people have been forced into begging, especially children. We are shielded from seeing individual children in the Barangays who are desperately poor begging. Mainly because everyone in the barangay is relatively poor, and begging would not bring anything to the table. One of the places that beggar children like to hang out is on these pedestrian overpasses, soliciting spare change from people walking busily past, quickly trying to get past this young eyesore. Utilizing one of the overpasses today, I found myself face to face with two adorable, dirty faces gaping back up at me. These two beautiful young girls, probably no more than 5 and 8 years old, stood there at the top of the overpass steps, no shoes or flip flops in sight, wearing nothing but dirty, hand-me-hand-me-hand-me down dresses. They smiled widely, stuck out their bony little hands and spoke the words Illongo that I hate to hear in any language—“Do you have any money?” Now, to take this question and answer it honestly, I would have to stop my swift steps, sit down with the young girls at the top of this overpass, and explain to these young Filipinas that yes, I do have money. I am an American. My family back home lives in a relatively large house with a few cars and savings accounts to boot. I have so much money that not only have I never been hungry in my life, but I have actually helped poor little girls like you around the world with the small change left over in my pockets after buying the latest youthful necessity, like a Gameboy game or Lego set, when I was your age. In fact, I probably have more money in my meager bank accounts in the US than you will ever see in your entire life. However, little girls, even though I am incredibly wealthy compared to you, I cannot spare money right now. I have places to go, souvenir T-shirts to buy, things to do. Besides, if I gave money to the two of you gwapas, I would set a poor precedent and all of the children in Iloilo without food or money or families would see a white person like me and expect that person to give them money, too. I am sorry you beautiful little girls, but that is just not a good idea and I am in somewhat of a hurry, so have a nice day and good luck finding dinner tonight. I will pray for you when I am asking for blessing for my dinner later tonight. I would pat them on the head and be on my way. Of course, I do not really answer like that, buy my mind quickly goes through that reasoning and I quickly decide that the best way to skirt the whole issue is to ignore them both and mutter that I do not have any money. “Wara kwarta” I manage to sputter out and I walk briskly past them, trying my best to forget them even as they walk beside me with outstretched hands, not wanting to feel guilty and ruin the rest of my afternoon. I want to pick these two little girls up—all of the little girls and boys like them—take them home with me and love them. I do. But I cannot. I have to buy T-shirts. So the girls retreat back to the overpass in hopes of a more generous passerby and I stumble down the steps, trying not to think of these beautiful children of God. “If you feed them…” Didn’t Jesus do that? Didn’t He command us to do that? How can I be a Christian, a follower of the teachings and life of my savior and LORD Jesus Christ, who did so much for so many people, and not reach out to these girls? I try to rationalize in my mind, but I cannot. There is no rational explanation why I cannot show love to these girls like Jesus would. Not watered-down-pat-them-on-the-head-and-tell-them-that-I-will-pray-for-them-Christianity that I am so used to, but real love. So as I return from buying my all-important T-shirts, the ones that will be emblazoned with the United States Peace Corps logo which will proudly scream out to all that will glance at its fancy colors and designs how I have chosen to dedicate the next two years of my life to helping people, I need to cross the intersection again. Thankfully, the two girls are still there. I can redeem myself! I can rid myself of the guilt that will consume me later for not doing anything for these girls. Unfortunately, I forget my duty and walk straight past them again, head bent low trying to squirm past them unnoticed. I have become so programmed to ignore the poor, to walk quickly past any disheveled person while clutching my bag tightly to my side, so as not to draw their attention to me, that the idea of Christ-like love is shoved to the back of my mind, momentarily forgotten. Only when I get to the bottom of the steps do I realize. Only when the flesh and bones are not staring back at me with wanting eyes do I understand that I have become what I never wanted to be; a say-it-but-do-not-do-anything-type of Christian. So I reach into my wallet, pull out 10 Pesos (20 cents!!) and buy one little girl an orange, doing my part to love. That is what I can afford. 20 cents for an orange. Jesus, what would you have done? I am sorry that I let you down today. Please love these little girls more than I did. Help me to change my thinking and my doing. Help me to think like you all of the time, not just on the bottom of the overpass.
Scott

2006-06-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

Sunday, June 25, 2006
We have been in San Jose for three weeks now, and it is slowly beginning to feel like home. In Igcocolo, the homey feeling was quickened by the small community—we would sit out at the local store and chat and laugh almost every night, everyone in the barangay knew us by name, age, occupation, where we were from and when we were born. Here in San Jose de Buenavista, the close-knitted-ness of the community is very low in the area in which we live. Living on the National Highway, with an average of 1400 STH (Stinky Trikes per Hour) passing our window every afternoon and so many people in the town (San Jose is not considered a “city” according to the Philippine Census, which, if it were, would entitle us as Peace Corps Volunteers to a nearly 800 Peso per month increase in our stipend), not many outside of our small block know us. With 2 other volunteers already in San Jose, and 2 more less than an hour north, we are, inevitably, just 2 more white people without name (except for “Joe”) when we venture the busy streets to walk somewhere. So having been here this long, join me on a review of a typical weekday in the life of Scott.

4:30 a.m.—Initial rush hour of 800 STH directly outside of our window rouses Scott from sweet slumber.
5:50 a.m.—Alarm clock beckons the beginning of a new day
5:58 a.m.—Snoozed alarm clock rings again.
6:06 a.m.—See entry for “5:58 a.m.”
6:14 a.m.—See above
6:14 and 8 seconds—Scott is pushed out of bed by cranky tired wife who has not returned to sleep since initial rush hour.
6:15 a.m.—Scott stands in the shower, cold bucket of water poised above his head, trying to build up courage to begin the shower.
6:17 a.m.—Shower finally begins
6:20 a.m.—Clean and cool Scott emerges from shower, changes into long pants and short sleeved button up T-shirt
6:25 a.m.—Breakfast served. Typical breakfast includes rice, pork or fish products, toast, instant coffee and bottled water.
6:40 a.m.—Breakfast complete, Scott returns to room to pack bag, read whatever book has recently engrossed him or write in his journal.
7:08 a.m.—Scott losses all sense of time while reading, and rushes downstairs to find Host-brother (nicknamed “Bungy-Boy”) patiently waiting for him.
7:09 a.m.—Scott and Bungy ride a trike to school (5 Pesos—about $.10)
7:13 a.m.—Scott and Bungy arrive at School.
7:15 a.m.—Flag ceremony starts at school. 1800 children sing the Philippine National Anthem, sing and dance the Antique Provincial Theme Song, recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the Philippines and listen to the principal remind them of their civic duty as children to pick up their trash.
7:28 a.m.—Scott begins giving a high-five to one student returning to class.
7:32 a.m.—…still giving high fives to the other 1799 students…
7:35 a.m.—Scott goes to his classroom to prepare for the day—getting alphabet and reading materials around, opening the windows in the classroom, arranging desks.
8:02 a.m.—Scott goes next-door to the remedial First Grade classroom to get his first victim/student for individual 30 minute reading sessions.
9:30 a.m.—Stop sessions for Pamahaw, a wonderful Philippine invention that necessitates the total stoppage of any work anywhere in the Philippines for a snack and/or beverage. Scott indulges in a glass bottle Mountain Dew (cost 10 Pesos) and/or the special of the day from the school canteen.
10:00 a.m.—Remediation begins again.
11:00/11:30 a.m.—Class ends (This is not really a set time, more an approximation. Sometimes the students go home by 10:45, sometimes at 11:00.
11:30 (ish) a.m.—Scott rides a trike home
11:34 (ish) a.m.—Scott gets home, sits in front of fan to try and stop the profuse sweating. Does not work.
11:45 a.m.—Erin walks home from her work (if she is in the office, which is a quick walk down the street)
12:00—Lunch time! Typical meal includes rice, chicken, soup, fish, pork, something fried, vegetables, bottled water.
12:30 p.m.—Lunch over, Scott and Erin retreat to room to rest.
1:30 p.m.—Scott rides a trike back to school.
1:34 p.m.—Scott arrives at school, goes to the Hearing Impaired classroom to have the students there help him with his sign language. So far, Scott has mastered the following signs: Good Morning, Good Afternoon, My name is Scott. I am 26 years old. I have a wife. Her name is Erin. Monkey. Yes. No. The Alphabet. Bridge. Snake. America. Brother, Sister, Mother, Father. Beautiful. Handsome. Joke. Camel.
2:00 p.m.—Remediation begins again.
3:00-4:00 p.m.—Classes end, students help to clean up the classroom. Again, not a set time, more an approximation. Scott helps clean, talks with students, they laugh at his inability to properly communicate in Kinaray-a, ask him why he has so much fur, tell him that he is fat, point to and touch his long, pointy nose or just giggle and surround him, taking turns shouting short English phrases at him point blank. “WHAT IS YOUR WIFE LOOKING, IS IT?” or “YOU KNOW EMINEM?” or “WHAT TEACHER YOU HAVE CRUSH ON?” (The answers of which are “She’s pretty.” “No.” and, “I’m married and I’m not in fourth grade.”) Scott then tells them they are all “Monkey Bridges” in sign Language and runs away crying.
4:14 p.m.—Scott gets on a trike and rides home.
4:21 p.m.—After much struggling, Scott finally changes out of his sweaty, stinky work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt.
4:22 p.m.—Coffee and rest time, either on the porch with the family or in his room, shaking and sobbing, depending on the how well the day went.
4:30 (ish)—Erin comes home. Whatever mood Scott is in, she is the opposite.
4:30-6:00 p.m.—Game time with Bungy, chatting with family, shopping or resting.
6:00 p.m.—Dinner Time (sometimes as late as 7:30 pm)
After Dinner—Card games with family, chatting with family, card games with Erin (our new game of choice is Cribbage)

Scott and Erin usually retreat to their room at around 8 p.m., depending on the availability of World Cup games or cheesy movies on TV. Before bed there is definitely reading, rehashing of the day and reminding ourselves that it is not that bad here. Usual bed time is 9:30-10:00 p.m.

2006-06-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

MORE PICTURES!
These are from the swearing ceremony, including the tinikling bamboo dance, Scott and his new guitar, and Antique sunset, and the Antique volunteers together on the beach

2006-06-22T18:51:00.000-07:00

My coworkers and I in Valderrama.

Here is the mountain resort bathroom, just as I dreamed it would be:)
My counterpart at Save the Children, Marlyn and I

2006-06-22T18:41:00.000-07:00

A “Resort” Getaway
I need to adjust my definition of the word resort to fit this country. To me the words “mountain resort” conjure up images of a romantic getaway complete with clean sheets, hot showers, hiking trails, horseback riding and a pool/jacuzzi near a rushing mountain stream. Not so much the case here. This week I attended a Save the Children planning session in the mountain town of Valderrama, Antique at Villa Valderrama Mountain Resort. Allow me to describe the resort scene to you and we’ll do a little compare and contrast. Here, the word resort meant a conference room with holes in the floor, ceiling and doors, plastic chairs carefully placed so as to not fall through the floor, Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the room with one strand blinking and a couple strands burnt out. It meant damp, no wet foam mattresses under a caving in tin roof and no toilet seats or toilet paper, and certainly not a shower, hot or otherwise. This is a mountain resort. There was a beautiful rushing mountain stream though, just as I pictured. We drove through this rushing mountain stream three times on our ascent to the resort – fun! It was beautiful up in the mountain rainforest, traveling past rice terraces and mini mountain waterfalls. I totally loved it. The word resort just makes me laugh now.
Here are some photos from my Mountain Resort Getaway. . .

2006-06-18T23:55:00.000-07:00

Scott and our little brother Jared in Guimbal.

A beautiful Guimbal sunset.

Playing during Camp Kasadyahan, our community activity in Guimbal

2006-06-18T23:35:00.000-07:00

A man and his Karibaw passing in front of our house in Guimbal.

This is our training cluster. Scott, Erin, Ian, RyAnn and Eli

Some of the cutest kids in the world at the beach. (Kids from Ian's host family and ours) Bea and Erin in Guimbal

Some cute kids on one of the infamous trikes, our main mode of transportation
Here is our first host family during training in Guimbal. Nanay (mom) Lilia, Sally, Scott, Me, Manong (big brother) Badong, Manang (big sister) Judith, Baby Bea and Jared. Aren't they beautiful?

2006-06-15T00:46:00.000-07:00

Some Parts of Normal Life, that were NOT Normal 3 months ago. . .

* Eating fish or pork for breakfast
*Piling into a motorcycle side car to get around everyday
* Carrying an umbrella when it's not rainy
* Seeing the sunset over the mountains or on the ocean regularly
*Cutting meat with a spoon. . . no knives here
*Sleeping under a mosquito net
*Using acronyms for everything ( I am a PCV working for STC in the WV in the CYF sector under the PNVSCA - no joke, people talk like that!!)
* No toilet seats. . . or toilet paper
*Calling people by nicknames like: BungyBoy, BokBok, BingBing, NiNi, and NoyNoy
*Being called either ma'am, or Joe, everywhere I go.
*Wearing jeans as formal attire
*Wearing jeans in 100 degree weather
*Being stared at and pointed at everywhere I go
*Swimming fully clothed in shorts and a t-shirt
*Picking ants, mosquitoes and various other insects out of my food or beverage and continuing to eat or drink without a second thought
*Traveling down rough dirt roads, across endless fields, and over bamboo bridges and somehow ending up at a school full of children - amazing!
*Ending phrases with the word lang - it is not translate-able, but the best answer to any question is, "OK lang." Godd to know, if you ever come visit
*Showering by scooping cold water from a large bucket (that is also the solution for no toilet paper)

I guess that is all for now. Just a few of the simple details of our life here. We are very happy with our new family in San Jose, it is not quite home yet, but we know it will be soon enough. We're both keeping busy with our jobs. I will let Scott give you an update about his work soon. Thanks for reading our random rantings! We would love to hear details of your lives at home. We miss everyone A LOT!
Thanks
-Erin:)

2006-06-05T20:27:00.000-07:00

6-5-06
Tinikling, or the Bamboo Dance of Death
The swearing in ceremony for our official start as Peace Corps volunteers is somewhat of a big deal. The ambassador flies in, local dignitaries and department officials attend, so naturally, Peace Corps wants it to look professional. They also want us, the trainees to present native songs and dances to the people in attendance, to show our cultural immersion. Our hub manager, Sheila, texted us to tell us to head to our hub site for dance practice one day – we went, thinking the entire Western Visayas training group would be there performing the dance with us. We were sorely mistaken. We had been chosen (or rather nominated by a complex practice of no one else wanting to do it) to dance the “tinikling,” the national dance of the Philippines involving intense skill, quick feet and a percussionists rhythm. Unfortunately we possess none of these qualities. The tinikling has four central people. Two dancers who hop in and out of two long bamboo poles, smiling and hopping, twisting in harmonious synchrony. While the dancers are busy doing that, two others are holding the bamboo poles and giving all they’ve got to snap the dancer’s feet between the poles. The beat is a speedy waltz, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3. With each 1, 2 count the poles are clapped downwards to keep the beat and on number 3 they are slammed together! With this beating and snapping, the dancer’s feet are flitting in between the lightning fast blurs of bamboo, escaping punishment by a whisker’s breadth each time – at least in theory. While learning what we liked to call, the complicated bamboo dance of death, many tears were shed because careless ankles and toes were not in rhythm with the crashing poles and were curtly clipped as a reminder of the notoriously quick beat. Others were shed in anger and frustration at our having been chosen and not able to accomplish this task. Sometimes one of us would be perfectly on count and the other would mis-step or linger too long between the poles. We yelled at each other, the pole bearers got off-beat. . .disaster! After nearly 15 hours of practicing, not one time had we completed the dance perfectly. Maybe it was the idea of doing it in front of dignitaries, or even more dreaded, doing it in front of our friends – whatever it was, when we performed the dance at swearing in, by some miracle, we completed it flawlessly – a perfect performance. We were sore, tired, our feet hurt, but we had done it – completed the complicated bamboo dance of death! Everyone was so impressed and so thrilled that we had done it so well. If only they knew. . . .

2006-05-22T02:21:00.000-07:00

First are some things that I wrote at the very beginnnig of training. I forgot that I wrote them, but they are very emotional, and still very true. After that, a fun story about our site visit to San Jose. We get sworn in next week and are excited and scared. Here they are, read away!

March 23, 2006

Right now it is 12:44 in the morning. Erin and I are staying in the Crown Plaza in less-than-picturesque Romulus, Michigan. Today, our lives are fairly normal. We are young and we are married, not unlike a majority of our friends from high school and college. Tomorrow morning, all traces and hints of normalcy will be thrown out the window as we step onto the airplane that will bring us to the place that we have been talking, thinking and dreaming about for the past year. All of the paperwork, phone calls, trips to the doctor’s office, stacks of forms and endless questions have been working towards the one, single moment we step off the jet-way and onto the Northwest flight number 71. That microsecond of transition between when our foot leaves the solid ground of our old, familiar friend “Michigan” and steps onto the airplane will be the moment when we begin to live the life we have envisioned for ourselves. We have talked Peace Corps. We have tried to explain Peace Corps. We have tried to understand Peace Corps. Tomorrow, for all intents and purposes, we will experience Peace Corps.
Frankie Marietta came to see us at the hotel tonight. It was a very sweet gesture, as he had to come all the way from Oxford to Romulus and we didn’t get out of our meetings until after 10 p.m., so he knew from the get-go that there wasn’t going to be a lot of time. We sat down, Frank, Erin and I and had one of the most relevant and real conversations that I have had in a very long time. It’s funny the scenario, the way that it played out. It was almost like a movie: Big Boy was empty except a waitress working the late shift, a burly, disgruntled looking cook peering out from behind the stainless steel counter and the three of us huddled into a non-smoking booth. As the milkshakes were drained, and the onion rings slowly turned soggy, Frankie told me exactly what had been on my mind for quite some time now. I thought that I was the only one who was having trouble with the way the modern American church operates, but I never knew how to say what I felt. Our conversation was long, and the whole time I wished that I had a tape recorder, so that I could replay exactly what Frank was saying. My mind was reeling, trying to grasp everything that he was telling us, but then realizing that it was the exact same thing that had been on my heart for some time now. I can’t remember all that he said, but the thing that stuck out the most for me was twofold: First, that we as a church in America seem to be too busy with our hands in the air praising instead of having our hands being down on the ground getting dirty doing the work of God. I’ll elaborate on that later. Second, he gave us a Bart Camplo quote, something to the effect of, “I’ve read the Bible a lot, and the red part, the part Jesus says, I get that. The rest of it doesn’t make sense.” As we go to bed and prepare for tomorrow’s journey to the Philippines, I know that I am getting my hands dirty. For all of the talk about doing the work of God and going out and helping the poor, the widowed, the orphaned, this is the real deal. There is no turning back now. The second part about the red words, the ones that Jesus spoke, those words seem to be the words that made the most sense. Jesus was not just talking. His talk was partnered with action, action that positively impacted the people around Him. I don’t think that the rest of the Bible doesn’t make sense, but I do see how much sense the words of Jesus make. Lord, help me to love in real ways. Help me to be your hands and to love like you did Jesus. That’s it. That is my prayer for these two years. Help me to love.

March 30, 2006
Today is our last day at the resort outside of Manila before we travel to our respective hub sites. It has been a very interesting being here—I joined the Peace Corps so that I could offer help to people that I might be able to help. I want to love people. As we got off the bus after the incredibly long plane ride, I was ready to get down and get dirty. Instead, I carried my bags into my hotel room near the pool, cranked up the air-conditioning, sat down on my newly made bed with clean sheets and pillows, flipped on the television and watched ESPN on the satellite before taking a hot shower. Needless to say, this was not what I envisioned when I signed up for Peace Corps! Where were the huts? Where were the people carrying water from miles away? My expectations of Peace Corps service were getting erased very quickly. We learn the theories of Community Development while sipping our iced drinks, listen to ways in which we can to connect to our counterparts while munching on cookies, and talk about how we as volunteers need to assimilate into our surroundings while Filipinos clear our dishes at dinner. I am not sure how our current Pre Service Training could be handled differently—I realize that we need to be trained and that we cannot just be dropped into a village on our own without this time of learning and the logistics of our 77 person group mandate a facility such as this. That being said, the reality of my Americanism, Peace Corps volunteer or not, was brought home hard to me on my first morning here at the Island Cove Resort. As Erin and I were walking around the compound (a term not used loosely—our resort is, in fact, an island, separated form the rest of the area by no less than 200 feet of dirty river water), we could see the other side of the river. Now, the word “river” in my mind normally conjures up images of swiftly moving, clean mountain water rushing by, loosely sending spray off of the rocks while fish and waterfowl frolic in the crisp blue waters. I do not want to make a false impression—this was in fact a river that we were standing in front of, however, it more resembled a stagnant swath of water meekly meandering through a garbage dump than the majestic flowing Rocky Mountain River in my mind. Old, discarded tires seemed to be the trash of choice of this area of the water, along with thousands of plastic items of every imaginable design. We could see rows of ramshackle bamboo huts dangling precariously on the riverbank across this wasteland, seemingly defying the laws of physics by merely not falling into the murky water below. Children were laughing and playing, women were hanging laundry and men were busy tinkering with their boats as Erin and I stood there, not sure what to say. Here we were, coming literally across the world to love and to help the people around us. I think that the river was more than just a dirty body of water, but a metaphor for what may be to come—we stood there as Americans, despite being in a poor country, still residing in relative comfort, looking at these people with nothing, and were not able to do anything to help them. We were separated by this river—this expanse that none of our best intentions could cross. The only way that I could have gone over there to help them was to leave the compound behind and go to them. There is no way that I am going to be able to help anyone in the country, no way that I am going to be able to love and learn from these beautiful people if I am not willing to leave my American-ness behind. I say that I want to help, but I secretly want an Ipod. I tell people that I come here to love, but wouldn’t it be cool to have a Land Rover? There is this war raging in me, one that has been for a long time. I desperately want to help people, but my desperation seems to be on paper and in theory, because I am still shackled to my previous way of life. That is one thing that I want to shed during my time here, but I know right now that it is going to be extremely difficult to do that.

5.20.2006

It has been awhile since we last posted and quite a few things happened we may need to mention. A few weeks ago, Erin and I visited the site where we will be assigned, a small city on the western coast of Panay Island called San Jose de Buenavista. Our stay was funny in a few ways. For some reason, everything that we do here seems to be funny in retrospect.
We traveled to San Jose by bus, which was actually a very comfortable ride. We had to travel through some perilous (but very beautiful) mountains to get over to the coast, but out driver was excellent. With sheer drop-offs whizzing by, switchbacks coming and going with regularity and 100 yard chunks of asphalt missing in various places, it had the potential to be a harrowing ride. Fortunately our driver was extremely proficient, and Erin didn’t even get sick once. That was the good part. The bad part was that the girl in front of us did. For those of you that have taken physics, this may be a light refresher in some of the laws of motion. I never got a chance to take physics in high school (my best friend’s dad, who happened to be our golf coach was the advanced biology teacher, but that’s a digression we won’t explore right now), so I wasn’t really aware of the potential hazard that was this girl’s breakfast. Apparently she did not experience the same smooth ride that we did—the switchbacks and rumbling gravel were a little too much for her. Without anywhere else to go, she stuck her head out the window and released her inner demons. Because of the speed in which the bus was traveling, coupled with the fact that all the windows in the bus were open, the poor young girl’s vomit had nowhere else to travel once it left her, except back through the window directly behind her—onto the waiting face and arm of Erin—twice. Welcome to San Jose.
After Erin wiped the rest of the puke off in my principal’s office, we were ready to move our bags from the school into the apartment they had prepared for us. There was a family that the principal knew who had an empty apartment directly behind the school that they were going to rent for us at a reasonable rate. We were excited as we walked, trying to envision what our next three months would entail. Now, Erin and I are used to living pretty simply. We were able to move almost all of our possessions across the country in a 4-door Ford Focus, so living in tight quarters was not all that new to us. However, this apartment pushed the limits of our intimacy. I don’t think that anyone had told the family that a married couple would be using the apartment, because in what they called the bedroom (an exaggeration by any standard—it was the size of a bathroom on an airplane with a window in it), there lay a single, 2-foot wide green army cot. The funny thing was that as small as it was, it took up nearly the entire room. The only other thing besides mildew in the apartment was a rickety table—that was it. No cupboards, no stove, just walls and a door. Our principal was not impressed, and neither were we. “You will not stay here” she told us, so we tramped back to the school and set up our home for the week in the most logical of all places—the Home Economics classroom. In the Philippines, they take their Home EC serious, so this classroom had a demonstration bedroom where diligent students can practice dusting, sweeping and making the bamboo bed. Excellent. We can make it here for 6 days, no problem. Spoken too early, perhaps?
If you are tired of reading, a quick synopsis of what is to come is: Scott got electrocuted, Erin fell in a hole and our boredom began us on a journey with the card game Rummy to 13,000 points. If not, sit back and read on my friend.
The principal did not have anything for us to do on this our first visit for the moment, and Erin’s supervisor was not going to be in town until the next day, so we were given a chance to relax for a few hours. Lounging around our home/classroom the first day, we realized how incredibly HOT it is in San Jose. Fortunately the principal was kind enough to leave a few electric fans for us to use, so, being the loving husband that I am, I decided to move one of the fans down into the kitchen/lecture room that we were sitting in. The electrical system in the United States runs at 120 volts while the power here is 220 volts, a full 100 volts more than back home. The only reason that would be important would be if you wanted to plug an item designed for use in America into a socket in the Philippines. One would need to know the proper voltage so that one could purchase a converter and not fry whatever it was that one plugged in (like a battery charger, but that’s a different story for a different time). One might also need to know about the voltage difference if all 220 volts are coursing through one’s entire body. When I reached for the fan, I had no idea that the wires leading to the fan itself were actually bare. I mean, come on—who thinks of that? I do now. I look at every wire I touch now, because I got a friendly reminder from the friends at Panay Island Electric Cooperative about how fun 220 volts are—zero. So Erin got threw-up on, we’re living in the Home EC room and I get electrocuted. Yes! Welcome to Peace Corps.
Our welcome was further extended to us as we walked down the busy streets of San Jose 2 days later. Erin and I were going to fetch something, I can’t really remember what, but it was important at the time. The main mode of transportation in San Jose is by “tryke”—a 100 cc motorcycle with an attached sidecar that carries up to 12 people and emits 36 HCS per kilometer (HCS stands for “Huge Clouds of Smoke”). The city is full of trykes careening around corners and beeping for what seems like the sake of hearing themselves beep. As we were standing at the corner of one street waiting to cross, I saw a Peace Corps volunteer whom we had met the day before riding his bike home from the store. I turned to talk to him for a second and when I turned back, Erin was about a foot shorter than before. Giving more attention to the busy street and seeing our new friend, neither of us were watching too carefully where we were stepping. Why would we? What could we possibly step on or into…maybe a hole? Bingo! Distracted by the sights and sounds of the city, Erin had stepped into a small hole in the sidewalk that led down to the sewer, and found her leg trapped all the way up to her knee in the hole. I quickly pulled her out and she was more embarrassed than hurt—at first. We continued on our way to the store when she looked down and saw blood flowing freely from the multiple holes in her left leg. We changed directions and made for the Home EC room as quick as she could limp. We sat her down, I check the wires on the fan before turning it on and, not wanting infection to set in on her cuts, which would turn into gangrene and eventually lead to amputation of her leg, I thought it would be a good idea to clean the wounds with rubbing alcohol. Ouch! (that is a very clean, very edited version of what Erin said to me as I applied the flesh-searing alcohol to her leg) After cleaning her leg, Erin stood up, the blood drained out of her head and she almost passed out. Yikes. This was getting more fun by the day.
The good thing about our placements is that both Erin and I have excellent counterparts with whom to work. One negative thing is that both of our counterparts were extremely busy the week of site visit. Erin’s supervisor doesn’t even work in San Jose on Fridays and my principal was up to her neck in paperwork preparing for the upcoming school year (which begins in June). So…not wanting to get in her hair and not having any place to really go outside the Home EC room because of the intense heat, Erin and I decided to begin our journey into the cosmos of the game that is Rummy. A usual game of Rummy lasts until 500 points or whenever Erin is tired of playing cards (usually around the 75-80 point range). Maybe because of the intense heat and humidity, maybe because of Erin’s brush with death on the mean streets of San Jose, or maybe because of our intense boredom—whatever the reason, we made the mutual goal of trying to play Rummy up to 13,000 points. To describe our boredom in as succinct way as possible, Erin-5690, Scott-6145. That’s all Erin will let me say about that.
We made it through the week in one piece (more or less), have a host family lined up for when we return in June and are sort of looking forward to going back after swearing in. The best part of our whole trip, though, was coming back to our original barangay. There was a time when we thought that this place could never feel like home. We felt like strange white people in a strange land (wait…that’s exactly what we are). All of that was thrown out the proverbial window the moment we stepped out of the tryke in front of our house. Our 75+ year old guest mother sprinted out to meet us, tears in her eyes as she enveloped Erin in an array of toothless kisses, muttering “Bata ko, bata ko” which means “My child, my child.” Talk about feeling loved! It was good to be home! After all the fuss over Erin, they even said “Hello” to me (later the next day).
For those of you that know us well, you will be happy to know that it was not our extreme proficiency with this difficult language nor our endearing charm or stunning good looks that finally won us over to our host family. No, we don’t really have any of those things, but we do like to play games, and so does our family. The initial shyness is way past gone. Before, no one in our family would talk to us. Now, every evening after dinner we play various card games or Yahtzee for at least an hour, laughing and teasing and loving life. Erin can shuffle like a pro now (complete with bridge for those of you who are dorky enough to know what that is) and she’s a card shark ready to take on the Farver family in Euchre upon their arrival to the Philippines sometime next year (right?) We love you all!
Scott and Erin

2006-05-04T02:35:00.000-07:00

Scott and Erin Farver
Hi everyone! Thank you for all the birthday wishes! Unfortunately I did not get ice cream, but I will soon. Our host family did make 5 trays of mango float though, a yummy cold mango dessert, so I can not complain one bit! We are in San Jose now for our one week site visit. It is a bit overwhelming. I must admit I miss our host family and training community back in Igcocolo. We do not have a house our host family yet in San Jose, so we are staying in the home economics room in Scott's school - weird?!?! While it's a little sad without a family and the new city is confusing, we are both very excited about our jobs. Scott is at the central elementary school and he will likely be working in the special education school with the blind, deaf and mentally impaired. I will be working with Save the Children, an international NGO with many youth focused programs. The two I will be working most with are Adolescant Sexual and Reproductive Health and School Health and Nutrition. I am very excited about the opportunity and the organization seems wonderful. Thank you for the support and comments - we love reading them and will keep you updated!

2006-04-28T01:44:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Erin's birthday (yay!). I'm not sure how we are going to celebrate it, but I am going to try my darndest to get that girl some ice cream. We leave to visit our permanent site on Tuesday for a visit of where we will live and work. We are very excited, but also, obviously, a little nervous. There are some new pictures uploaded--you can click on the flickr thingey-ma-bobey to the right to check them out. We have some more fun stories to share, but all in due time. We love you all, except the people who randomly drop by. We don't know you--we like you though. No, we love you. Never mind. We love you a lot! Come visit us. Erin is telling me we have to go. Take care and Happy Birthday Erin!!

2006-04-25T03:45:00.001-07:00

Saturday April 22, 2006

Myad nga gabi-i! (Good Evening!) I (Erin) have a quick story to share. Quite a few nights ago after a yummy dinner with our host family (which in itself is exciting, since they used to set a separate table for us in the dining room, while the family ate in the kitchen – something about respect for guests and Filipinos eating with their hands, I don’t know, but we’re very thankful that we all eat together now), anyway. . .after dinner, Scott and I were practicing sentences in Kinaray-a. One of the sentences I was saying involved the words mga tiki (translation = the lizards), no sooner were the words out of my mouth then TWO lizards landed on my head. Yes that’s right. Two fighting lizards fell from the ceiling onto my head at the dinner table. Very funny. One jumped right off, and everyone had a good laugh and thought that was it. Meanwhile I was still shaking and pointing at my host sister, as I could still feel one hiding in my hair. After perhaps the longest 10-15 seconds of my life she realized there was another one and brushed it off my head! Such is life here!

Speaking of random animals in the Philippines, Scott was stung by a sea urchin this week – ouch! If you ever get stung by a sea urchin, soak your foot in vinegar – it works miracles.

One more thing, this country is beautiful! If you are considering visiting sometime in the next two years, let me encourage you to do so. Words and pictures simply can not describe it. Amazing blue coastline, rugged mountains, and the cutest kids on the planet! You have to see it for yourself.

Salamat gid!

2006-04-25T03:45:00.000-07:00

Thursday April 20, 2006

Today was a great day—Erin said it best this evening as we sat down to journal and write about our day. She said that today was a perfect Peace Corps type of day. I have to agree with her; it was a perfect Peace Corps day. The three goals of Peace Corps are basically to promote understanding among Americans about foreign cultures, promote understanding among foreigners about American culture and to provide a needed service to a requesting host country. We had a great language and culture session this morning where the 5 of us just blazed through the 4 hours and really showcased what we had learned so far. After that, Erin and I successfully navigated our way to the nearest town, mailed some postcards, bought some fresh milk, stopped at the local market and made it back to our house without getting ripped off too much from anybody in between. While we were studying for class, some young girls that were watching us from outside our window finally agreed to play with us, and we had a ball! We played hide and seek in the sweltering afternoon heat, a game where we first threw our flip-flops at a can then at the person who knocks the can over, another flip-flop game of some kind, Erin and I sang some songs in English, the girls answered with some in Kinary-a and we finished with some mixed Kinaray-a/English Simon-Says. We had so much fun, we scheduled another play date for tomorrow with everyone. Later in the evening we went with one of the other Americans’ host family to their 98-year old grandmother’s birthday party. 98 years old. It was amazing to think about how much life she has seen since being born in 1908. Of course our plates were heaped high with rice, pork and more rice. A meal is not a meal here without rice. Actually, one evening during training a few weeks ago we had tacos (which were great!) but there wasn’t any rice with dinner. All of our Filipino Language Instructors went back to the kitchen to get some rice, because for them it couldn’t be considered a real meal unless there was rice involved. After dinner we taught some of the women mingling outside some fun games that we played with the kids at Eagle Village and Quarry Lane a lot. It was hilarious. All of these middle aged women were cracking up watching us teach them and their kids how to play. What a great day! Things are going well (knock on wood!!) and we are learning a lot.

2006-04-25T03:44:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 21, 2006

We finally found out our final sites – at last we know where we will spend the next two years of our lives. We will live and work in San Jose de Buenavista, the capital city of Antique Province. Do not let the title of capital city fool you; while it is a big town compared to our village, it is certainly not big by American standards. Erin found out that she is being paired with the international agency called “Save the Children,” working with the ARSH program. It is actually kind of funny that she is being placed there. The acronym ARSH stands for “Adolescent Reproductive and Sexual Health.” In short, part of her job will be to help teach 9-18 year olds Sex Ed. We told our language instructor Roli that he would have to modify one of our lessons so that Erin could learn the proper vocabulary for what she is going to teach.
I (Scott) got my placement, too, and I will be working in an elementary school, most likely with the Special Education teachers and students. The role of an education volunteer is usually to offer support to teachers in the form of workshops and trainings, but in this case there may be quite a bit of interaction in the classroom as well. I am really excited, but also very nervous. Erin and I will be visiting our permanent site the first week of May, so we will have a very good idea of the capacity in which we will work after this initial visit. If you are reading this, thank you, and if you are thinking of and praying for us, thank you very much!

2006-04-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

I have to tell the story of our first night at our host family’s house, because it is so incredibly funny. You might need to come over here, enjoy a cool beverage and sit back and relax as Erin and I retell the tale, because it is much funnier in person. Alas, for most this cannot be attained, so we will have to rely on the descriptive word to convey the hilarity of the situation.

We were whisked away to our host family’s house on what is called a “trike.” It is basically a motorcycle (a term to be used loosely—I don’t think one trike here has more than 100cc’s of power. They are more like scooters) with a covered sidecar. Most of the time there are like 8-10 people piled on the bike, in the sidecar or on the side or top of the sidecar. We were fortunate in that there were only 6 of us driving to our house. We got to the house, settled in, ate some dinner and were shooshed to bed at about 7:00, because the family kept insisting that we were tired. We actually were not very tired, but Erin and I retired to our room, happy to unpack the rest of our things and to have a little time alone to talk about what had happened that day. Keep in mind this whole time, that it was HOT and the air was heavy. I mean, it is usually hot and humid in Michigan during the summer time, but here the heat is intense, plus, it looked like it was going to rain the whole day and it hadn’t yet. Maybe the heat has something to do with our all-cement house with the metal roof and poor air circulation trapping the hot air in our room like an oven, but it might be my imagination.

8:00 p.m.

We turned on the fan, lay in bed, ready for sweet sleep to come.

8:07 p.m

A knock came at the door. It was our supervisor bringing our mosquito net for us. We were happy to see her, chatted for a minute and then she left, leaving us to go back to bed.

8:09 p.m.

The bugs were not too bad (to me at least), so we decided to just lie down without putting the mosquito net up and went to sleep. At least I did.

8:37 p.m.

I was pleasantly enjoying the wonders of REM sleep patterns when Erin woke me up. “The bugs are horrible honey. I can’t stand it. Can we plllleeeeaase put the mosquito net up?” Now, if you are a member of the Farver family, you know that “we” means Scott. Me. So, of course, “we” rolled groggily out of bed and unpacked the mosquito net to hang over our bed. Remember that the house is all cement, so we cannot exactly tack nails into the wall to hang up the net. Being the resourceful sort of fellow that I am, I had rolled duct tape onto my water bottle before we left the country, so I meticulously hung the net, being careful to reinforce the tape, creating a mosquito-free sleeping paradise for my wife and I.

9:03 p.m.

The mosquito net is successfully hung. Sleep is on the way (again).

9:19 p.m.

Erin and I were lying in bed, when a tremendous noise hit us. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!! It was the local village practicing their dance and drum competition—25 feet outside of our window. They actually were not bad, however, it would have been nice to hear at 9:19 a.m…before we went to bed. “The soothing beat would help us to go to sleep” I told Erin. Yes, yes it would.

9:42 p.m.

Sleep again. Oh, sweet reprise! You, whom I have chased after, longed after for such a time. Come to me sleep! Let me wrap my arms around you and …Nope. I actually was asleep again when *Plop!* I felt something hit my nose. Darn mosquito net. The oven-like heat had made the duct tape not work so well. “We” fixed the problem. Used more duct tape. It was a great idea in my head at the time.

9:51 p.m.

Mosquito net was successfully hung! I plopped back down into bed, my head throbbing and bobbing to the relentless drums outside.

9.59 p.m.

Just about ready to sleep again. Still hot, still loud, but I was really tired now. Sleep was so close. *Plop!* Wow. I didn’t know whether to swear or laugh. I was determined now. I was going to defeat this mosquito net. Nothing could stop me from hanging this net up. I was going to be a Peace Corps Volunteer! I would drink from Nalgene bottles and shower from buckets! I am hard core! This little mosquito net was not going to beat me.

10:36 p.m.

I win! I win! With a little string, some clever use of the curtain rods and good ole’ fashioned Midwestern determination, I beat that mosquito net. If it fell again, it would bring the whole house down. If not, I am pretty sure that I would.

11:43 p.m.

Sleep is restless as the drums keep beating. I am hot, the net had not fallen, but the adrenaline is still pumping from my battle it. I…must…sleep. All I can do is dance to the drum beats. Sleep is teasing me from afar.

12:39 a.m.

Surprisingly, the drums stopping wakes us both up. The silence is deafening. Erin and I both sit upright in bed, our ears ringing with the sudden quietness. I feel like I have been front row at a Def Leopard concert (which I have been before. I met the band, too, even the one-armed drummer, but that’s beside the point). We smile and go back to sleep.

12:39 and 30 seconds a.m.

Cock-a-doodle dooooooooo!!!!!

What? Roosters at midnight?? We were actually laughing out loud now. How could this night get any worse?! Hahahahahaha. Oh, what a funny story to tell someday!

1:07 a.m.

The laughing is done. I am mad. A new kind of quiet has come. One where electrical power enabling our wonderful cooling fan to pump air towards our sleeping bodies has ceased. Our first brownout. No fan make Erin mad. Mad Erin no good for sleeping Scott. Sweat. Sweat. More sweat. So much liquid that I couldn’t tell the sweat from the tears.

2:08 a.m.

I love life! The whir of cooling has begun anew! The power came back on, sleep will come soon after!

2:22 a.m.

Have you ever heard rain on a metal roof? It can be very soothing and melodic when you are enjoying a cool summer rain in Grandpa’s barn, eating corn on the cob and drinking iced tea. When you are sweating your butt off in the Philippines and have slept 17 minutes so far in the night, “soothing” is not exactly the word I would use. I can’t type the word I used, because my mother-in-law will read this (sorry Karen!).

3:18 a.m.

The drone of the typhoon overhead is deafening, but it stops. Finally, it stops. Sleep is possible now.

4:00 a.m.

The whole Filipino archipelago wakes up and greets each other with radio’s blaring. Rooster answer in turn, and the stray dogs remember to chime in, too.

I love this story. Now. Not then. Definitely, not then.

2006-04-17T21:11:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I celebrated my 26^th birthday in high Filipino style. It was definitely one of the best birthdays I have ever had, possibly top 3. That being said, let me explain a little of why it was one of the best:

First, before we get into that, our host family is great. Our host mother is almost 70 years old, so one of her daughters who works in Taiwan at the moment, has a house behind our host mother’s house. We are staying in the empty house right now. It is not furnished and is not fully finished (picture a lot of gray cement) besides a bed, nightstand and couch, but it gives us a considerable amount of privacy and we have our own indoor bathroom (complete with a flush toilet!). We eat and hang out with the family in the main house, but at nights we get shooshed to our room pretty early, which gives us time to study and journal. The language we are learning is called Kinary-a, which about 300,000 people in the whole world speak, almost every single one of them living on the island of Panay in the Western Visayas region of the Philippines. The language lessons are going well—we have 3 other people learning with us, and we are a good team at pushing each other every day. We have class from 8-12 Mon-Sat, with the afternoons reserved for us to go out in our community to practice what we learned and to help us to foster relationships with the people in our village. That is a short synopsis of what we do, back to Saturday (my birthday).

So, the town that we are near is named Guimbal, which is an old word meaning “drum.” Basically, hundreds of years ago the local people were happy and productive, living their coastal life with no worries. Suddenly, Moor pirates came, tore through the area and left, destroying the village, killing most of the men and taking a lot of the women with them. So the villagers got wise, erected a series of towers on the coast to look out for intruders, and when the saw any, they would beat a special drum (called a “Guimbal”) to alert the villagers, and because of their preparation they successfully fought off any would-be attackers. The celebration in the town of this event is called “Bantayan” and the whole festival revolves around this event.

There is a special drum and dance competition during the Bantayan festival where villages compete against each other to portray the history of the town in as loud and dramatic fashion as possible. Fortunately for Erin and I, our village (the reigning champions from last year) let us get a preview of this year’s show. Unfortunately for us, the practice was literally 25 feet from our bedroom window and our first night here lasted well past 1:30 in the morning. It was LOUD! But, we got to see the final product on Saturday, and it was fantastic! 11 villages competed (so we got pretty good at knowing the history of the town, having seen it reenacted 11 times over the course of 3 hours) and we had sweet seats. The mayor of the town was kind enough to invite all of the Peace Corps Trainees to sit in the VIP area (under the shade!), and we all got front row seats to the terrific performance. Afterwards, we celebrated with our village and the other Americans in our language group, dancing and singing and just having a good time. Since none of this island attracts any tourists (ever), the fact that we are all Caucasians living in a small town has given us rock-star-like status. We attract gawks and stares nearly everywhere we go, and the fact that we were joining our village celebrating their performance just made everyone go bonkers for us! It was great! We had so much fun, and people were so welcoming and gracious to us.

So now, we are working hard at learning the language every day. Here is a sentence for anyone who is interested:

Nagakaon ang gami nga lalaki kang panit nga kanding sa baybay.

(Translation: “The small boy eats goat skin at the beach.”)

You can see that we are doing very well and are learning practical things to say.

-Scott

2006-03-31T00:58:00.000-08:00

Friday March 31, 2006
Well…Erin and I are both extremely excited because we are very close to finding out where our final placement will be. Our large group of 77 Peace Corps Trainees split into their respective “hub” sites this morning. Our hub site is referred to as the “Western Visayas.” Currently, we are on the island of Panay, just outside the city of Iloilo (pronounced, “Eeelo Eeelo”), and are very excited to continue with our training. Here’s what happened:
The 15 of us who were shipped to Western Visayas are pretty diverse; our ages, abilities and actual jobs vary, but we are all very excited. The Philippines is a deceptive country. On the surface, a lot of the amenities of western culture are widely available. There is an Ace Hardware in the shopping mall near our training center and NBA basketball is very popular here. However, while we may feel comfortable initially, we knew that we were in for a little change in culture once we left the training center early this morning..
Now, as per the American Way, almost all of us recruits decided to bring many aspects of America with us thousands of miles across the world to the Philippines, including a few who decided to smuggle what felt like actual kitchen sinks in their bags. Getting the bags on the bus and the ensuing bus ride to the airport from our training center was pretty easy-peasy…a lot of luggage, sure, but we got to ride in a large, modern, air-conditioned bus, complete with a short showing of some pretty funny Mr. Bean skits on the DVD player. However, once we got off the bus, we had to all take all of our bags past security 2 times before we could check them—no problem. We boarded our jet and the flight to Iloilo City was quick and efficient. The scenery gliding past under our windows was absolutely magnificent. Beautiful blue expanses of the Pacific intermingled with islands large and small. As we approached Iloilo City, the rolling, high mountains in the middle of the large island of Panay took our breath away. Upon landing, instead of the modern conveniences of jet ways and air-conditioned terminals afforded to us in Manila, we stepped off our plane directly onto the tarmac. After getting all 239,429,387 of our bags, instead of a bus, we took what is called a “jeepney” to our destination. In case you are not sure what exactly a jeepney is, picture a brightly painted old-time American military jeep with an extended, covered bed. The bed can fit about 10 Filipinos with knees drawn under chin, but Filipinos are generally a bit shorter than Americans, so imagine the love that exists in our group when we squeezed 15 Americans. We had so much stuff with us that we actually had to commadere 2 jeepneys—one for the people and one for the luggage. Along the route to our new training center, there were signs that remind drivers to “Please obey local traffic laws,” and after making the hair-raising journey, I would be interested to know exactly what those laws may be. The nipa huts and colorful stands selling everything possible under the sun whizzed by in a blur of motor bike fumes and sharp gasps as we passed and were passed by many vehicles. We did arrive safely, though, and scarffed down a hasty lunch of rice, chicken, beans and the juiciest, freshest fruit you could wrap your tongue around. Everything is justso gorgeous. Currently we are staying at a training center across the street from the aqua blue coast of the Sulu Sea. (Of course Erin and I already went swimming shortly after arriving). We begin our language lessons this week. There are three languages being taught in our region. The two of us will be learning Kinaray-a. By the end of the week will be moving in with our first host family. Keep us in your prayers; we love all you very much!

2006-03-25T19:40:00.000-08:00

After a quick 20-some hour jaunt across the world, we have arrived safely in Manila and are awaiting our placement. We are staying in a resort just outside of the city and leave this Friday to a regional hub-site where we begin to learn a local language. Thank you for your prayers. We love you all so much!
-Erin and Scott

2006-03-20T21:18:00.000-08:00

Why am I joining the Peace Corps?

I think that on this, the night before our Peace Corps adventure begins, it is important I write down and share the reasons I am doing this. I hope this answers some of your questions; also, I might soon forget, and this way, I can be reminded of why we are doing this, too! So as I search my heart for answers to why we decided to join the Peace Corps, here is the list:

"Whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did." 1John2:6

*I want to step out of Western, comfortable, American Christianity for a while and just try (try being the key word!) to live a little closer to the way Jesus did
*Deep in my heart I still hold onto a naive, but incredibly sincere, passion to contribute to humanity--to make the world a better place
*I have been given so much and lived such a wonderful, comfortable life - I want to give some of that away to someone else; someone a world away from that life
*I want to learn about the world, to open my eyes and my heart to another culture
*I don't want to just talk about helping people, or about what I think we could or should do. I want to stop for a moment and really try and live it
*There is a part of me that longs for adventure
*I simply love to travel, I love languages, other cultures, the sights, sounds, everything!
* This is the perfect time in my life to pick up and go, there is nothing holding me back and I am able to share this experience with my best friend
*I don't want to look back on my life with regrets and "I wish I would haves." I want to take advantage of the opportunities before me
*I want to make friends that are different from me, to really enter into the lives of people a world away from what I know
*I want a challenge, to step outside my comfort zone and hopefully expand it
*Most of all I want to learn about love, about faith, and about humanity
Thank you for supporting me in living out this dream!
Erin

2006-03-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

There are new pictures posted of our trip back east in "the picture floaty thingy" (Erin) to the right.