Montreal to Mayumi

Supporting Haiyan (Yolanda) survivors

2013-11-12T12:53:00.000-05:00

I don't usually use this blog as a platform for soliciting aid, but the recent calamity in the Philippines requires me to relax my "blog rules". There are many local and international organisations that are and will be providing immediate disaster relief and medium to longer term recovery and rehabilitation aid. Please consider supporting one of these initiatives.

The letter below is a call for support from Kalikasan- People's network for the Environment, one of the Philippine NGOs that I have worked with since 2010. Kalikasan and their partner organisations do excellent work. Their extensive network and presence "on-the-ground" means they already understand the local context, customs and needs, and can reach some of the most vulnerable people quickly. When they did a similar outreach with the Typhoon Sendong survivors I worked with in CDO, the support extended beyond the short relief period into longer term advocacy, livelihoods and sustainability initiatives.

KALIKASAN PEOPLE'S NETWORK FOR THE ENVIRONMENT

26 Matulungin St. Central Dist., Diliman, Quezon City, Philippines, 1100

Tel./Fax; +63 (2) 924-8756 E-mail: secretariat@kalikasan.net Website: www.kalikasan.net

12 November 2013

Dear friends, allies and partners,

Our brothers and sisters in the Philippines are in urgent need of our help!

On November 8, super typhoon Yolanda (international name Haiyan) ravaged several provinces in central Philippines, with the provinces of Samar and Leyte as worst hit. Considered the strongest storm to hit the country and the world in recorded history, Yolanda decimated whole towns in a matter of hours. It left in its wake thousands of deaths which authorities fear to rise to up to 10,000 individuals as many others remain missing.

Communication and power lines are still down, while transportation is still impossible in many towns preventing relief and rescue missions. Around 620,000 people were displaced and 9.5 million individuals were affected by the super typhoon, according to Philippine government estimates.

In these trying times, let us express our solidarity with our brothers and sisters in the Philippines. BRIGADA KALIKASAN (Bayanihan ng Maka-Kalikasan para sa mga Biktima ng Disaster) appeals for your material or financial support to the survivors of Yolanda. Food (rice, canned and dried goods, coffee, milk, among others) water, and medicine (for cough, colds and diarrhea, paracetamol, antibiotic) are much needed. Sleeping materials such as mats and blankets, tents for temporary shelter and clothes are also appreciated.

For material donations, please drop them off at the BRIGADA KALIKASAN headquarters located at #26 Matulungin St., Brgy. Central, Quezon City.

For cash donations, please see details below:

Bank Account: Center for Environmental Concerns

Branch: BDO Matalino Branch (G/F J&L Bldg., Matalino St., Diliman, Quezon City)

Peso account number: 3640008876

Dollar account number: 103640033382

Bank Swift Code: BNORPHMM

BRIGADA KALIKASAN is being organized by the Center for Environmental Concerns-Philippines, Kalikasan People's Network for the Environment, Computer Professionals' Union and AGHAM-Advocates of Science and Technology for the People. For more information please contact us at +632.924.8756, email: kalikasan.pne@gmail.com.

In solidarity,

Clemente G. Bautista Jr.

National Coordinator

Canada's response to Supertyphoon Haiyan (Yolanda)

2013-11-12T11:37:00.000-05:00

Photo: Romeo Ranoco/Reuters

It is heart-wrenching to listen to the stories of survivors of Supertyphoon Haiyan (or Yolanda as it is known locally in the Philippines), and to the stories of Montrealers who haven't yet been able to get in touch with their loved ones in the affected parts of the Central Visayas. At this point, I feel like the only things I can do are to continue trying to get in touch with my friends and acquaintances in Tacloban, Cebu and St Bernard, to donate to disaster relief efforts, and to urge the Canadian government to strongly support relief and recovery efforts. So, I wrote to my Member of Parliament, Mr. Marc Garneau, this morning. Here is that letter.

Dear Mr. Garneau,

As one of your constituents in the riding of Westmount - Ville-Marie, I strongly urge you to take an active stand in Ottawa in pledging more and immediate support for the communities affected by Supertyphoon Haiyan in the Philippines. The disaster affects me personally and professionally, and I am extremely disappointed by the paltry response of the Government of Canada thus far.

My doctoral research explores how Filipinos rebuild their lives and livelihoods after a disaster. Since 2010, I have spent nearly a year in the Philippines visiting communities affected by disasters, interviewing survivors, and learning about critical issues and challenges. Everywhere I went, I was received with warmth, kindness and generosity. Everywhere I went, the resilience and ingenuity of Filipinos emerged as common strategies for living with uncertainty. I expect that the survivors of Haiyan will exhibit these same traits, but the effectiveness of these traits in rebuilding lives and livelihoods will be limited without significant and thoughtful financial assistance in both the short and long terms.

As of Monday November 11, the Government of Canada has announced support for two funds to help relief efforts in the Philippines: one fund of up to $5 million for humanitarian relief (14 cents per Canadian), and another fund that matches the donations of Canadians to registered Canadian charities between November 8 to December 8. Yesterday, it committed to deploy Canada's Disaster Assistance Response Team (DART). I think Canada's promise to help is grossly inadequate and ignores the importance of the Philippines to Canada. Please permit me to explain.

The Philippines provides a lot of human capital to Canada. It is now the number one source country for immigrants to Canada. Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia all have formal labour agreements with the Philippines. A similar agreement for the Atlantic provinces is underway. Many of the caregivers who care for Canadian children and elderly are Filipinos, providing a vital service that Canadians are unwilling or unable to do. Many more Filipinos or Canadians of Filipino descent work in engineering, health care and other sectors of the Canadian economy.

The strong interests of the Canadian mining sector in the Philippines vastly outweigh the pledged humanitarian response. The latest (2008) published statistics from the Mines and Geosciences Bureau of the Philippines indicate Canadian mining companies invested more than 1.2 billion dollars in Philippine mining projects (table 1). Although these mining sites do not lie within the path of the supertyphoon, maintaining goodwill between Canada and the Philippines is important to the social license Canadian mining companies require to operate overseas. Moreover, the revenues and repatriation of copper, gold, silver, nickel profits to Canada are surely worth hundreds of millions, if not billions of dollars to Canadian companies. A donation of up to five million dollars and an undetermined amount of matching dollars is minute in comparison to the mineral wealth mined and repatriated to Canada. A significant response to the current disaster would indicate Canada cares about the people and not just the mineral wealth of the Philippines.

Table 1: Canadian Mining Companies Operating in the Philippines

Source: Mines and Geosciences Bureau of the Philippines

LOCATION	TENEMENT HOLDER/ PERMITTEE/ OPERATOR	TOTAL DISCLOSED PROJECT COST (million $)
Sitio Canatuan, Bgy. Tabayo, Siocon, Zamboanga del Norte	TVI Resources Development Philippines Inc.	57.57
Maco, Compostela Valley	Apex Mining Corp. Inc (Crew Gold)	36.58
Victoria, Mindoro Oriental	Crew Minerals	1,100.09
Jabonga, Santiago, Tublay, Agusan del Norte*	MRL Gold Phils., Inc.	3.15
Balabag, Bayog, Zamboanga Sibugay	TVI Resources Development Philippines Inc.	2
Bgy. Camanlangan, New Bataan, Compostela Valley	Philco Mining Corporation (Sur American)	5
Sitio Capcapo, Licuaan-Baay, Abra	Jabel Corporation (Kadabra Mining Corp., Olympus Pacific Minerals, Inc.)	48
Bgy. Balibago, Lobo, Batangas	MRL Gold Phils., Inc.	4.45
Bgy. Balibago, Lobo, Batangas	MRL Gold Phils., Inc.	2.02
Camanlangan, Panay and Fatima New Bataan, Compostela Valley	Philco Mining Corporation (Sur American)	0.1
Bgy. Camanlangan, New Bataan, Compostela Valley	Philco Mining Corporation (Sur American)	0.1
Malimono and Mainit, Surigao del Norte	MRL Gold Phils., Inc.	0.1
TOTAL		1,259.16

Source: Isa Lorenzo and Philip Ney. 2008. The Canadian quandary. Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism. 28 December 2008. http://pcij.org/stories/the-canadian-quandary/

While I laud the government's pledge to match the generosity of Canadians supporting disaster relief efforts, I expect that the amount the government pays out will be drastically lower than what Canadians actually contribute. This is because the majority of money sent by people with a direct Philippines connection will not go through a registered Canadian charity. Instead, the money will be channeled as remittances sent directly to family, friends and Filipino organisations working at the grassroots level. Thus the GOC will pay comparatively little to the money wired through global payment service companies like Western Union, MoneyGram, WorldRemit and others.

Finally, why did the government wait until 11 November, three days after Haiyan made landfall in Eastern Samar on 8 November, before deploying the DART? The Tropical Storm Risk website began issuing alerts about Haiyan on 4 November. The DART should have been deployed last week to Japan, to be ready and in the Philippines on Saturday, right after the storm passed. It would not have cost Canadian taxpayers any more money, and most importantly, it could have helped to mitigate the emerging crisis due to clean water and food shortages, and severely damaged communication and infrastructure systems. With storms becoming more and more destructive, I expect my government to adjust its response to effectively deal with disasters, which requires a proactive stance. Stephen Harper claims his Conservative government is the best option for managing money; delivering food and water after the people have died is not effective. As such, the current government is living in the past; I want a government that is prepared for the present and the future.

Given the strong existing ties between Canada and the Philippines and what I understand as the moral obligation of Canada, I strongly urge you to speak up on behalf of Canadians who want their federal government to take more and immediate action to support short-term disaster relief and long-term recovery in the Central Visayas.

Thank you. Sincerely,

Christine

CC: Justin Trudeau (Liberal Party Leader), Thomas Mulcair (NDP Party Leader), Stephen Harper (PM), Elizabeth May (Green Party Leader), Daniel Paillé (Bloc Québecois Party Leader), Christian Paradis (Minister of International Development and Minister for La Francophonie), John Baird (Minister of Foreign Affairs) , Tobias C. Enverga Jr. (Conservative Senator), Jean François Bouthillette (Radio Canada reporter), Leslie Gatan (Philippine ambassador to Canada), Robert Desjardins (Canadian ambassador to the Philippines)

Catching pisos

2013-05-25T10:46:00.000-04:00

I hesitate to write this post, and to upload these photos and video. Have hesitated for almost four months. Why? I don't want to reinforce "us and them" attitudes, or to create/perpetuate an orientalist (mis)understanding of the Philippines.

(In 1978, the Edward Saïd published a book called Orientalism. In it, he describes orientalism as the subtle and pervasive prejudices against people of the Middle East. These prejudices romanticise (and caricaturise and even daemonise aspects of) Arabic culture, and are used to justify the colonial and imperial goals of Europe and the USA. The current US 'war on terror' is one example of how (neo) orientalism has real-life consequences today.)

Technically, from a geographical standpoint, harbouring 'subtle romantic yet harmful prejudices' about the Filipinos and Filipino culture cannot be orientalist because the Philippines is in Southeast Asia and not the Middle East. But, creating or reinforcing simplistic stereotypes can be just as detrimental.

So, with these caveats, here are some images snapped from aboard a ferry in Cebu City.

In the hour between boarding and departure from the port an economic (and cultural) exchange takes place.

Over the ferry intercom, an authoritative voice reminds passengers that they should not throw money at the people in the bangkas. Such actions can cause injury. The warning falls on deaf ears. Rather than dissuading passengers from engaging in such activity, the announcement seemingly has the opposite effect. A large crowd appears on the starboard deck. The passengers empty the coins from their pockets and slip rolled bills into empty plastic drink containers. They scan the water below.

Ten bangkas putter up alongside the ferry, each carrying two to six people. They wear little and very lightweight clothing. No bathing suits. Most of the boats have both children (including infants) and adults. One young woman pauses during the exchange to nurse her baby.

Each boat has one or two 'catching tools'. These tools are made of an old rice sack or plastic canvas poster attached to two strong sticks, which enable a person to manipulate the catching tool.

When a passenger tosses a coin or bill from the ferry, there's a flurry of activity. Often, the passenger makes a show of preparing to throw down money. One, two or three of the bangkas glide through the water nearing the passenger. The people below try to make eye contact with the passenger and unfurl their catching tool. The coin is tossed. If it lands in the catching tool, the catcher tilts the tool so the coin slides into the boat. If the coin misses, then one or several people will dive into the water to retrieve it. The water retrieval success rate is surprisingly (to me) high.

The exchange lasts thirty minutes. The ferry horn blasts. The passengers head back into their cabins, the cafeteria or the karaoke bar. The bangkas depart; some propelled by human paddling, others by motor.

What is your response to the images. Is it pity or guilt? Amazement or incredulity? Or nothing at all? What stories do the images tell? Tales of poverty and desperation? Or tales of creativity and ingenuity? Or something else entirely?

A film shoot

2013-03-25T20:41:00.000-04:00

One of the research methods I was most excited to try during my field season here in the Philippines was something called participatory videography.

Participatory videography is a variation of the photo voice method. (If you've seen the film Born into Brothels it's the same kind of method.) Photo voice is a process in which participants are asked to capture their personal perspective on a particular topic using photography, with the goal of identifying, representing and improving their community. The photographs are later used as the basis for a critical discussion, either as part of a group workshop or a dialogue with decision-makers. In my study, a small group of participants create videos instead of taking pictures. The videos will be used to explore the various places environmental migrants go following a calamity, and the livelihood changes they have experienced.

For many reasons (which I will not elaborate upon here), the process of doing participatory videography has turned out to be very different from what I'd anticipated. The revised version, I think (and hope), will yield good results.

On Friday, my research team set out with a small group of research participants to trace key elements of their journey as environmental migrants. I hope this entry will give you a glimpse into the types of research activities we are doing here. Instead of going into the minutiae, I've opted to write in note form and let the photos fill in the details.

* * * *
5:43 am
My internal alarm clock goes off. Must be nerves about the day's activities. There's no way I'm falling back asleep.

6:20 am
A forrest yoga podcast to start the day (and an extra half hour sleep for Ada and Frank).

7:00 am
Plain instant oatmeal, hard boiled eggs, banana and mango for breakfast. No time to make (brewed) coffee. Frank double checks to make sure he has the GPS (aka Samsung Galaxy smart phone with a GPS app). He's been assigned to be the official coordinate-taker at each site.

8:00 am
Meet up with Dudong, our jeepney driver neighbour. I'd arranged a pakyaw deal in which I hire him and his jeepney to take us around for the day's activities at a set price. He's wiping down the long benches running lengthwise along each side of vehicle. He runs back into his house to change from his pyjama-shorts into old jeans and a t-shirt. We are en route in the emptiest jeepney we've ever been in within 15 minutes.

Our jeepney for the day

8:45 am
After snaking our way through morning traffic, and a short stop to top up the oil, we arrive at the Park Cafe in Divisoria. We're picking up Kuki, my translator and research assistant extraordinaire. I send her a short text message telling her to look for us in a white and very empty jeep. Frank makes a quick trip into Dunkin' Donuts for some coffee.

9:15 am
Arrival at Ecoville. Only two diversions on the drive in (aka wrong turns).

There are no staff on-site, and no group of participants waiting (as per our arrangements). Uh oh.

We head to the carenderia of one of the participants who has agreed to come out on today's activity. Communication about the plans broke down somewhere along the line ... A frantic "are any staff around?" text message to my contact.

The carenderia owner helps gather the other participants, while I go collect and pay for the snacks I'd ordered from the Ecoville cooperative. The coop manager informs me that they'd been instructed to make "hearty" and "filling" snacks. Great!

10:00 am
Departure. There are thirteen of us: four adult women participants and two of their young children, two adult men participants, Kuki, Dudong, Frank, Ada and me.

There's an air of excitement. Transport from Ecoville into the city is relatively expensive so it's a rare splurge for many of the Ecoville residents, particularly for those with no or sporadic employment. When Kuki explained the activity at a workshop last week, there was an enthusiastic response. It would be like a school trip - back to the sites of their old homes and the other places that had a significant impact on them in the months after Typhoon Sendong. It would also be an opportunity for them to learn more about their new neighbours and their pre-Sendong lives. Ecoville residents lived in many different barangays in the city before coming together and building a new community in Ecoville.

10:30 am
First stop is the Xavier Heights covered court. It's a few side streets off the national highway in barangay Balulang. A goat grazes at the edge of the property. A half-dozen boys play basketball in the covered court.

We all dismount and tour the site. Kuki interviews one woman who lived her from December 2011 until February 2012. The army brought her here. We film on the spot where she and her family slept. It's right at the edge of the basketball court, on the grass side.

Xavier Heights covered court

On the walk out, a group of men stop Frank, and inquire about our activities. Upon hearing the interest in Typhoon Sendong, they offer an explanation on the root causes of the devastation: (illegal) logging, mining, unchecked development. Everyone, it seems, has an opinion on the calamity.

11:20 am
It's a harrowing ride through the backroads of Balulang down to Isla Puntod, the former home of two of the women. The road is used mostly by big trucks carrying crushed gravel from the river quarries. Much of the soil was carried away with the floodwaters, leaving only large boulders and giant potholes. Dudong's grimace tells me he was not anticipating this kind of off-road driving when he quoted me his pakyaw price.

There used to be two bridges connecting Isla Puntod to the mainland, a hanging bridge for pedestrians and a cemented bridge for motors (motorbikes), quarry trucks and the multicabs that served as the main mode of public transportation here. The former bridge was completely washed out and has not been rebuilt. The latter is cracked and doesn't look like it could stand another flood, but is still used. Looking at the river and the main Taguanao bridge upstream, it's easy to see that Isla Puntod would inevitably be flooded if the river level ever rose. There is no other place for the water to go. During Sendong, the water rose to within one meter of the bridge.

Taguanao bridge over the Cagayan River

Yet, the lots on Isla Puntod were titled. And there used to be plenty of houses.One woman moved here in 2003, paying a monthly mortgage of 116P to eventually own the land. Her place was connected (legally) with electricity in 2008. She will not receive any reimbursement for the money she has paid for the lot.

We film in front of her old house. She points to the site where a coconut tree once stood. When the water began rising (up to 25 feet), she and her husband climbed the tree to escape . The tree was knocked over by a barrage of uprooted trees. It was very dark so they kept shouting "where are you?". They crossed from one treetop to another, eventually making it to the safety of a neighbour's place several hundred meters away.

Her family has rebuilt a nipa house. They return occasionally to harvest mangoes, papaya, kamote and other vegetables and root crops. It's very peaceful; the river air and breeze is welcome respite from the summer heat.

The only new structure on the Isla is on a quarry site. The building serves as an office. Quarrying activities continue unabated.

Quarry next to the river

Isla Puntod is now a no-build zone. On the drive out, the women wave to old neighbours relaxing in hammocks hanging from a mango tree outside their concrete house.

12:00 pm
Drive into the city, into traffic. Turn left off Borja Street onto Isla de Oro. A young mother used to live here with her family. She tells Kuki about her old home.

Meanwhile, Frank strikes up a conversation with a group of lechonero, the men who prepare lechon. Roasted pig, or lechon, is a specialty of Cagayan de Oro City and a favourite dish of Cagayanos during holidays, graduations and fiestas. The men are resting in the shade of a light, open structure. Two lechon are skewered onto long bamboo poles, ready for hours of roasting. It turns out that the men are (English-speaking) environmental migrants, so I go to interview them.

Lechonero with their lechon

The men used to live in Isla de Oro, but have since been relocated to the Chinese houses in Cala-anan. Even though they have been relocated, they return to Isla de Oro on a daily basis ... for work. Lechon-making is the main livelihood of these men's families. Holidays is a particularly busy time for them. Sometimes they receive orders from Manila; to get the cooked lechon to the Lumbia airport in time for the afternoon flight, the lechonero must start preparations at 3am. There are no jeepneys running from Cala-anan to the city at a quarter past two in the morning, so the men have no choice but to spend the night in Isla de Oro.

The men compare levels of theft in Isla de Oro and in Cala-anan. Theft, they say, is much higher in Cala-anan. They attribute this to poverty and unmet basic needs at the relocation site.

The entire Isla de Oro is now a no-build zone.

12:40 pm

The next stop is Isla Delta in barangay Consolacion.

The young mother who used to live here talks rapidly. She calls cheerfully to former neighbours who seem happy to see her.

She points out the spot where her amakan house once stood. It's just past a junk shop and adjacent a small creek whose waters are more stagnant than flowing. The water is barely visible under a thick mass of bright green aquatic plants. The house was given to her from the Celebration Church. She lived at the house for 15 years.

A two minute walk away is her brother's house. She returns here on a regular basis to visit family; she sleeps here whenever she comes into the city. The house has a concrete foundation and amakan walls on the upper floor. He continues to stay here with his family, even though they have a bunkhouse (temporary shelter) in Ecoville. They will move permanently to Ecoville once the construction of the permanent houses is complete.

Under the Marcos bridge

We continue walking and stop under the Marcos bridge. She returned here on a daily basis to collect relief goods given by the Catholic Church and some non-governmental organizations.

Across the dirt road is a giant billboard. On the night of December 16-17, 2011, her mother and cousin were carried by the flood waters and stranded in the struts of the billboard. Luckily, they survived.

Billboard where several survivors were trapped

We leave on a somber note. She points to a stretch of road where the bodies were laid out, brought there by members of the police and armed forces. In the days after the calamity, families gathered on the bridge and looked down, trying to identify loved ones.

Most of Isla Delta is now a no-build zone.

1:15 pm

We drive past the pier and into barangay Macabalan. Most of the houses are constructed with light materials. It is densely populated, and lacking in trees and greenspace. It's an estuary barangay, located at the meeting of the Cagayan River and Macajalar Bay. Salty air wafts into the jeepney. It's a refreshing change from the diesel, charcoal and refuse stench in the downtown core.

The roads are very narrow with deep gutters on either side. It is barely wide enough for the jeepney to pass. Dudong demonstrates his expert driving skills when he is forced to creep around a wake extending onto the street. Kuki explains that when someone dies, there is usually a wake in which family, friends and neighbours come to pay their respects (and maybe share a shot of Tanduay rum). In poorer neighbours, where most people have tiny houses with very limited space for accommodating visitors, these wakes extend onto the street. It is socially acceptable to appropriate this public space for the duration of the wake.

We shoot a video looking out onto the river. The former resident explains that his house was built on a seawall and extended over the river. It was entirely washed out. All along the river side of the road are empty concrete house ruins and newly planted vegetable gardens. Children play in the abandoned houses. On the other side of the road is a thriving community - sari-sari shops, carenderias, residential homes, etc. No building is vacant.

Frank takes the GPS coordinates where the house once stood

Many of his former neighbours are waiting to be relocated to the Cala-anan and Indahag relocation sites. Initially, no Macabalan residents were supposed to be given relocation housing, even though many of houses were washed out. The city's rationale was that nobody in the barangay died in Sendong. It took a very tragic incident for this position to change. One woman died by suicide in an evacuation center; she had been denied relocation housing because she was a renter and not a home owners, was too traumatized to return to her old place, and felt she had no alternative. The Catholic parish priest in Macabalan was afraid that his parishioners may follow a similar fate, so he lobbied the city on their behalf, advocating for relocation. He is credited with helping a lot of (former and soon-to-be former) Macabalan residents.

1:45 pm
A quick stop at the Macabalan Elementary School where he stayed for two months, along with 74 other families. The guard recognizes him, and waves us in for the filming.

Macabalan Elementary School

2:00 pm
Everyone is getting hungry. The snacks were hearty and substantial, but a full meal is definitely warranted. On the drive to a favourite carenderia the Isla Delta woman points out a PhilPost building; it is where she comes each month to pick up the money she gets from the DSWD's 4P's program geared at helping low income families support the educational and nutritional needs of their children.

We make a quick stop at the Provincial Capitol to film where the same woman came each afternoon to collect relief goods. Government workers would distribute cooked food, a welcome respite from canned sardines and noodles.

2:45 pm
After a lunch of rice, chicken, porkchop, jackfruit salad, and squash and monggo bean soup, washed down with Pepsi, we are all in much better spirits. The weather, however, has taken a turn for the worse. It's clouding over. By the time we stop at City Central School - one of the main evacuation camps - it is pouring cats and dogs. It's the first all-out thunder and lightning storm we've seen in our time in CDO.

Filming in the rain

The rain abates ever so slightly for the video shoot. It is the only clip we do under umbrellas.

Kuki has to leave for another job, leaving us to finish the day sans-traductrice. Fortunately, everyone has a good sense of what to present at each site. Still, not being able to communicate fully does make the work more challenging.

3:10 pm
We drive through Macasandig, a relatively upscale barangay. Many of the barangay's middle-class residents were completely unprepared for Sendong because there had been no flooding there (in living memory).

It's still raining so we offer the older gentleman who lived here the option of filming from the jeepney. He walks with a cane and might have trouble navigating puddles. He insists on doing his part and filming on-site in the covered court where he and his wife stayed for several months.

3:45 pm
We finally arrive back at Ecoville, exhausted. We do a final video in one of the bunkhouses, where the Macabalan man and his family now stay. It's small but cheery. A motorcycle helmet hangs on one wall. Bags of donated clothes and linens line one wall. He narrates his video in a mixture of English and Visayan.

Alley behind the bunkhouses at Ecoville

After much thanks, hand-shaking and good wishes, we head back home.

* * * *
The day is long, emotionally taxing and physically exhausting. And rich, revealing and rewarding.

I will go back to Ecoville again next week to deliver copies of the video to each participant. Before the videos can be shared with others outside the research team, they need to be translated, edited, and, in some cases, altered to conceal the identity of the participant (as per their request).

N.B. I have permission to use and share the pictures and stories of the people in this post. Sensitive details have been omitted in order to protect the respondents.

Stinky fruit

2013-03-22T21:46:00.000-04:00

The Philippines boasts myriad tantalizing tropical fruits. Some fruits grace North American and European grocery store shelves: yellow mango, banana (of all sizes), pineapple, papaya. Other fruits are harder to find outside of tropical countries, especially in their non-juice, non-dried form. Some examples include: mangosteen, breadfruit, lanzones, rambutan, jackfruit. Sadly (for tropical fruit gastronomes based in colder climes), the quality of such fruits diminishes rapidly with intercontinental travel, so a Philippine mango consumed in Canada is nowhere near as lami (Visayan word for delicious or sweet) as one consumed in the Philippines.

Of the more unusual fruit sold at local roadside fruit stands (and found in our fruit bowl), are two kinds that fall into the "stinky fruit" category: marang and durian.

Durian, in particular, emits an odour that is not merely mildly unpleasant, but (to many people) full on repulsive. For example, an ice cream parlour in Madison, Wisconsin once tried to create a durian-flavoured ice cream. Apparently, a neighbouring business, unfamiliar with the smell, called the fire department, complaining of a gas leak. After the arrival of fire trucks and a bomb squad, the parlour abandoned its recipe experimentation.

Personally, I consider other smells much more offensive (e.g. hockey gloves that have not been washed for several months or a car full of wet kayak gear in a July heat-wave). Frank disagrees. And so too, apparently, do many hotels and airlines, who single out durian and marang as banned substances.

Lobby display at the Marigold Hotel in CDO

Here's an introduction to these two stinky fruits.

A pile of marang

Marang (Artocarpus odoratissimus) grows on a tree indigenous to the island of Minadanao. It is a relative of the breadfruit, but a much stinkier and smaller cousin. The outer skin is covered with short, flexible spikes; it bears an uncanny resemblence to an echidna (spiny anteater) balled up in a defensive position. The range in the size of these fruits is roughly the same range found in bowling balls. The fruit inside is composed of sweet, soft white-coloured segments, each around a hard inedible pit.

Young woman eating marang

Durian (Durio spp.) is the king of stinky fruit. In the Philippines, it is grown almost exclusively in Mindanao. (There's debate over whether the fruit is native or was introduced.) It's pretty expensive as far as fruit goes. It retails for over 250P per kilo in the grocery store (inner fruit only). Buying whole fruits at the Cogon market or at a roadside kiosk is a more budget-friendly option (60-100P per kilo).

Durian vendor with her basket of fruit

The fruit has a hard green-brown exterior; its sharp spikes easily pierce through canvas grocery bags and the skin on your fingers. It's best to ask the fruit vendor to slice open the fruit before you buy. This reduces: 1) the chance of cutting your fingers and 2) the possibility of buying fruit with critters small enough to worm their way between the spikes and start devouring the soft flesh inside.

There are several cultivars of durian. The one with white flesh has a lighter, more delicate taste. It's the preferred choice for those with a more sensitive nose. The yellow-fleshed durian has a bolder taste (and smell). The fruit itself is very creamy and rich; it melts in your mouth. It is very soft; its 'squishability' makes it an ideal baby food. (Mango and durian are tied atop Ada's list of favourite foods.)

A partially-eaten durian

If you ever find yourself with the opportunity to indulge in such delicacies, I highly recommend it ... even if you have to hold your nose the entire time.

Mending nets, sewing (sowing) relationships

2013-03-19T12:11:00.000-04:00

Today's interviews were at the Cala-anan resettlement site. It's one of the largest resettlement sites in CDO, and is home to former residents from many different barangays. When I tell people that I'm studying the different places where the survivors of Typhoon Sendong went, and what they have done for their livelihoods, a typical response is "have you been to Cala-anan?"

Relocation housing in Cala-anan

From the city's main market, it's a 40 minute (15P) jeepney ride. My translator, Ada and I rode a jeepney that was nearly empty when it left the terminal. This is highly unusual; most drivers will wait until the jeep is full or nearly full before departing. We stop frequently, picking up passengers. We pass the giant landfill site (site of tomorrow's interviews), the turnoff to a transitional housing area and another relocation site.

Along one of the side streets, in the doorway of her row house, sits an older woman. She is mending a net. Instead of thread she uses fine wire, carefully stitching the mesh to a round metal frame. The net is pink. Attached to the frame is a long, thin metal handle. It looks sturdy, yet light.

When we reach the part of the interview about livelihoods, and changes she has experienced in her livelihoods before and after Sendong, I ask her about the net. Her former barangay is next to the sea; I am anticipating to learn that she used to mend fishing nets (likely for a fisherman husband or son), and continues to do so in her new home. That the person using the net doesn't fish as frequently as before, because of the distance and added expense of commuting from such a distance.

I'm wrong.

The net is unrelated to her livelihood. Her apo (grandchildren) like to fish in the creek on the other side of the road. Their enthusiasm for fishing (the act of fishing, not necessarily catching anything) means there are many nets to repair. It makes her happy to make her apo happy.

When I look at the net again, it looks familiar. Not one of the store-bought butterfly nets you see in nature stores. No, it more closely resembles the handmade nets my Grandpa made for his grandchildren. The nets that my cousins and I used to catch minnows and crayfish in Lake Superior, and the chipmunks and squirrels that ventured onto one of bird (squirrel) feeders at camp. The nets that gave us endless hours of planning, practicing, failing and finally catching creatures. The nets that, more importantly, encouraged us to play and run around together for hours and hours and hours. The nets that Grandpa would repair again and again (the squirrels had a tendency to chew through the nets in their quest for freedom).

When I watch the woman mend the fish net with this insight, I see her sewing with something other than potential income or food as her motivation. It's something that money cannot buy. In mending this net, she is sowing relationships - among her apo, and between her and her apo.

International Women's Day

2013-03-08T10:13:00.000-05:00

March 8th is International Women's Day. It began near the turn of the twentieth century when women in the USA began actively asserting against women's oppression and inequality (with men). It is now celebrated around the world. This year's theme is "a promise is a promise: time for action to end violence against women." (If you want to read more about the history of International Women's Day, check out this website.)

Because my research uses a feminist geography lens, and because I'm generally interested in gender and feminist issues, I was keen to partake in the International Women's Day events here in Cagayan de Oro City.

The Northern Mindanao chapter of Gabriela hosted a rally in Divisoria, the city centre. According to its website, Gabriela Philippines is "a nationwide alliance of more than 200 women's organizations that cut across sectors and regions". Since 1984, Gabriela has led the struggle of Filipinas for freedom and democracy. The Gabriela organizers I have met over the past few months have helped me better understand the political and domestic situation of women in this country.

Today's event builds on the 1 Billion Rising campaign that was launched on Valentine's Day. The campaign calls attention to violence against women and girls, and refuses to accept this violence as a given, demanding a change. On February 14th, the campaign aimed to have one billion men and women from all around the world rise up and dance. And they did.

Gabriela's unity statement for the 2013 International Women's Day calls attention to the "oppressive conditions that have been plaguing the Filipina women - poverty, hunger, structural violence, discrimination and the general lack of opportunities for women" (emphasis in original). On page two there are a few lines about the situation of women and children survivors of Typhoon Sendong: "in our region, 'Sendong' survivors especially mothers and children suffer still in relocation sites and danger zone communities. Access to livelihood, water, electricity, school and other social services remains a persistent problem." From what I've been told in interviews, and observed in site visits, this statement rings true.

Calling for action and change at the IWD event

When Ada and I arrived at in Divisoria, there were one hundred plus women, men and children sitting in the park, listening attentively to the speeches. Many participants wore pink or black t-shirts stamped with the campaign logo. Throughout the afternoon, Gabriela leaders and sympathetic partylist political candidates read unity statements. Their calls for action were received with enthusiastic cheering. A spirited version of the 1 Billion Rising choreography interspersed the speeches. Most of the crowd had mastered the choreography, suggesting they had participated in last month's campaign launch.

Not surprisingly, the crowd was filled with individuals apparently very sympathetic to the women's cause. It was, however, not who was present that is especially telling, but rather who was absent. There were no politicians - municipal, regional or national. There were no hoards of university students (easily identifiable by their school uniforms), even though the main gates of Xavier University stand less than 200 meters from the microphone. There were no individuals wearing religious garb. There were no Muslim women (although Muslim Filipinas do participate actively in other Gabriela campaigns int he Philippines). There were no army, police or fire units. There was one photographer, and no film crew.

Tomorrow morning, the Region X Police is hosting a fun run to raise money and awareness for abused women. If I can wake up early enough to run, I expect to see a very different crowd and experience a very different vibe at the state-sponsored event.

Do you eat rice?

2013-03-06T10:04:00.000-05:00

Amakan house

Today, my research team - an interpreter/research assistant, my daughter and I - visited an amakan village on the other side of the city. It's called an amakan village because the walls of the houses are made of amakan (bamboo). The walls are lightweight and well-suited to rapid construction and demolition - a key criterion of temporary housing. At its peak, the village housed over 200 households (roughly 1000 men, women and children survivors of Typhoon Sendong). Only 62 families currently reside there. The remaining families are scheduled to move into permanent relocation housing by April or June of this year.

Amakan houses and empty spaces where amakan houses once stood

The answers of the residents to my research questions were fascinating. It is not their answers, however, that I want to share in this post; it is their questions.

At the end of each interview and focus group discussion, I ask respondents what (if any) questions they have for me. About half of the respondents don't have any questions and prefer to move on with the rest of their day. Of the respondents who elect to pose questions, most inquire about the research itself or how I am enjoying life in the Philippines. If Ada is with me, then I am often asked "lalaki or babae?" (boy or girl), "how many months?", and "is the father Pinoy?". This 'second interview' typically lasts only several minutes.

Today, the second interview was much longer. There was a back and forth of questions, a comedic performance, a round of pass-the-baby, and peals of laughter. I tried to answer the questions as fully and truthfully as I could but I didn't have all the answers. Here's a smattering of their queries.

They inquired about the Canadian climate and weather:

What kind of precipitation is there in Canada?
How cold is it?
Do you like snow and cold?
What are the seasons in Canada?
Do people freeze in the wintertime?

Other questions delved into family and personal matters:

Do you have more children?
How old are you?
Where do you stay here in the Philippines?
When did you arrive in the Philippines?
Where is your husband? What does he do here?
What is your husband's job? Does he have a salary here in the Philippines?

Then, there were the food questions:

Do you eat rice?
Why don't you eat rice three times a day?
What do you eat?
Is it true that there are people in the USA who only eat fruits and vegetables and bread?
What is your favourite Filipino food?

There were questions about social issues in Canada:

Are there poor people in Canada?
Is there a social safety net for poor people and unemployed people in Canada? Does the government provide them with free housing?
How does the welfare system work?

And, some questions about transportation:

How long does it take to get to the United States? By car? By plane?
Are there buses in Canada?
How do people travel long distances in Canada?

Other inquiries focused on their observations of foreigners (i.e. white) in the Philippines:

Why do foreign men like Filipina women?
Why do foreigners always walk [instead of taking a motorella, jeepney, habal-habal (motorbike)] even when it is so hot and only 7 to 10 pisos?
Why do American men walk so fast - like this [imitation of a man taking enormous strides]? His Filipina wife has to walk so fast just to keep up [imitation of a women hurrying around taking four or five tiny steps just to keep up with the husband], and she's usually pregnant [arm gestures to indicate a pregnant belly].

The questions you ask can reveal a lot about you, perhaps even more than the response. It's an issue I've considered in the process of designing and carrying out my research. In asking respondents to take a turn as the interviewer, I can learn about values, stereotypes, cultural biases, among other things. And, in answering questions, I can satisfy their curiosity and hopefully help to nurture cross-cultural understanding.

And now my closing questions to you:

How would you have answered the above questions?
What question(s) do you have?

Tuesday run

2013-02-28T09:59:00.000-05:00

Late Tuesday afternoon,
walking down Mahogany Road,
beads of sunscreen and sweat collecting dirt and car exhaust, I mull over the day's work.

It was a long day of interviews in barangay Carmen:
- the city police department
- the regional fire department
- sari-sari owners whose shops sport new renovations and fresh red and white paint courtesy of Coca Cola - a drunk trisikad (pedicab) driver trying to score a free ticket to Canada
- a thoughtful young trisikad driver
(The latter two, survivors of Typhoon Sendong)

A lunchtime discussion with my translator about the confused reactions of the trisikad drivers when asked the pros and cons of their livelihood:
"Why ask such a question? It's a job. If we don't work, we don't eat. There's nothing to like or complain about."

And one interview in the downtown hub of Divisoria
There was a late start to the interview with the director of the Xavier Ecoville Resettlement Site;
A visit from Philippine President P'noy to the resettlement site takes precedence.

Back at the house, there is a request for roasted manok (chicken) for dinner ...
It is Tuesday after all and we only buy rotisserie chicken on Tuesdays
"Why?"
It just happened that way, and is now an unofficial house rule.

The chicken is on the other side of the highway.
I volunteer to buy it on the way back from a run.

It's my first run in a few days.
The summer heat, a persistent cough, fatigue from nighttime nursing, and long days of interviews and note-writing have dampened by enthusiasm for early morning jogs.

I turn left onto the national highway, away from the city and towards barangays of Agusan and Puerto.
The shoulder is uneven, a mixture of broken asphalt, rocks and litter.
It is shared,
- by overloaded transport trucks waiting for the magical hour of 5 PM when the traffic cops call it a day and stop issuing tickets
- by jeepneys, motorellas, trisikads dropping off passengers and picking up new ones
- by roadside vendors selling everything from mosquito repellent and bananas to fresh fish and hair ties
- by schoolchildren and workers returning home
But no other runners.

A few K later I dash across to the road leading up to a new housing development.
The road is paved all the way up to Teakwood Hills;
A project of Congressman Rufus Rodriguez, according to the billboards.
The pavement ends less than one hundred metres past the gate.
There are residential roads inside, but only two houses.
But lots of vacant lots.

Not unexpectedly, the road to Teakwood Hills is hilly, steep in some parts and only a slight incline in others.
The road is marked with stations of the cross.
(Many roads branching off the highway and into the mountainous hinterlands are pilgrimage routes.)
By the time I pass Station III, my calf and hamstring muscles are burning.

A brief reprieve on some flats, where a group of children play.
Three boys and one girl are wearing only one slipper (flip flop);
The mates are on the road at varying distances from the children.
They play a version of bowling, in which the object of the game is to knock over a can with a pitched slipper. Another dozen or so children watch.

"Americano, Americano"

One of the boys abandons the game and joins me, matches me stride for stride.
We run one station of the cross together, then he stops.

On the way down, I spot the kids again.
They have been climbing up the hill.
All wear two slippers.
The boy rushes out in front, I slip in behind, and the rest of the kids behind me:
A parade, a posse of runners.
The laughter is louder than the footfalls.

A "whoooooshing" sound interrupts, then clippity-clop, clippity-clop, clippity-clop.
A tall chestnut mare gallops into the fray.
Luckily for us, she stays on the opposite side of the road.
She carries no rider, only a frayed rope tied around her neck.
The rope undulates at the same rhythm as her captive.
The equine gracefully exits the run.
The children follow.

The return trip is quick.
I feel lighter, even laden with manok.

The Youth Guide to Biodiversity

2013-02-17T09:09:00.001-05:00

Here's some shameless self-promotion on one of the projects I helped produce for the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO) and the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD).

* * * * *

The Youth Guide to Biodiversity is finally here!

Discover the wonders of the world’s plants and animals in this brand-new, colourful, information-packed publication. Learn about biodiversity and what it does for us, and let the Youth Guide inspire you to help protect the marvelous natural world around us.

Enjoy it, share it, get involved! Follow this link.

* * * * *

The biodiversity challenge badge, published back in 2010, is the complement to the youth guide.

The challenge badge is a tool to allow teachers and youth leaders to guide young people in learning about biodiversity and developing action-oriented projects. The activities encourage participants to get to know the natural world in their community, to find out why certain species and habitats are struggling to survive, and to understand the links between biodiversity and the well-being of people around the world.

Try it out. Follow this link.

Academic publications, or Ada's first lecture

2013-02-12T09:30:00.000-05:00

Publishing in peer-reviewed journals is a critical component of academic life. The old adage of publish or perish rings true for many university lifers. Your credibility, reputation and ability to garner scholarships, research grant money, tenure and promotions all depend, in part, having your research evaluated by your peers. There is a seemingly endless list of journals publishing research on an equally impressive array of topics. These journals are ranked in terms of their impact factor. For example, getting published in a journal like Nature or Science is akin to winning an Olympic medal. Scholars typically aim to publish in both very specialized journals read only by their peers and high impact journals with an extensive readership. In addition to publishing in peer reviewed journals, academics must also share their work orally - at conferences and workshops, guest lectures, in undergraduate and graduate courses.

During my doctoral studies I need to buoy up the academic publication and presentation section of my curriculum vitae. This post is a brief account of one such foray.

* * * *
Part I: The article

Last year, I co-authored a paper with Dr. James Ford, one of my profs at McGill University. It investigates one part of the climate migration puzzle, specifically how to provide protection for the people displaced by climate change. The following abstract summarizes the main arguments of the paper.

Climate change is expected to increase migration flows, especially from socially and environmentally vulnerable populations. These 'climate migrants' do not have any official protection under international law, which has implications for the human security of migrants. This work argues that the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) can and should recognize climate migrants, and is the most relevant international framework for doing so. While not legally binding, the acknowledgment of climate displacement, migration and planned relocation issues in the UNFCCC's Cancun Adaptation Framework indicates a willingness to address the issue through an adaptation lens. Herein, the paper proposes a framework for setting the institutional groundwork for recognizing climate migrants, focusing on the most vulnerable, promoting targeted research and policy agendas, and situating policies within a comprehensive strategy.

If you want to read the full article, it's available on the Environmental Research Letters (ERL) website. ERL is an open access journal, which means that you can read and download articles for free. An added perk of open access journals (to academics) is that your research is more likely to be disseminated outside the academic community.

For a short synopsis, try reading Liz Kalaugher's article on the environmentalresearchweb.org website. This online magazine targets a non-academic audience so the writing style is much less academic and reader-friendly.

* * * *

Part II: The presentation

One of my key informants at Ateneo de Manila University kindly invited me to present this paper as part of their social sciences guest lecture series. I jumped at the opportunity. But it didn't unfold exactly as planned.

The lecture was set for Friday January 25 at 4:30 pm. As luck would have it, Frank received a text message from the MSI service center earlier that week, informing him that the long-awaited hard drive for our beleaguered laptop was finally ready for pick-up. We were in Manila for only a few days; Friday was the only available day for pick-up. Because the trek to the MSI office entails a short stint on the body-crushing MRT (Metro Rail Transit), bringing Ada was not an option. So Ada spent the day with me.

After a delicious lunch of bulalo (Filipino beef marrow soup) at Jek's Kubo (including a complimentary bowl of the broth and vegetables for "the cute baby with blue eyes"), Ada and I set off for Ateneo. We arrived early, with lots of time to peruse library resources and to photograph the outdoor art installation of quirky giant animals made of wire and coloured cans. I orated an abridged version of the presentation to a pair of giraffes.

Ada sandwiched between two giant giraffes at Ateneo de Manila University

Shortly before the scheduled start time I asked a fellow student if he'd hold the baby during the presentation. He replied that it would be his pleasure. As the lecture hall filled up, Ada started to fuss. She was getting into one of those moods, the one in which she refuses to be held by anyone except mom and papa.

I sent a frantic text to Frank.

When I was introduced, the remarks included the usual info - name, degrees, country of origin, research interests, etc. The remarks also included some commentary about changing gender relations (in which the father takes time off work to care for the children), work-life balance, parental leave in Quebec, and conducting research with a baby.

I walked up to the podium, notes in one hand, baby in the other. I don't remember much about the words alternately flowing and stumbling from my lips. I do remember bouncing my daughter up and down on my hip, listening to her babble into the microphone, watching her make eyes at the audience. I remember feeling mortified and guilty; the guilt comes from wondering whether or not I am exerting white privilege by bringing my baby to work and expecting others to ignore the inconvenience. I remember stealing frequent glances at the door, willing Frank to enter the room.

A half hour later he does. Waltzes down the stairs to the podium, picks up the baby and exits the room.

My knight in shining armor is also my yaya (Filipino term for nanny).

Despite (or perhaps because of) the distraction of my co-presenter, the lecture was well-received. I am very grateful that everyone I have met here in the Philippines, without exception, has been extremely understanding and receptive to accommodating a baby. Even when it entails listening to a lecture delivered (in part) by a seven and a half month old.

Reference: Christine Gibb and James Ford (2012) Should the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change recognize climate migrants? Environ. Res. Lett. 7 doi: 045601

Postcards from Camiguin

2013-01-06T02:08:00.000-05:00

A one week break from all research activities on a beautiful volcanic island in Northern Mindanao.

December 21
Greetings from Kingfisher Cottage in barangay Agoho!

After an exhaustive day of traveling, we are settling in nicely at our new abode. We had an early start to the day - with the intention of arriving in Camiguin early to mid afternoon. Our plans, however, were thwarted by:
a) an uncanny absence of taxis looking for passengers to drive into the city,
b) traffic entering CDO,
c) a long line-up of passengers waiting to alight the CDO-Balingoan bus (which worked in our favour by giving us time to use the bus station's CR (comfort room) - the cleanest public bathrooms I have ever seen in the Philippines), d) traffic leaving CDO,
e) construction on the national highway,
f) an hour delay in the ferry departure, and
g) an aging ferry whose running time, we are told, has increased steadily from one hour to two hours in the past few years.
We were glad to have asked Ralph, one half of the German-Filipino couple who own the cottage, to pick us up at the Benoni wharf.

Our first glimpse of a mist-covered Camiguin Island from the Baligoan-Benoni ferry.

On the way, we stop at the "one decent grocery store" to pick up some supplies in the capital town of Mambajao. There's a small combined wet (fish and meats) and dry (vegetables, fruits and rice) market across the road. We buy a few bags of pre-cut mixed vegetables for a stir-fry (at ten pisos a bag, it's a steal), some potatoes and a few skewers of barbecued pork (10PhP), fresh tuna (25PhP) and a fish whose name escapes me (30PhP). Masarap (delicious)!

Iggy

Daylight was fast fading by the time we left the ferry terminal. The beauty and charm of the island remains a secret ... at least until tomorrow.

P.S. Frank noticed two lizards perched atop the ceiling beam over the kitchenette. We named the larger one 'Iggy' and the smaller one 'Pop'. We enjoyed (and will continue to enjoy every night of our stay in Camiguin) watching them clamour after moths. They appeared to enjoy watching us too, and perhaps even amused when we try to engage them in conversation.

December 22
Maayong odto (good noontime) from Mambajao.

Today's the day for wandering the streets of the capital city, sampling local fare and strolling along the beach. The carabao (water buffalo) in the rice paddies along the beach fascinate Frank. The picture below is one he snapped from the beach looking up towards one of the island's majestic volcanoes, Mount Hibok-Hibok.

December 23

Today we experienced the world from a whole new perspective ... underwater. There's a beach resort / dive centre called Camiguin Action Geckos just down the hill from our cottage. It offers introductory SCUBA courses; your first dive is at one of the island's incredible coral reefs. After watching an educational video (that was probably made in the eighties or early nineties judging from the hairstyles), we hopped in a jeepney and headed to the Catarman dive site on the southwest side of the island. Exploring the reef is like jumping into a BBC nature special - except you get the full sensory experience, complete with the taste of salt water when your respirator escapes your mouth. Fish and coral of every imaginable shape and size, and more colourful than a painter's palette.

A roadside carinderia lunch included a delicious monggo bean and cabbage soup. The woman who sold it to us generously shared the recipe. (We're planning on trying it when we get back to CDO.)

In the afternoon, Frank had his turn underwater. He explored a reef just off White Island, near Action Geckos. Among the marine life he saw were two sea snakes and the silhouette of a sea turtle.

December 24
Joyeux Noel!

It's raining (again). It's amazing how the weather is so different from Cagayan de Oro City, less than one hundred kilometers away. CDO has not had a single full day of rain since we arrived mid November, while we have not yet experienced a sunny day in Camiguin.

A rainy day is a great day for visiting one of the island's waterfalls. We opt for the highest ones: Katibawasan Falls. It's a 75m drop. We charter a motorella for a 'special trip'. The lack of good maps and street signs means that you're less likely to get lost if you ride public transit than if you venture out on your own with the tourist map.

The young boy riding shotgun in the motorella wore an Armani t-shirt. His father, the driver, probably makes less than 200PhP a day. Armani clothes are probably sold for bargain prices at the town ukay-ukay (used clothing market).

At the falls, there is a group of physiotherapy students from South Korea. They are volunteering in CDO. They tell us the water is cold, but wonderful for a swim. The water is definitely colder than what we've grown accustomed to here in the Philippines, but infinitely warmer than the Quebec rivers we kayak in early spring.

One of several pools at Ardent Hot Springs

We spend the latter part of the afternoon relaxing in the warm soothing pools of Ardent Hot Springs. The natural pools are warmed in the neighbouring Mount Hibok-Hibok volcano. If you concentrate, you can smell a faint whiff of sulphur, but it's not the overpowering stench of rotten eggs. There are a series of beautiful little pools and waterfalls the same temperature as a baby's bathwater. Ada revels in this gigantic bathtub.

P.S. Tonight was Frank's night for handwashing diapers. Daily diaper washing has become a necessity because it takes so long for the diapers to dry in such a wet and humid climate. Before going to bed, Frank jokes that he never imagined that his first Christmas Eve in a tropical paradise would include such a dirty job.

December 25

Merry Christmas from Kingfisher Cottage!

It's another rainy day so we've opted for a leisurely day. Breakfast is French toast (the preferred breakfast of dads-on-parental-leave), fresh pineapple and mango, and instant coffee. After eating, we opened a few gifts while listening to the Puppini Sisters Christmas album. Ada's favourite present was the box.

The cottage owners, Ralph and Suzie, invited us to a Christmas lunch buffet. Like other family-based gatherings in the Philippines, there were copious amounts of food. We spent several hours eating and conversing with a dozen or so guests. We had a particularly interesting discussion with a Camiguin-based couple, a Swiss man married to a Filipina woman, about grandfather aged foreign men starting a second family with a several decades younger Filipina woman.

I managed to sneak in a short run up to Ardent Hot Springs then down to Action Geckos before dinner. It was raining, so it felt like a late spring run in Montreal ... except for the coconut trees, roosters and pigs.

View of White Island from Kingfisher Cottage

December 26
Kamusta ka!

Despite soaring temperatures, we enjoyed a white Christmas. We spent late morning and early afternoon (with the time difference, this morning can be considered December 25 in Canada) on White Island, a gorgeous white sand island about a kilometer from the coast.

We shared a bangka (boat) from the mainland to the island with a newly-married couple on their honeymoon. He's from Ottawa, working in Calgary (and he's a Habs fan); she's from CDO, working in Calgary.

Frank and I took turns swimming with Ada in a shallow pool, and snorkeling around the reef. It was absolutely stunning, and we failed to notice how strong the sun had become. Only the baby, in her full-body UV suit and Australian lifeguard-inspired hat managed to escape sunburn.
Lesson learned!

December 27
Have you ever wondered about giant clams? They are perhaps one of the most awe-inspiring life forms.

Our visit to Cantaan Kabila White Beach Giant Clam Sanctuary was the most amazing day of the trip. Six of the nine species of giant clams found worldwide are raised here. The small entry fee pays for the maintenance of the centre and its research activities, and provides a source of livelihood for locals. It's more profitable for locals to maintain this biodiverse gem as an ecotourism destination than to harvest its marine life to sell at the market.

A visit begins with a short introductory biology lesson on the life history of the clams, and is followed by a tour of several aquariums with giant clams and fresh water tilapia. After, a local guide takes visitors on a "snorkel tour" of the giant clam sanctuary and reef. Even though the reef was partially destroyed by Typhoon Pablo, it still boasts some of the best snorkeling on Camiguin. You have to be especially careful where you step because the force of a giant bivalve slamming shut can easily sever a limb.

After snorkeling, we ate the best and probably freshest meal we've had: calamari, grilled emperor fish and Filipino-style chop suey (vegetables). The sanctuary maintains a fish pen where they raise fish for their restaurant. They catch a few fish or squid each day to transform into gourmet meals for hungry snorkelers.

December 28
Sniff, sniff. It's time to leave this tropical paradise and head back 'home' to Cagayan de Oro City. We're excited to see our CDO family again, but will miss adventuring in Camiguin.

Liquid gold

2012-12-30T08:44:00.000-05:00

After Typhoon Pablo, there's an outpouring of support to the affected areas. Donations range from noodles, water and canned sardines to blankets, clothes, cash and medicines. And chain saws - to cut all the felled trees so that the lumber can be sold or used for rebuilding.

A young twenty-something mother and a few of her friends opt to collect another sort of relief good. These first-time mothers created an awareness and advocacy group in November to educate themselves and others about baby-wearing, cloth diapers (the enthusiasm for porte-bébés and couches lavables in la belle province has not yet spread throughout the Philippines), breast feeding and related baby matters. A natural extension of their education project is a milk letting drive.

At a milk letting drive, nursing mothers pump and donate breast milk. The set-up is similar to a blood drive: preliminary medical screening, semi-private areas for mothers to pump milk, medical professionals who seal the collected milk in sterile milk bags, post-donation water or juice for donors. The intended recipients for this particular milk letting drive are the orphans of Typhoon Pablo in the eastern parts of Mindanao.

The organizers with their babies

The group's founder is Nadine. She's a confident, poised and educated woman. When she talks about breastfeeding, her face lights up and her voice becomes animated, drawing in the listener. She wants to pursue her passion as a professional and become a certified lactation consultant. Unfortunately, there are no such certification options available locally in CDO.

Three days after Pablo struck the Philippines, Nadine contacted the management at the Ayala Centrio Mall, the newest and trendiest of CDO's malls. They were receptive to the idea of allocating some space for the collection of this 'liquid gold for Typhoon Pablo orphans' and agreed to waive the usual exhibitor rental fee. The group is still responsible for paying for security and janitorial services.

Pay it forward CDO
Liquid gold for Typhoon Pablo orphans
(A milk letting drive)

Convincing middle class mothers at the mall to pump and donate a few ounces of breast milk is an arduous task. Nadine explains that breastfeeding is not strongly encouraged at the hospitals. Moreover, the prevalent attitude is that, for those families who can afford it, commercial formula is a desirable and maybe even preferable baby food choice. Of the nursing mothers she encounters at the mall, many decline to donate for fear they won't have enough milk for their babies. A possible, but unlikely situation.

It's a different story among women whom Nadine refers to as "marginalized". These women breastfeed. They don't need to be convinced of the benefits of nursing for mother and child. They nurse out of necessity. They nurse at home, at work, on jeepneys and non-air con buses, in churches, in carinderias (small cafeteria style eateries), in covered courts, in barangay halls, in wet and dry markets, outside roadside shops. But these women aren't at the mall.

At the end of the three day milk letting drive, Pay it forward CDO has netted just over three litres of milk and has raised an immeasurable amount of awareness. Given the limited number of eligible donors, the mall crowd's reticence to nurse and donate milk, and the minimal amount of event promotion, this is a remarkable achievement.

A laudable goal and effort by a caring group of young middle class mothers. Still, I can't help but wonder what results would a milk letting drive located outside of the mall, in a locale frequented by marginalized women, in a sitio devastated by last year's Typhoon Sendong, have yielded?

Super Typhoon Pablo/Bopha

2012-12-29T19:12:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make: when I decided to study environmental migration for my PhD, I only wanted to study other people's experiences, and not to experience it myself. Perhaps this desire, this sentiment makes me culpable of academic voyeurism, a fascinating subject in its own right, but not the one I want to elaborate in this post.

Here, I want to share some excerpts from my field notebook. This notebook (series of notebooks, actually) goes with me everywhere. It's where I jot down the unusual and mundane things I see, hear, taste and smell, the thoughts that run through my head, and occasionally the emotions I experience over the course of an interview, tour or other experience. The jottings are mainly descriptive. They jump around from one idea to another, often without proper segues or grammar. The field notebook is an essential research tool. It's also one of the first items that was packed in my emergency evacuation bag.

* * * *
December 4. 2012
12:35 pm
I am lying on a dorm bed in the Marigold Hotel - ironically the very same hotel I visited last week asking to speak with management about their Typhoon Sendong experiences.

Ada is finally napping. Jacob, after a very long bout of crying, is also asleep. April is calling her husband to check if he's left their home for the safety of the Nestlé compound located on the other side of the national highway on higher ground away from the seashore. The Ates (literally 'older sisters' but used here as a term of respect for the hired help who care for April and Ejay's boys) and baby Elmer are sleeping on two single beds pushed together in the corner of the room. The three older boys are tearing up and down the halls, into and out of the room. Tito Frank is out on the balcony watching the storm.

Frank and I talked a lot about what to do yesterday. Looked up every weather website we could find. Diligently read up on typhoons. Calculated contact time with Mindanao and with CDO. Discussed the hazards most likely to affect us: typhoon, storm surge, flooding. Debated which details to divulge to our families and when to share them.

Frank cooked dinner while I packed our evacuation bags.

All our medications, vitamins and first aid kit
Important papers
Camera and charger
Field notebooks
External hard drive, laptops, voltage regulator
Diaper bag and toiletries
Infant life jacket
Baby carrier
A change of clothes
Some food and water

Most of the remaining non-essentials are stowed at Uncle’s two-story house next door. The stroller, shoes and car seat are placed on high shelves. Unopened cans of San Mig and Red Horse are moved to the top of the wardrobe – the last place to be flooded, should flooding occur.

He made pad thai with lemon grass and okra. It felt like our final supper. Before putting Ada to bed, I played with her, read Eric Carle stories, sang songs and cuddled. It felt like some cheesy disaster movie: young foreign couple with a baby travels to an exotic tropical country where they succumb to some inevitable misfortune. The penultimate scene before the calamity strikes captures a slice of a happy family routine.

The main event should hit around 2 pm. It's raining harder now. There are big gusts of wind. The girls I saw playing baseball on a first floor porch earlier this morning have left. The occasional cab, motorella and motorcycle drive by. Otherwise, the streets are eerily deserted. Corrugated sheet iron roofs threaten to cave in or fly off. Papaya trees bend in the wind.

We wait.

There's nothing we can do at this point. Except pray. And write. And wait. The knot in my stomach is gone. It was there yesterday afternoon and evening and night. Maybe it's time, or maybe it's the fact that we're on the fifth floor or a solidly constructed building. Or because there's nothing we can do at this point.

The boys are back in the room. They jump into and out of the wardrobe, whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear, but quiet enough for them to pretend they're quiet.
"Shhhh, they can hear you." the oldest cautions his younger brothers.
"Do you want to play outside?" asks an authoritative adult voice.

Last night was long. We drove from hotel to hotel to hotel. First, we tried the hotels on high ground near the airport: Prycegas, Korseca and Condotel. Booked solid. Then, we tried the clubhouse at Xavier Estates. It's not exactly a hotel, but it has a roof and it's located on high ground. The next option was to go downtown - lower ground but multistory buildings. Hotels were full, full, full. Finally, one with an empty dorm room.

In the room are eight single beds. Each is covered with starched white linens, not the mismatched assortment of bargain sheets that cover typical dorm beds at budget hostels. Air con. Cable t.v. Two enormous wooden wardrobes. It’s the swankiest dorm room I’ve ever entered.

It was after midnight when we finally checked in. Ada was wired. I was exhausted. Frank paced the halls with her. Brought her outside to the fire escape, but the city lights only revved her up more.

Not much sleep was had by anyone that night. The babies took turns crying. Babies sense trouble. April was constantly on her mobile, checking in with her husband, father and hired help who stayed at the compound.

I had wild dreams.

The rat. Ada wakes up crying. I reach my hand over to comfort her. A large dark rat scuttles along the bed frame in the space between Frank's mattress and mine. It dives down as I pull Ada in close. She screams. Loud. I shift again and the rat resurfaces a little farther down the bed. I silently curse dirty, grungy hotels. I pat Ada down, like in a first aid secondary survey, trying to identify where the rat has bitten her. I don’t find any blood or tender spots. She feeds then snuggles into the crook of my neck. Frank pushes our beds even closer together.

Several hours later I shift positions. Shadows dance. My hands are a puppeteer. The rat was me; my hand motions its scurrying. Daylight, even with an imminent storm, brings calm.

3:00 pm
It's still raining - a constant, steady downpour. The eye of the storm has passed us, along with the strong winds. It's not the super-typhoon that has April on edge; it's the rain in the mountains of neighbouring Bukidnon province. The mountains are the water catchment area for the rivers and creeks of Tablon, where we live, as well as the tributaries feeding into the Cagayan River.

An ambulance topped with a rubber boat (the white water raft kind) drives by. Sirens blare. Though huge puddles cover the roads they are still passable. Cars, vans, motorellas and taxis drive by. The visibility of the distant mountains waxes and wanes.

I am crouched in the doorway looking out onto the road, enjoying a rare cool breeze, listening to the rain. Two children dash across the street. Two people drive by on a red motorbike. The passenger holds up a purple umbrella to shelter them from the rain. Off in the distance at the unfinished Paseo Del Rio hotel is a white crane. The rain begins to let up. People begin milling around near the wall of the Capitol.

6:20 pm
Normalcy returns with surprising speed. The brown out ends. Street lights switch on. Street vendors bring out their stalls. Stores and eateries re-open. Karaoke microphones crackle.

* * * *

Super-typhoon Pablo (international designation Bopha) has largely spared Cagayan de Oro City. A lucky break for one of the cities hard hit by last year’s Tropical Storm Sendong. Unfortunately, news is emerging about the devastation of Pablo on parts of Compostela Valley and Davao Oriental.

Prycegas Marathon

2012-12-02T04:37:00.001-05:00

'Tis December in the Philippines. A month for Christmas decorating, Christmas parties, church services, and ... running races (or at least that's what I wind up doing early December in the Philippines).
* * *
On December 2, 2012, Cagayan De Oro City hosted the Prycegas International Marathon - Unleash the Inner Flame. According to the race announcer, it is the "biggest race this side of the Philippines". Here's a short recap of my race.

Running in the Philippines is a challenge. It's a tropical country, so it's too hot to run anytime except dawn or dusk. In many urban areas, the pollution and traffic congestion pose additional challenges. Plus, being situated near the equator means that the sun sets by about 6pm, which makes it difficult to get home from interviews or field visits in time to run before dark.

It's the heat that determines race start time. Assembly time for the marathon was 3:30 am so that runners are ready for the 4:00 am start. I opted to run the half marathon, which had a slightly more bearable assembly time of 4:30 am. (The real reason for running the half instead of the full was the absence of any kind of structured training and the fact that the longest distance I'd run in the past year was about 15km.)

The race started and finished at the Pryce Gardens, a lovely cemetery near the airport. It's on a ridge overlooking lush green farms and forests. Beyond the winding river are plateaus with what looks like agricultural plantations. The Gardens are on the other side of town from where I live, so getting to the race on time required a 2:45 am wake-up.

Barangay Tablon, where I stay, is much, much quieter than Quezon City. The taxi drivers who eagerly offer their services to Americanos during the day are fast asleep in the city's outlying barangays at 3:15 am. I wanted to avoid paying an astronomical taxi fare, and so had asked a friend to recommend a driver. Even still, I was a tad nervous about hopping into a cab with a stranger when everyone else around me was tucked into bed. As a safety precaution, I've gotten into the habit of sending a text of the licence plate to Frank or to a friend whenever I take a taxi. Instead of the usual ok reply, I received this one:

k good luck. Ada is lying here saying mama pretty clearly, i think it's her way of wishing you luck

A good omen. I knew, despite my lack of training, that it was going to be a good run.

When the taxi pulled into the Gardens, it was still dark. The sky was clear and starry. The constellations are not the same ones that decorate the night sky in the northern hemisphere. (A star map for the Philippines is on our to-purchase list.) It was bit cool; in a singlet and shorts I was under-dressed for the pre-dawn hours. Though the air was still, I could feel the excitement.

I reached the baggage drop station a few minutes before the start of the marathon. The marathon began with the most incredible show I've seen at a race start (well, a flyby of F-16 fighter jets at the Boston marathon was pretty impressive too). Instead of a gun start, there as a fireworks show. Not just Roman candles or piddly fireworks either, but a beautiful display of lights and sounds. Set against the starry night sky, surrounded by runners and the electricity that courses through the re-race air, the show was magical.

Many road races have an official warm-up led by a dance or aerobics instructor. It's a chance to remind runners to loosen up their muscles, hydrate and listen to their bodies. The Prycegas marathon followed this tradition. Instead of hiring a deejay to spin the warm-up tracks, there was a live band playing mainly American pop songs. The band took a short break for a lively warm-up to Gangnam Style, complete with a stage full of dancers, a film crew surveying the runners and music blaring loud enough to drown out the sounds of incoming aircraft.

The 21km course starts off with a gentle downhill along the airport road, winding past expensive gated communities (advertised as "flood-proof" of real estate listings), the SM mall, the agricultural college of Xavier University, a BMW car dealership and giant tarpaulins advertising a zip-lining and white water rafting adventure company. The descent continues for several kilometers; there's a gradual shift from upscale businesses to more affordable Christian print and copy shops, sari-sari shops and fruit stalls. The route flattens out in the barangay of Carmen, one of the areas hardest hit by Typhoon Sendong (international designation Washi) last December. The course then takes runners along the national highway, past the new Centrio (Ayala) mall, the bargain Guisano mall to the turnaround point at the Limketkai mall. The return route takes a slightly different route past the Provincial Capitol, a small tent city of Sendong survivors awaiting permanent relocation housing, regional government offices and the Paseo del Rio de Cagayan. The climb back up to Pryce Gardens felt a lot longer than it did on the way down. Maybe it's because the sun has risen...

The woman wearing the pink shirt who had been playing leapfrop with me for the past ten kilometers or so pulled away at 18km. There's no juice left in my tank to catch her, just enough to pick up the pace for a respectable 300m "sprint" to the finish line.

Back at the Gardens, c'est une véritable fête. Lots of picture-taking (including with the Americano). A photo booth with props. Sponsors displaying their products. Loud music. Very loud music.

Tasting the finisher and 10th place female medals

All in all, it was a good run. Especially because I knew my two biggest fans were cheering me on (from the comfort of their beds), and one of them saying her first word.

Balut

2012-11-19T20:02:00.000-05:00

Warning: This post may not be suitable for vegetarians and for people who prefer to forget the meat on their dinner plates was actually destined to be an animal.

If you're craving a small merienda (Tagalog for snack), you may be tempted to try a Pinoy specialty: balut. Balut are sold at semi-permanent roadside stalls or by roaming one-man sellers (the vendors are mostly men) who call out "baaaa-luuuuuut" in loud deep voices every few minutes. The eggs are usually carried in insulated styrofoam containers, about the size of a can of paint. Inside, the eggs are kept hot. The sellers also carry all the accouterments: salt, vinegar and chilies. Some sellers will also carry water and soap so you can wash your hands.

Balut container, chicharon snacks, salt and spiced vinegar

Balut are boiled duck embryos. On the outside, balut look just like hard-boiled eggs. To eat balut, you start by slurping up the 'soup' - the embryonic fluid. Next you peel away the eggshell until only a tiny sliver of shell remains at the bottom. Then, you sprinkle on some spiced vinegar, tilt your head back, pinch your nose and try not to think about what is coming next. Holding the sliver of eggshell, pop the embryo into your mouth and bite. You might be crunching on a beak and feathers, depending on the age of your balut. After the final swallow, you can eat a pinch of salt to slightly change the taste. Alternatively, you can add the salt at the same time as the vinegar.

Looking inside the balut

One of us (not yours truly) tried (albeit reluctantly, and with much goading from yours truly) balut. This is how the culinary adventure transpired.

After our pedicab ride, Goon asked us if we'd tried balut, then offered to have one with us. I politely decline and offer to photograph the experience instead. Frank agrees to partake in a small merienda feast. Goon buys two balut at 25 pesos apiece, then proceeds to explain and demonstrate the process. Of the experience, Frank recounts that "It just tastes like soup, like broth. It's more the texture that's different. The yolk is like biting through hard rubber."

Goon and Frank eating balut

If you're not convinced by the culinary appeal of balut, then perhaps another one of its attributes may convince you: it is a reputed aphrodisiac, and telling locals you've tried it instantly confers street cred.

Bon appétit!

Pedicab tour in Intramuros

2012-11-14T19:44:00.002-05:00

One Sunday, F, A and I decide to play tourist and visit Intramuros. Our guide book (The Rough Guide to Southeast Asia on a Budget) describes Intramuros as

"the old Spanish capital of Manila [and] the one part of the metropolis where you get a real sense of history. It was built in 1571 and remains a monumental, if ruined relic of the Spanish occupation, separated from the rest of Manila by its crumbling walls. It featured well-planned streets, plazas, the Governor's Palace, fifteen churches and six monasteries as well as dozens of cannon that were used to keep natives in their place. Many buildings were destroyed in WWII but Intramuros sill lays claim to most of Manila's top tourist sights."

The use of motorized vehicles is restricted within the limits of Intramuros, so pedicabs are a popular alternative to cabs, jeepneys ad tricycles (the motorized version, not the ones small children and circus clowns ride). A pedicab is the Pinoy version of a cycle rickshaw. It's a bicycle welded onto a small covered sidecar. It seats two to three passengers comfortably, and is often used to bring passengers short distances. The pedicabs of Intramuros are all painted an olive green colour. The colour almost blends into the historical buildings, a stark contrast to the flashy designs and colours of jeepneys.

After walking around in the sun with a crying baby, we start searching for an alternative way to explore Intramuros. Pedicab drivers have been calling at us since we arrived, "Hello ma'am, hello sir ... historical pedicab tour for only [insert varying sums of pesos]?" We opt to go with Goon. Goon, pronounced 'goo-oon', is a twenty-something pedicab driver-cum-tour guide. Like many Filipinos, Goon has an excellent command of English. He's amicable and outgoing, without being pushy like some of his colleagues. His pedicab is a Mitsubishi, or so says the logo on the front. It's the only adornment that distinguishes Goon's pedicab from the others.

Goon's Mitsubishi pedicab

Goon asks F if he's an actor. He says he is "guapo" (handsome) and looks like Orlando Bloom. (F tells me later that most of the people who have called him guapo are young boys, and that he's looking forward to a member of the fairer sex to pay him that compliment.) Goon tells us that Hollywood actors come through Intramuros relatively frequently. He's taken a few in his pedicab. Most recently, he took the lead actor from the latest Bourne film, which was shot in the narrow streets of Intramuros. The actor even pedaled the pedicab for a short distance.

Street view of one of the chase scenes in the latest Bourne film

The pedicab tour includes stops at:

The Manila Cathedral was first built in 1581 (and later in 1954 and 1958 after it was destroyed by war, typhoons, earthquakes and fire). It's a popular choice for weddings. The giant tarpaulin advertises the Catholic Church's position against the proposed Reproductive Health (RH) Bill.

The ruins of Fort Santiago - former fortress of both Spanish and American colonial powers, and the site where José Rizal (Pilippine national hero) was imprisoned before his execution.

San Augustin Church

To me, the most intriguing part of the experience is Goon's commentary on life in the Philippines. For example, he asks us whether we've ever been to the USA? "Yes," we reply. He laughs, then tells us he lives in the USA, and that he's going to take us there. His USA is the "united squatters area". He makes light of the situation; it seems to be a common cultural trait to infuse humour into otherwise difficult issues. Regardless of how you frame it, the reality is that there are many "USAs" in the Metro Manila Region. The urban poor who inhabit these areas are vulnerable for many reasons; their counterparts in Cagayan de Oro (CDO) will be one of the target populations for my research. So, I pay close attention to our guide's lively chronicling of the history of Intramuros, and especially of the current residents of this USA.

Children play at the outskirts of the "USA"

The pedicab tour turns out to be a wonderful way to while away a few hours, learn about the many incarnations of Intramuros, and glean some insight into its residents, past and present. The tour ends with Goon offering F a Philippine delicacy - balut. More about that experience in another post.

Computer woes

2012-10-29T02:26:00.000-04:00

What is your computer to you?

A source of amusement and distraction?
A repository of photos and videos?
A means to keep in touch with family and friends via email, Skype, Facebook, Twitter and other social media?
A connection to the wider world through news websites?
A reminder of home and familiar things?
A music, movie, games and podcast player?
A work or research tool for storing precious data?
An extension of your brain and a requirement to get work done?

What would you do if it died unexpectedly?

The hard drive on our two-and-a-half month old laptop is broken. It happened Friday morning, for no apparent reason.

I'd woken up early to finish the questionnaire for my interviews and the guidelines for the participatory video component of my field research. I'd spent several hours working and reworking them on Thursday. I wanted to bring polished copies to my colleagues at the Third World Studies Center at the University of the Philippines-Diliman, where I am a visiting research fellow.

The laptop turns on, but won't go past the initial black screen with the white writing in the font all computers seemed to use in the 1980s.

F, infinitely more tech-savvy than me, patiently tried every trick he knows to fix the problem. No dice. He's heavily invested in the functioning of the laptop too. To him, it's a connection to home and Canadian life: months worth of video games to play while I'm off conducting interviews, internet-based "geek news" to read, Quirks and Quarks podcasts to listen to while cooking supper, ... In other words, it's a tool for dealing with homesickness, and a means for mitigating culture shock.

F spends Friday traipsing around Quezon City seeking a computer fix. At Philcoa, he alights a jeepney headed for the SM North mall. It has a specialty MSI store (our laptop brand). A traffic cop stops the jeepney. The stop is long enough for F to look back and notice a computer repair shop on the second floor of Philcoa. He disembarks and walks back. He drops the laptop off at the computer repair shop, leaving specific instructions to not format it. Three hours later, he receives a text message asking if the laptop is under warranty. F returns to Philcoa, and declines the offer to physically open the laptop, extract data from the hard drive, thereby voiding the warranty. F hops on another jeepney heading for SM North. The MSI store staff can't do anything except direct him to the MSI service center, which, being October 26th and a holiday, is closed.

On Monday, F continues on his quest. It starts with a chaotic and crushing trip on the MRT (Manila's equivalent of the metro/subway system). The service center consists of three desks. The only staff present tells F that it'll take at least 30 to 45 business days for them to do anything because it's an international warranty, because parts need to be shipped in from Taiwan ... the list goes on.

* * * * *

Luckily, we backed up our photos and my research material a few days before "the crash". All F's games and our music and podcasts are gone, as are all of the programs installed on the laptop.

It is proving to be a frustrating experience, and also one that forces us to think about the central role our computer plays in our lives. It changes the way we think, keep informed and connected, interact with others, keep in touch from afar, and be entertained. The experience is also forcing me to plan out my research with pen and paper - a practice that seems so foreign to me. Depending on how the repairs unfold (or not) will change - to an extent - what I'd planned to do (or how much I planned to spend on replacement equipment).

Flexibility and a sense of humour... two of the greatest assets a field researcher can possess.

A photo shoot in San Vincente

2012-10-22T21:01:00.001-04:00

San Vincente is the second slum F has ever set foot in. The first was a short walk away from his resort in Venezuela. In the market there, you could score a bargain on a Poly Station. Not sure if it was compatible with Play Station games though. On one of his first days in the Philippines, F took photographs San Vincente.

The entrance gate to San Vincente

In politically correct terms, San Vincente is an "informal urban settlement". It's a lively hub of activity a block and a half from our current home in UP Village. Vendors hawk their wares and street food. Small sari-sari shops line the main road selling everything from rice, sachets of Datu vinegar, fresh fish and buko (fresh coconut) to hair clips, cell phone covers and secondhand clothes. Haircuts at the barber are a mere 50 pesos (PhP); pedicures will cost you slightly more. There's a laundry shop where the women will wash, dry and fold your clothes for 25 PhP a kilo.

Sari-sari shop

Just outside the gate separating San Vincente from UP Village, tricycle drivers sneak in catnaps between ferrying customers along Maginhawa Street to Philcoa. The drivers are mostly young men and very friendly. Some blare music from old radios, probably scrounged from recycled parts. The stench of dirty diesel 2-stroke engines wafts through the air.

Tricycle drivers

On the side of the street that receives the most shade are two wire mesh cages. Tethered to each is a handsome rooster. The black and white one is scrawny and shy. His counterpart is much more regal looking with his rich brown, black and green plumes and his slow and deliberate strutting. Both are being groomed as cock fighters.

Rooster on the bridge

The "residential area" is located adjacent to University Avenue. Houses are constructed out of corrugated tin, old pieces of plywood, tarpaulins, and other makeshift building material. There's electricity; some houses have lights, televisions, or even an imitation Play Station. It's cramped. Clothes lines stretch between roofs and trees, connecting neighbours in the daily airing of (previously) dirty laundry.

Laundry hanging out to dry

Everywhere there are children. Running. Skipping. Playing marbles. Laughing. Yelling. Shooting baskets. Carrying school books. Carrying younger children. Fetching this or that for an adult. Drinking soda from a plastic bag. Calling out to the "Americanos". Sneaking looks at the baby "doll".

Children walking to school

A small stream runs through San Vincente. It reeks of urine, garbage and rotting leaves. The stream forks somewhere between the footbridge and the shanties. Right now, there's a mere trickle of water, but whenever a typhoon rolls into Manila the trickle swells and swells and swells. It rises above all the houses, forcing residents into the safety of the second floor of the barangay hall.

San Vincente is a part of our daily lives. We hear the sounds of roosters at dawn (and every other time of day). I buy fresh buko on my way back from morning runs at UP. We stop and chat with the vendors on our way to and from the university. We bring our laundry to the laundry shop.* Someday (I hope), F or I will join the boys in a game of basketball. I chat with other young moms about their babies.

* * * *

The cost of these pictures is 1,000 PhP - not because San Vincente residents demanded money in exchange for being photographed. In fact, many people excitedly asked him to take their picture. No, the fee was an unfortunate accident for F, and a lucky find for the person who found the crisp, bank-machine-ironed bill. From now on, cameras and loose bills will not share the same pocket.

* Well, everything but A's diapers, but more about our daily routine in another post.

The fourth “M”

2012-10-17T08:32:00.000-04:00

This blog chronicles the journey (and tangents) of my PhD.

It begins in Montreal, where I am a student in the Université de Montréal’s geography department. Almost immediately it jumps to a tiny street in Quezon City called Mayumi. Mayumi was my home base for my three month exploratory field season in the Philippines in 2010. Then, it returns to Montreal for coursework and comprehensive assessments (neither of which receive much space on these pages). The third “M” refers to an intensive two-month Tagalog (Filipino) language course in Madison, Wisconsin.

Thus we arrive at the fourth “M”: motherhood.

On many occasions, I have been told that there is never a “good time” to have kids. This is particularly true for academics – not as an undergraduate or graduate student (time and financial constraints), not as a post-doc (similar constraints as students), not as a young prof trying to balance a research programme, teaching requirements and administrative duties. The gap in publications that often accompanies parental leave isn’t always looked upon favourably in tenure applications.

And so, for someone (hopefully) headed on a professorial track, the question is not when to have a family but rather how to make it work.

* * * *

Four months ago my husband and I became parents. Thus far, it has been an exhilarating experience.

Motherhood is also changing various dimensions of my PhD, in particular the dynamics of my field research. In this field season, for example, I’m joined by my husband and daughter. While they won’t accompany me to every meeting, interview and event, they will be integral parts of the research process. I anticipate that I will be treated differently, and perhaps privy to different kinds of insights, when people see me as a mother, in addition to being a western woman researcher. Caring for an infant also means that the pace of research is slowed. Plus, it's more challenging to act spontaneously and chase down leads at a moment's notice.

On a personal level, I'm thrilled to share the highs and lows of new experiences with loved ones in person, and not just via Skype, email and blogs.

* * * *

And so I enter my main field season with fresh eyes and ears, attuned not only to things relevant to my research project, but also to things relevant to family life.

I invite you to follow along, and to comment on things that intrigue, surprise or provoke you.

Dear Marie

2011-12-13T22:08:00.001-05:00

One of my mentors passed away yesterday. I met Marie Aminata Khan on my first day of work at the Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) back in 2007. Over the years, we grew to be very good friends. She nurtured my passion for gender issues and has been a major champion for my doctoral pursuits. Losing a dear friend is a new experience for me, one I am unsure of how to navigate. So, I began by writing her a letter, a (slightly) edited version of which appears below.

13 December. 2011

Dear Marie,

It's impossible to formulate words expressing what I feel right now. N told me that you'd died, only yesterday after falling ill on your way to South Africa for the climate change conference (UNFCCC COP). But in my mind, you remain vibrant, full of life, smiling that dazzling smile of yours, & thinking of how to slip in an astute comment or two about gender into the conversation.

I've always admired the mentorship role you assume to help young CBD staff navigate their way. You open doors & take chances, shining the light on others. Whenever I take newbies out to play shinny hockey at one of Montreal's outdoor rinks, I tell them that everyone is on a level playing ~~field~~ rink. The best, most skilled players go out of their way to make even the shakiest skater look like Sydney Crosby. The stars work hard so that the beginners can make great plays; they set them up with a perfect pass or protect them from goons on the opposing team. They don't hog the puck or show off themselves. But everyone else on the ice knows they're great; everyone wants to share the ice with them because they bring everyone to a higher level (all while having fun). These star players work to enhance other people's strengths. To me, you're one of those star players. There are so many examples I could give of the opportunities you gave me to contribute to initiatives and to pursue my passion for gender during my stint at the CBD.

You respected everyone as an unique individual with talents. You always make time for others, even when your office door is closed and you're furiously working to meet a tight deadline. You were never stingy with feedback, always delivering it with critical, thoughtful and eloquent poise. You go out of your way to help others, go to bat for the principles and the people that you believe in, even (and perhaps especially) when it is a steep upward battle. Thank you.

I admire the vitality, the life you bring to everything you do, to everywhere you go. Remember dancing in the hotel bar in Bonn at the end of the CBD COP-9? Or the many parties that you graciously hosted at your apartment(s)? So much delicious food & drink. A relaxing ambiance that puts everyone at ease. Great music. Best of all, stimulating conversation and company.

Do you remember all of the advice you (lovingly) gave me over the years? On relationships, jobs, professional development, the UN, family life, African jewelry? About gender, development, project implementation? And when I told you I was engaged ... to never give up on a career or rely solely on a man for money?

And you listened too. You're an excellent and astute listener. Perhaps that is why people love you so much and trust you. Good listeners are difficult to find, especially those who genuinely care.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention your extraordinary beauty (your physical beauty - I think it's already clear I think you are an extraordinarily beautiful person on the inside). When I first arrived at CBD, S, G and I were chatting. Somehow it came up that we were in unanimous agreement that you were the most stunning person at the office. We were later stunned to discover that you were over 40! How you manage to always look like you stepped off the cover of Vogue is beyond me.

Marie, I will miss you very, very dearly - as I am sure many, many other people will too. The light and laughter you bring into any room you enter is a quality possessed by very few individuals. I will miss your love of life, your passion for gender equality, your drive to nurture the growth of others and your ceaseless ability to live each day as if it were your last. You bring joy and inspiration to so many people, especially to me.

My condolences to your family, friends and colleagues.

Yours,
chris

There are several official tributes to Marie on the CBD and the Global Environment Facility websites. This unofficial one, penned by a colleague, beautifully captures Marie.
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In one sense I consider myself lucky. On my last day at the CBD I had left notes for my colleagues, expressing my gratitude for what they had taught me. My letter to Marie was quite long and heartfelt, so at least she knew how special she was to me.

Solar bottles light up the homes of poor Filipinos

2011-10-07T09:26:00.000-04:00

Here's an example of a simple and inexpensive innovation that improves the quality of life of people living in impoverished conditions. Coke bottles, water and people looking for work are in ample supply in the Philippines.

Sandhill cranes and plastic pink flamingos

2011-07-31T14:56:00.000-04:00

Full disclosure: I like birds. I mean, I really like birds.

As in, I travel with a pair of binoculars and a bird book, am easily distracted by bird songs and calls and often walk with my eyes scouring the treetops for signs of avian life.

As in, I spent the summers of my undergrad chasing songbirds through the woods across Canada and the USA.

As in, the first book I purchase before traveling to a new country is a bird guide. (The Philippines was rather challenging because the country has so many endemic birds and the only complete book is very expensive and is also the size of a 1990s telephone books ... not exactly conducive to slipping into a backpack for a weekend trip.)

Thus ends the preamble to this story.

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Wednesday morning at the crack of dawn. Six am. The sun has been up for a while now, beating down on the campus track where a dozen or so runners are lacing up their shoes. Some are stretching out tight hamstrings and quads, others are gulping down Gatorade. No coffee for this crew pre-workout. Yet others are still trying to wake up.

The hour-long workout passes quickly, albeit not without the addictive pain and breathlessness that characterises track workouts. Running intervals with a group makes the time and the laps fly by. The pre-determined workout eliminates the need for conscious thought. Runners need only breathe and put one foot in front of the other. Fast. Sometimes very very fast.

During the endorphin-filled cool-down someone spots a pair of leggy creatures moving purposefully along the edge of the soccer pitch just opposite the track. When they raise up their heads, they stand chest-high. The scarlet plumes above their bills catch the sun's rays, giving the creatures a regal aura. They make no sound. Another runner identifies the birds as Sandhill cranes. I think they're spectacular.

I make a mental note to bring my camera to next track practice.

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For six weeks, I tried unsuccessfully to photograph the "track cranes". The camera was nearly always in my bag. But, if I had my camera, they were nowhere to be found. On the days that I'd left the camera at home, the pair would be strolling along the soccer pitch or eating the peanuts someone had left for them outside the nearby Cereal Crops Research Unit.

One Sunday afternoon, to my surprise and delight, the birds, the camera and I found ourselves together at the Cereal Crops Research Unit. The lighting was not great, but I was not about to miss out on this opportunity. Here are some of the photographs.

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Post-script: Other birds you are likely to see in Madison and the surrounding areas include: Northern cardinal, house sparrow, mourning dove, cedar waxwing, Baltimore oriole, herring gull, bald eagle, turkey vulture, osprey, American goldfinch, American crow, raven, European starling, purple finch, tree swallow, nuthatches, blue jay, American robin ... and plastic pink flamingos.

The official bird of the city of Madison is the plastic pink flamingo. Back in 2009, city councilors voted in favour of adopting this unusual avian symbol to represent the city. This article has a short video explaining how this quirk came to pass.

Language learning through song

2011-07-19T18:05:00.000-04:00

Music is a great tool for learning a new language - whether you can or cannot carry a tune. You get a feel for the rhythm of the language and word pronunciation. It can be easier to sing a song than to read aloud. When the song becomes an earworm and you can't get it out of your head, you begin subconsciously (and likely involuntarily) acquiring new vocabulary.

In my beginner Tagalog classes, we've been nurturing our musical talents. We listen to simple (slow-ish) songs, fill in the blanks of an incomplete set of lyrics, translate them into English (both word-for-word and by phrase), and practice many times. Here is a sample of the ones we have learned in class.

Biyahe Tayo! was made in the early 1990s as a shout-out to Filipino emigrants to come back and visit the Philippines. Twenty-one artists for Philippines Tourism contributed to the song. During my exploratory field season last year I experienced / visited roughly half of the places and activities they mention / show.

Apo Hiking Society's Pumapatak na naman ang ulan should sound familiar. The song is similar to Raindrops are falling on head. The members of Apo Hiking Society began their musical partnership at Ateneo de Manila High School, and continued making music together during their years at Ateneo de Manila University. The group became popular in the 1970s and are known for their humour and political outspokenness as well their their music.

Bahay kubo is a song about all the vegetables and legumes that you would grow in your garden. A bahay kubo is a traditional nipa hut (nipa is a kind of palm).

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While yours truly has been tactfully told to avoid singing outside the shower, I am convinced that exceptions can and should be made when learning a new language. And so, if your ears happen across a not-so-melodic version of these or other Filipino songs, please make a small allowance. I am merely practising my limited repertoire of Filipino songs so that my spoken Tagalog will improve.

Montreal to Mayumi to Madison

2011-07-08T17:05:00.000-04:00

My studies have taken me away from Montreal yet again, this time to the Madison, Wisconsin. I'm here to learn Tagalog (or Filipino), one of the main languages spoken in the Philippines. Tagalog was originally spoken by people living on the island of Luzon. The word "Tagalog" come from "taga ilog", which means "people of the river".

So why come to Madison when I live in one of Montreal's Filipino neighbourhoods? Why not just study with a language tutor or focus on language learning during my next field season? In a nutshell, it's because:

learning languages is a big challenge for me and the discipline of a formal course is extremely helpful;
the Centre for Southeast Asian Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison offers a special Southeast Asian Languages Summer Institute (SEASSI) that attracts scholars from other American universities, as well as scholars from foreign institutions;
UW-M has an excellent collection of Southeast Asian library resources, which are not easily accessed in Canada (or even in Southeast Asian countries);
SEASSI is a great opportunity to network with other students and professors studying Southeast Asia.

I am under no illusions. An intensive two-month course will not make me proficient enough to conduct my research without a translator. Understanding the nuanced meanings of a spoken or written language (often) takes years of dedicated (informal or formal) study. Learning vocabulary or grammar doesn't confer the knowledge required to decipher culturally-embedded expressions or (in)appropriate ways of asking questions and expressing ideas. The beginner language course will, however, make life a lot easier and more enjoyable during the next field season. And it will open doors. More importantly, it will show respect and facilitate more intimate connections with people.

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Having no background in linguistics or the history of language, I am limited in what I can say about languages in the Philippines. The nation's two official languages are Filipino and English, although there are dozens of other native languages spoken throughout the archipelago. I am unclear of the selection process (and politics) that led to Tagalog and not other languages being named the national language of the Philippines. In an effort to assuage any bitter feelings harboured by non-Tagalogs, government officials decided to call the national language "Filipino", even though it is essentially Tagalog.

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While my life here in Madison revolves around language classes, there is some time for other activities. I hope to share some of them here.