 |
| Sabangan Village and the valley that cares for her. |
Sabangan basically means bananaphile, a town of banana lovers. Not too many bananas there though. From the road, I climbed stairs up a hill, and then again to the second floor of a building. Russell had explained earlier how his furniture was made from trash. I was excited to see his place, but I was still unprepared for what I saw as I entered Russell's home. Beautiful, bright and colorful chalk murals made cement walls inviting, gorgeous hardwood covered most of the bedroom and living room floors and walls, and Spanish-style iron ornamented the windows and the door to the balcony looking over all of Sabangan and the valley below. There was a huge comfy rug made from drinking straws. Pillows from rice/flour sacks filled with small plastic bits. Waves on the walls from colorful plastic bags, light fixtures, shelves, tables, and stands from plastic or glass bottles. The kitchen sink was bottle caps. Pretty much only the toilet, the dining table, and the beds were the only fixtures not made from trash. The combination of the energy, tranquility and colors of it all put mind and body at peace.
This beautiful place was the setting for equally beautiful memories with Russell, Dominika, and Piotr. Our first of many adventures was dinner. All of us used to flavors from outside the Philippines, we had a blast throwing together what we could from local ingredients. Peanut sauces, coconut curries, spaghetti with Pace salsa-like sauce (lol), stir fries, raisin-coconut rice puddings, Igorot flatcakes (courtesy of Macky from Guina'ang), hash browns, Mandarin Orange Hollandaise, local coffee with various Mascobado (pure, unadulterated sugar).
 |
| Stir fry, sesame seeds, and friends |
 |
| Bottle skylight over bottle and can shelves |
If you think brown sugar or "Sugar in the Raw" is sugar, you have another thing coming. Try Muscobado (Muscovado). It's very powdery, has all of the good stuff, and has such a rich layerings of flavor, it's better than the world's best candy or ice cream. Yet it's the cheapest way to find sugar when you're around sugar plantations. Non-processed, just dehydrated I guess. I ate the stuff by the spoonful. I'm an admitted sugar/chocolate addict. One time in Negros I bought a half-kilo of Muscobado super cheap. I ate the whole thing in two days. I was on a two-day sugar high with no major crash, just ecstasy. I figured my neverending exercise through my travels would keep me from being diabetic, and let the craving take over. There are apparently two varieties too. In Sabangan, there's an abundance of "white" sugar cane, which produces a powdery Muscobado of various shades of brown. Then there's "violet" sugar cane, which produces a sticky, clumpy, brown Muscobado with a hint of purple pigment. It has a flowery flavor with many different layers, and it's somehow even more fulfilling so you don't keep bringing spoons of the stuff to your mouth. If "white" sugar is like Earl Grey tea, "violet" is like Rooibos tea.
 |
Bags from wrappers and magazines, placemat from wrappers, and floor
rug from drinking straws |
The first few days, Dominika and Piotrek were still in Guina'ang, so Russell and I were in his house in Sabangan alone. Between full, often collaborative meal creations, we caught up with work on the internet, chatted and shared music, and went for walks around the village. We met with some of the local craftswomen to give ideas and swap materials for bags made from labels and junkfood bags. Local weavers make the straps for larger bags, and when the bags are complete, Russell and I squeeze the bags into boxes to be shipped abroad to an assistant who helps distribute them to fair trade shops.
 |
| Kitchen shelves, the first experiment |
Once the ball was rolling with these bags, Russell realized that it was helping to mitigate damage, but not helping reverse any environmental degradation. So, he has been experimenting with different solar chargers and lights and such that can be worked into the bags, most of which is also made from trash. If someone charges their phone or camera or tablet just by solar panel, it's taking a step to reverse damage caused by traditional electrical generation. He was also experimenting with Piezoelectric crystals, which generate electricity simply by snapping it from one side to the other, like a playing card in bicycle spokes. Walking is enough to generate electricity enough to charge various batteries. Like a child with a new toy, I was fascinated and trying to figure out the wiring and such, since even the circuit was a repurposed USB charger. Mostly, the time spent at Russell's was long-needed rest.
 |
| Feminine touch |
Russell is one of those people you're thrilled to have met. The kind of person who makes you remember yourself or rethink yourself, depending on what you need. His first big adventure was selling of his things in the Yukon, and spending a year building a music playlist on the original ipod. Then one day he hit shuffle, sat on his bicycle packed with his last few belongings, and rolled out of his hometown. He cycled from Northwestern Canada all the way to Berlin (with a flight over the Atlantic). The journey itself was an adventure in itself, but his beginnings in Berlin as a nascent artists were equally adventurous and bordering on predestined. Later, he lived in the Gaza Strip, he lived in Holland, and a few other places.
 |
| Bulaklak ng Saging (banana blossom) |
Russell's not particularly religious. He went through a time of frustration with Christianity and religion in general, and now he believes in a God closest to the Christian God, whom he prays to and worships in his own way. We start every meal with a simple prayer. His is essentially, "Dear God or whatever energy process brought this wonderful food to our table. With it, may we spread light and love to everyone we meet." I can't get it out of my head, such a beautiful way to approach our living world and time on this Earth. Perhaps philosophers become hippies when they stop seeming apathetic and begin to project empathy. I wouldn't classify either of us as hippies, but there are many who would.
 |
| View from Russell's balcony, and me cycling away down the winding road |
Just before Piotrek and Dominika arrived from Guina'ang, I took a trip up to the famed Sagada. It's a place of wide reputation for free love, cool air, good food, and cheap dope. I took the less hippy, more adventurous route through town. Russell lent me his mountain bike. It's the first bike I've ever ridden that I can say fit my body, though it's a hint too small for Russell, the tall, lanky, giant (who wouldn't hurt even a mosquito). I rode the bicycle more than 20km from Sabangan along the highway and up the very steep, winding road to Sagada. There were plenty of places where even the lowest gear was too difficult to keep the bike moving upwards, so walk it I did. At the top I rolled leisurely into town, letting my legs rest from what I thought was a pretty quick pace up the mountainous slope.
 |
| Solar water heating |
 |
| Rice terraces between Sabangan and Sagada |
Russell lived in Sagada for a year before moving to Sabangan. Sagada has recently become more touristy as Manila "weekend warriors" found they could spend their days off beyond Baguio (the first of the mountain towns to lose some of its charm to development). There's still lots for Sagada to be proud of though. It's a place of collaboration. Artists and weavers and strawberry jam and cheap carrots and a Yogurt House and a famous cave system are all collaborative projects, rather than exploitation or simple business. For example, a French chef and baker landed in Sagada 15 years ago and never left. Now many of the locals can make top-notch French loaves (savory or sweet), and cook with European influences. He runs a log cabin with accommodation and weekend buffets, where he takes local ingredients and makes dishes from all over the world out of them.
 |
| Sunset over Sabangan |
I checked out some of the highlights and did some errands for Russell, and headed for the cave system to see if I could join up with one of the last groups of the day to do the 4-hour trek through the caves, coming out farther uphill. Good information was hard to come by that day, so I didn't catch the last group, but I had a great time exploring the cave by myself, meditating, and chatting with Josie, the shop owner of the "Caveman". Perched at the end of the cave connection, this quirky shop is owned by a distant cousin of mine! A descendant of Tupelo Cacanindin. She even lived for almost a decade near where I went to university in Los Angeles. She was the person who taught me the difference between the two sugar can species, and I bought some "violet" Muscobado for Russell and I to try. Everyone in Sagada had known Russell, and murals and shop signs he had painted were everywhere. Eventually I made my way towards the back door to Sagada.
Russell had told me there was a path that was meant to be a road originally but that was barely passable by mountain bike. It led down out of Sagada towards the main highway, but rather than a windy, paved road lined with blaring buses, big towns, and construction workers everywhere, this road was unpaved, nearly unpopulated, and one of the most scenic places I had ever seen. Each turn held different smells, sights, and sounds. Limestone formations cut by trickling water falls invited me to partake of the richness of cold mountain spring water. I passed lizards and skinks on the path, pine trees gave way to ferns and banana trees, and there were distant rice terraces without a hut in sight. Cool mist nestled into the nook of one draw became a cool breeze at the next corner. Birds chirped and sang, or were silent, matching the silence of the landscape. There were pocked limestone obstacles that were too much for a mountain to pass, and I cut a wide detour around formidable mudholes with the bike on my shoulders. Only a few times did the bike threaten to wobble out from under me as I negotiated gravel and loose rocks, realizing that precariously higher speeds were the best way through some sections.
 |
| Colors foreshadow events to come... |
I was tempted to take my time even more than I was, but I knew I had to get down before dark. Even though sunset is longest in the mountains, I felt I was pushing my luck. The only town on the back road was Balili, which had just let out of school when I passed through. At the town center, brief, simple conversations with parents and elders about the mines in the area interrupted long stretches of giggles and hellos from the children racing the sun home. Children walk long distances to and from school in the mountains, and I wondered if I would have preferred to head uphill before or after school. One thing I feel good at is putting myself in the shoes of someone who is totally different from me. With minimal information about someone and with a little imagination, I can find myself facing the same priorities and fears and challenges that make up the majority of a person. It's the fine details that historically lead to clashes between people. An empathy that finds the similarities rather than the differences between people leads one to realize, people are just people. We're not all that different. In a subway in NYC or Philippine jungle village, people don't seem all that different to me.
I made it back to town just as the sky bid its final farewell to the sun, and the celestial paint splatters previously hidden by the luminescence of the sun peered down in all their humility and timelessness. I stopped at the shops by the bridge for a rest before the final climb to Russell's house chatting with the Alice, woman who owns the shop that sells some of the best hopia in the Philippines. Turns out, Russell was late for a meeting with her concerning woven wrapper bags, so I waited with her and chatted until Russell showed up. We ate dinner demonstrated how to write and silicon the new labels to the inside of each bag, wolfed down some food, and walked back up the hill. Admiring the beautiful moon as it moved or we moved or both, content that there's nothing more beautiful or fulfilling than losing yourself in a natural beauty more profound than anything going on in your own life... Another fantastic dinner and a long, restful sleep.
 |
| Chatting with Jun, Heifer Int'l Regional Director |
In the morning, there was a gathering happening down near the rice fields. I have done extensive research on International Aid Theory and Praxis, and Heifer International was one of the very few organizations I found from a distance to be doing more good than bad. In all organizations, small and large... of the world. Heifer allows donors to buy a particular animal for a community deemed to be poor by a combination of government data and visit to the community. Philippine data is poor at best. With anything. Because the terrain, communities, and infrastructure are so erratic. The animal could be a chicken, a duck, a rabbit, a goat, a sheep, a cow, a pig, or even something specific to a particular locale. The recipient receives the gift on the condition that they must share whatever milk, or eggs, or offspring, or meat (in the end) that the animal produces. The gifts are timed such that gestation will yield offspring at an optimal time to take full advantage of the animal. The annual "distribution" was happening that morning.
Since the time I had conducted the majority of the Int'l NGO research, I had become a Vegan and an animal liberationist. But I still wasn't entirely opposed to the idea that animals could help save human lives and lead to vibrant cultures. In Guina'ang the week before, and in many other communities I had passed through in my time in the Philippines had helped mold my opinions concerning animals here. And yet, I was excited to see this organization in action. It was, after all, supposed to be efficacious and truly humanitarian. As I conversed with the organization representatives, I was heartened to learn that every one of them was born and raised in the province in which animals were given. I learned about the broader logistics and interactions with different provinces, government bodies, and the Catholic Church. I determined how communities were deemed poor, how a particular animal was chosen for a community, and how follow-up studies as to the effects of the animals on the community are rare if not non-existent. In the end, I was as disheartened with Heifer as with all of the other NGOs I had researched.
The richest communities in my mind are those that are most independent of the central government, the places where various, nutritional, and clean food and water is readily available, building materials are easy to find in nature, and a strong communal/familial bond is present. They are places that live happily and healthily and usually have some sort of exportable resources that allows for enough income that the people can afford tools, special materials, treats, transportation, and savings. Poverty is defined by Heifer, the Philippine Central Government, and the Global Economy as GDP. Gross Domestic Product is characterized by per capita earnings, or the amount of money each person in a given group of people is able to earn, which is weighed against global units of value (the US dollar, the Euro, the yen, all floating around on an abstracted, intangible value themselves). The Catholic Church has a similar program as Heifer, and they act in exactly the same manner. The communities with the lowest GDP are given pigs, because pigs are part of the
national cuisine.
 |
| Distributors and recipients together |
Local cultures, especially those high in the mountains and farthest away from colonial powers of the last 500 years, were based on completely different human-plant/-animal relationships than the more influenced lowlands. Throwing pigs into a community that never knew them, even if they claim to want them, is not the best way to go about solving the problem of "poverty". Mainit is a once-beautiful small town decimated by pigs and mines. The pigs are kept in painfully small pens where their shit and their food are indistinguishable and one in the same. These pens leak out into the only walking paths and mountain springs the town depends on. Even the tourist attraction that brought me there, their natural hot springs, were polluted and unsafe. Just one example of the introduction of pigs. The same problem was present in Guina'ang and so many other small villages I passed through.
 |
| Al Dente Macaroni with a blended carrot, fresh oregano-basil, hint of curry sauce (with green beans, tomatoes, and garlic and olive oil and sesame seeds and whatever else we want to put in there damnit!) |
Not considering the abuse of an animal that's smarter than a dog and equally friendly, pork is a very unhealthy meat that is difficult to digest for those whose great-great grandparents were long used to it, let alone a mostly indigenous population with no biological tradition of pork digestion. The sanitation problems pollute other sources of vegetable and animal foods beyond edibility, so that people are left with smaller quantities of food, little nutritional variation, and possibly deadly drinking water. This is poverty alleviation in reality.
 |
| Sabangan, the valley, and the Heifer Int'l tent in the middle and bottom left |
In a helpful, supportive manner, I suggested a different approach to the head of Heifer Int'l for Northern Luzon. Keep supporting the local practice of growing and sharing baby fruit trees and vines such as kalamansi and tomato (not officially under Heifer's jurisdiction) but take a different approach to the animal distribution. I pointed out Heifer's flawed foundations, but given that it was probably not going to completely revamp its model of animal support to communities deemed poor by traditional standards, I took a mitigating approach. Make simple a list of the environmental, nutritional, and health costs and benefits of each possible gift animal, including
long term, not just short term effects, and present these facts with honesty and accuracy to each "poor" community. Then let them decide what animal(s) would best suit their needs, if any at all. Then give a short run-down for good care techniques used elsewhere to protect all involved in the animals' lives. He beamed at this possible solution to the problems I had discussed, gave me his card, and at that moment, Russell was also ready to move on to take care of more errands around the valley.
 |
| Bricks from bottles |
These walks are magnificent. Russell is the ideal community guy, who walks slowly, always smiles, and always tries to strike up conversation in limited Kankanay (the local language). Russell's fascination in the work people are doing, what they are making, leads people to respond beautifully. His gift of a simple ten-minute acknowledgement of their efforts, their existence would make any person of any background and any age feel worthwhile and loved. It's something to admire in Russell. Daily, he proves that if only walking were the pace of living - not cars, planes, or trains, or even bicycles - then human communities would be shaped differently, and human relationships with each other and their surroundings would become personal and organic and mutual.
 |
| Piotrek and Russell's balcony |
 |
| View from the intersection of rock and road |
Later the next day, Piotr and Dominika arrived from Guina'ang, kicking up the fun. Gatherings with the local missionary, from Sweden, walks to the river and beyond, wandering only partly lost among the small marks Russell has made on the town. You can see it in the way people greet him, in the mosaic mandalas in random places, in the hope a change of approach to life has added to the atmosphere of the town. Each detail so small, and each so impossible to notice. More good meals, some pirated movies, and relaxing conversations later, and we prepared to do another school project at a totally different town. A van ride to a junction of roads and of mountain rock becomes a ride in the back of a hallow-block truck, me standing to stay comfortable and looking like a hippie cowboy in a green bandanna master of a grunting, bucking bull. Becomes a walk up a steep, slippery road and up the wide limestone steps to the school.
 |
| Typical mission statements of a Philippine college at any level |
 |
| What is art? Art is philosophy!!!! |
Once the university students are gathered in a classroom, Russell begins an introductory talk, handing all of us, students and foreigners alike, pieces of papers and pencils I had gathered from the office next door. Simple enough question: What is art? My mind raced back to all of the many conversations, academic papers, and whimsical musings in my life that had supposedly covered the topic thoroughly. Now I drew a blank. One by one students gave their responses, one broken up by responses from us, the guests and foreigners. Beautiful, colorful, expressive, angular, creative, giving emotion, important, new, etc... Like any teacher, Russell simplified each idea into a catchphrase, most of which were elementary, shallow, or barely applicable at all, but each getting equal weight.
 |
| What is a Mandala? |
 |
| Mandala is Sanskrit for "circle" |
When it came around to me, discussions had begun to flow out into a concise but profound and probing lecture that could have turned into a university course on the subject. I hadn't finished, so I asked to go last. I simplified, asked easy questions and giving obvious examples. Still, the language barrier and the depth hadn't bee lost in translation and the students were mulling the new approach around in their heads. Most simply, I included beauty and ugliness, intent to be art, and meaning as the most inclusive definition. But Russell's one and only addition to the brainstorming has me thinking still. Art is COURAGE. Every single human creation is an act of courage, testing new waters and walking through spaces no other human has touched. Every artist is a bold and adventurous traveler. I laughed to myself, of course I didn't think of that.
 |
| Getting there y'all... |
Then we moved to the doorway. We collaboratively learned the art of the mandala, its simple, sensuous symmetry, and we gathered the paints we had. Not much to go on. Red, black, yellow, and a small amount of green. I expedited the washing process and preparations while everyone else gathered brushes and prepared themselves for the painting. The day was consumed by painting broken by a quick, simple lunch in the cafeteria (I ate rice, sayote, and a small chicken leg because I felt hypoglycemic and faint). Kids of all ages flocked to participate. There wasn't enough room amid the painters for me, so I took to entertaining the artists with a guitar I found in the office. By the time I wound down the last song I knew, the sun was behind the ridge. The mural was nearly done and could be finished and cleaned by the kids, and us foreigners needed to head back down to town or risk getting stranded on the way home. Had to do some extra convincing to get a van driver to take us down to Sabangan. It had been a long fun day, and the meal we made that night was magnificent to match.
 |
| The Entertainer |
 |
| Ain't that somethin'? |
Eventually all of our good times wound down. We all felt we had overstayed our welcome, but Russell assured us we hadn't. One thing after another kept us all there. The school art project. Russell's computer broke down and Piotrek tried to fix it. We all helped finish and send the diamonds and letters from Guina'ang to Cambodia. I made earnest beginnings on an herb garden just up the hill from the house. A quick bug passed through Dominika, who has a porous immune system. Dominika and Piotrek having relationship tensions that might split them apart earlier than expected. Ultimately, we left exactly when we were supposed to. No sooner or later than we all were ready. I had even left my own mark in his place. One of my better poems is on the wall in different colors and fonts to match the lyrics, now filling a previously blank and colorless section around a window.
 |
| Never even guessed her shirt would get painted too, did she? |
 |
| A short-lived, pathetic stint at drums.... |
So many things I learned from Russell, and I hope it was mutual. I had plenty of advice to give in terms of his relationship with his girlfriend. I never got to meet her in person, but I heard her voice on the phone and heard the stories he told, and it sounded exactly like a toxic relationship I was in once. He took my advice and really ended it, the way she had threatened to so many times before. I'll find out in a few months whether he's better off for it. I'm sure we'll meet again in the future.
 |
| All done! Gotta go! Have fun with clean up guys! |
