THE “ROAD” TO UNDERSTANDING
Reflections on Trip to Philippines in 2006
Written By: Phyllis Marsh
Published: Saturday, January 14, 2012
As the five members of the UN Global Justice Committee of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Annapolis planned our trip to the Philippines as part of a women’s rights project, I reflected a great deal upon the dual journeys each trip involves—one to a place and the other to the interior of ourselves where long dormant memories lurk. The purpose of our trip was to collaborate with the Unitarian Universalist Church of the Philippines (UUCP) to develop a program based upon the needs identified by the Philippine women in communities where there was a UU church. The journey inward intrigued me. How, I wondered, would I relate to the Philippine people since I was probably taller, bigger, and blonder and would stand out among them? The very fact that I was paying my way to visit their country was a statement about our relative wealth and ease of living.
UUCP has 26 congregations in rural, sparsely populated Negros Island. During the first three days of our visit we traveled by van to meet with women in five of the congregations. Crossing to the other side of the island from Dumaguete (headquarters of UUCP), we wound our way over paved hilly roads resplendent with jungle vegetation and dotted with small store fronts. It was a journey to a place such as I had never visited. The people in the village of Doldol gave us a warm-hearted welcome with performances in the town square that included dancing by school children and a play about everyday life. At the small outpost of Malingin, where electricity is provided a few hours a day over a wire strung up on bamboo poles, we were entertained with violin music and a dance performance by the women. At each location we listened to hopes and dreams for a better future. We heard of needs for farm financing and books for schools. When I told them I was from Annapolis, Maryland, I wondered what image they had of me.
On the third day we were on our way to Aquino for morning worship when we turned right at some unmarked (at least as far I could see) rural intersection leaving the paved road behind. Rains had washed away the soft dirt and gravel that might have cushioned us in better times from the rocks that may have been an attempt to improve this road. Our driver slowed to a crawl, trying to avoid the worst of the bumps. When he did not succeed at his impossible task, we were thrown against each other as we crept along. When I had just decided this was not really a “road,” a public transport bus came toward us from the other direction! During that forty-five minute ride somewhere in the center of Negros Island, navigating an almost impassable road, I realized that I had really come “home.” There had been such a road in my life before—at a time when my family had very little money.
My road was in central Iowa in the heartland of the United States. During World War II we had moved back to a house on my grandparents’ farm several miles from the nearest town while my father continued to work at a factory twenty miles away. We had no electricity. Our water was drawn from a well. It was a half mile of rolling hills from our house to the nearest “improved” road, and my school was a mile and a half walk away. One of our old cars could, with a running “start” and much coaxing, navigate the mud when spring rains softened the roadbed into deep ruts to get to the improved road where another car that could be driven into town was parked.
We, too, in those long ago days had had hopes and dreams of a better future and a strong determination to work to make it come true. And I understood that the women and men whom I was meeting were in many ways like me. Many of our differences were a time span of sixty years and opportunities available to me that had not been there on Negros Island.
At Aquino that afternoon I introduced myself differently. I said that I had traveled some similar roads as they had and that I had been blessed with many opportunities on my way to becoming an Annapolitan. As I listened to the women who shared their dream to have a piggery, I saw in their faces the love of my grandmother who raised and canned fruits and vegetables for her family. I saw the pride of my husband’s grandmother who had raised turkeys and then prepared them for sale at Thanksgiving time to support her family. And I remembered my mother-in-law who sold strawberries and saved the money over several years to accumulate enough to install indoor plumbing. She lived on an isolated ridge in West Virginia and appreciated the connections with other women forged by membership in the West Virginia Farm Women’s Club of the USDA Extension Service. Now, as I said farewell to the women and children I met, I hugged them as the “family” that they had become.
In our ensuing discussions about how we could go about establishing a program of empowerment of the Philippine women, the farm women in my life were with me in spirit. And they are still with me as we prepare for a return trip to the Philippines to further the goals of Buhata Pinay (Do It, Filipina), our project to empower the women in UU communities in the Philippines. I know that I will once again be meeting “family”.
