NTM

It’s now been one year since we’ve come to the Philippines. During this year we have seen and experienced many things that adjusted the filter through which we view the world. We have been in a clash of cultures. Us, at the beginning, trying to make our lives here as similar to our lives in America as possible, only resulting in frustration. The Filipinos of Manila, as they moved constantly toward adopting the dress, music and language of America, and the Filipinos of the provinces that are struggling daily to survive and couldn’t care less about American culture if they don’t have food that day.

There is a saying I’ve heard in America, that kind of translate into Tagalog. “Kapanganakan ako ng Amerikano, pagpili ako ng Pinoy.” Basically, “American by birth, Filipino by choice.” Though it took a while we realized until we become one of them, it’s going to be impossible to reach them. This has given us opportunity to live in some of the poorer Provincial areas, remote tribal villages, and one of the largest cities of the world. We have seen personally in peoples lives, poverty of extreme levels and wealth beyond anyone I know in America. We have slept on the floor in the tribes and the beds of luxurious hotels at the instance of our hosts. And in every place we have seen the true Filipino. No amount of Western clothing, music, movies, etc. can truly make them American. And likewise, no matter how much we learn about Filipino culture, dress like they do or act like they do, we will still be American. However, Filipinos have such a unique characteristic in relationships that is not common among Americans, and it sure would change things back home, if we could be more like them.

The other day I observed something that is the norm here, and although we’ve been here for a while, my first thought of how to deal with the situation was from my persecutive, not theirs. There was two boys standing on the corner of the four lane street. Now, crossing the road here isn’t unlike going out onto the interstate and running across the traffic. Here, they are going much slower, but there is no constant direction. Cars are passing each other, spilling into the oncoming lanes. People are turning right from the far left lane, passing in front of 3 rows of vehicles stopped at the light. Motorcycles, including me, weaved their way to the front of the line and waited on the white crosswalk lines to be the first to go. From the other direction, drivers see an opening and sneak through the red light.

These boys watched carefully for a chance to make it at least half way across. From there it’s a gamble of how long you might stand on the yellow line, hoping you don’t get hit, until you can sprint the rest of the way. The elder, maybe 10 was dressed in a dirty t-shirt and shorts with cheap plastic flip flops that were about 5 sized too big. Judging by the black sludge on his feet, his little brother, maybe 7 or 8, didn’t have his own pair. Neither did he have a shirt, and his red shorts were too big and needed a constant grip on them to keep them from falling off.

Seeing their chance they dashed to the middle of the road. Reaching the yellow line they realized they picked the wrong time as the light changed and they were forced to stay there. While traffic turned in front of us, I was able to watch. The 8 year old was dancing around, gripping his pants for dear life. I thought, if you stand still for a second your pants won’t fall down. Then I realized what was really going on. His bare feet were being scorched by the blazing hot roadway. All the callouses on his little feet couldn’t help him. But I could, I have money, I could get him some shoes, the nicest ones around. This is our way, find a need and deal with it. It wouldn’t have made much of a dent on my finances, and I could probably find some for a couple dollars at the market.

But, that wouldn’t help him now. Only his brother could, and seeing his little brothers plight he took off one of his flip flops and give it to him. Now they both stood there, balancing on one foot, leaning on each other so as not to fall into the on coming traffic. As my light changed and the honking of drivers urged me on, I wondered if I would have done that to my brother. If he asked, I would have probably told him to get his own. If I saw him dancing, would I have laughed at him for not remembering his own shoes. But this is the Filipino way. No one I’ve ever met, save for one or two, have taken care of each other like these people do. There’s rarely fighting amongst the kids for “their” toys, food or whatever.

This is one of the many ways we have changed in our thinking over the last year. And a reason why a short term missions trip is such a great idea for teens and adults. Get out of your world, enter someone else’s.