02 - high water

A perilous downpour continued throughout the night and long into the next morning, drenching everything below. Rosalia Sasfy finally fell asleep – and slept through it all: rain and wind and thunder. She also slept through Morning Mass.

A muddy river grew alongside the house, obscuring the edges of the concrete road. As always, people braved the elements and navigated through it as if it were just an ordinary day. Eventually, many of them drove straight into roadside ditches. Most abandoned their vehicles when they couldn’t back out safety. Water swells pushed the cars into piles with as much disregard as a child playing with old toys.

For Mr. G., it was business as usual. He rose with the sun and surveyed the damage. He decided to use the extra time to run a few miscellaneous errands. He returned with a trunk full of canned foods and emergency supplies. He grabbed a pair of brooms and left everything else in the back of his car. He immediately set to work.

Rosie woke around 0:30 and looked out her bedroom window. The smell of tropical vegetation filled the air. She inhaled deeply, taking it all in. From her outpost, a canopy of green leaves obscured her view. Palm trees nodded their water-soaked heads gently to the morning breeze.

“It turned out not to be such a bad day after all.”

The electricity still worked and the water was its normal lukewarm temperature as she showered. Although she preferred her showers scalding hot, she’d gotten used to the electric water heater installed directly beneath the showerhead. When she finished, she jumped into a fresh set of clothes and headed downstairs. She couldn’t begin to imagine the trouble ahead.

As she hurried downstairs, the sound of splashing water echoed in the stairwell. She ran into Jonny, who was whisking water off the porch.

“Magandang umaga!” he greeted her enthusiastically, “you’re here just in time.”

“What’s going on?”

He wagged a finger at the roadway.

“There’s water everywhere and I sure could use another pair of hands.”

A steady stream flowed onto the patio and the only thing stopping it from completely flooding the office was a small concrete stoop. It was eight centimeters high and constructed entirely of gray garden pavers. Mr. Gutierrez installed it immediately after encountering his first flooded office.

 Although Rosie had stubbed her toes on that same stoop a hundred times, she was now grateful for its existence.

“Does this always happen?”

“All the time during rainy season. I’ve complained to city officials, but they’ve never done anything about it. The patio floods whenever it rains. That’s why I only keep the television and the couch down here. Can you do me a favor and take the television upstairs?”

Rosie quickly unplugged the television and unfastened the cable connection. She squeezed past Jonny as she lugged the television upstairs.

“Just put it on top of my bed,” he called to her.

Jonny’s bedroom was cluttered with everything Jonny salvaged from the map room. Stacks of files were haphazardly strewn on the mattress and rows of knickknacks lined the floor, blocking Rosie’s passage to the other side of the room. Rosie made space at the top of the bed and placed the television where it wouldn’t fall to the floor.

When she returned downstairs, Mr. Gutierrez had finished shifting piles of paper and books into plastic containers. Most of the books, like the old map, were waterlogged and damaged. Rosie and Mr. G. carried the full containers to the top of the stairs and placed them there.

“Maybe we’re okay after all, but I’m not taking any chances.”

Rosie and Jonny watched the floodwater lapping at the stoop’s edge.

“Come with me,” he said.

She followed him to his car, where he grabbed a pair of brooms from the trunk. He led Rosie to the ramp at the end of the road. It was nearly submerged under water.

“Be careful, Rosie. The current here is pretty powerful.”

He handed Rosie one broom and used the other to scratch a trench from the roadway to the ditch below. Before long, a small but rapid stream flowed directly into the ravine.

“That’ll help for now.”

They returned to the house, where Rosie swapped out her socks and stuffed her daypack with an extra set of clothes.

Meanwhile, Mr. Gutierrez dug additional trenches leading away from the porch. Then, he used the broom-end and swept water away from the house.

“I’m headed to the Academy for the afternoon,” said Rosie.

“You want me to take you?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Rosie walked out to the road while Mr. Gutierrez continued engineering the waterways around his house. She waited by the bridge for the first passing bus and caught a ride to school.

Mr. Gutierrez continued for another hour on his project, but it was a losing battle. He grabbed a radio and tuned it to MindaNews

“Hello Mindanao! It’s Jeanie Abordo from MindaNews weather center here in Davao. It’s August and you know what that means. Rain, rain, and more rain. The quake in metro Kuala Lumpur has affected many islands throughout the southern Philippines. Aftershocks have also disrupted some of the local Filipino areas, causing floods and landslides along the southwest coast of the main island. Here in Davao, we’re keeping an eye on the surge and we’ll give you any news as soon as we get it. Other than that, we should see four to five centimeters by nightfall and continued showers throughout tomorrow. Expect a balmy high of 36 degrees.”

Mr. Gutierrez peeled his shirt off his body and tied it across his forehead. He grabbed a garden rake from the tool shed and started digging a trench from the roadside to the gully. The thick tangle of vegetation made the going slow. The thick mud only made it worse.

“I should’ve done this back in the dry season,” he grumbled.

He wedged his right foot against a Santol tree at the bottom of the hill and leaned upward as he swung the rake over his head and planted it into the hillside. He pulled with all his might, but it hardly budged. Small bits of leaves, roots, and mud came out with each pick.

“Maybe I should go to the mall and buy a shovel.”

He used his rake like a climber’s pick to brace himself against a fall, but it offered little help as the soles of his shoes slipped on the wet grass covering the embankment. He clung onto the rake with both hands as his shoes slid out beneath him. He twisted sideways and flopped onto his back. His left leg caught the edge of the metal pipe in the culvert and sliced it open.

“Anak ng manok!” he shouted – son of a chicken.

It was Mr. G.’s favorite curse phrase and It was about as bad as Mr. G’s language ever got. He’d been a meek man all his life, a devout Catholic, a father of seven, and the teacher and headmaster of a Samaritan school. There were times he even hated that phrase – especially when Ms. Pascua gave him her snooty opinion of such bad language. Even though the closest person was probably a kilometer away, Mr. Gutierrez felt bad.

He looked down at his leg. The cut was deep and long. He grabbed a glob of mud from the stream and rubbed it across the gash to stop the bleeding. He carefully made his way up the gulley, cutting a crossways path towards the house.

Meanwhile, the Academy had fared better than Mr. Gutierrez’s house back in Alabel. Streams kept the same steady depth, running alongside the road and below the height of the concrete landing that held the basketball court, playground, and outdoor cafeteria.

The majority of the storms passed right by Baluntay and headed a mere two kilometers to the east. The Academy was spared. Alabel and everything in it (including Mr. Gutierrez’s house) had been chosen instead.

Rosie hopped off the bus and walked down the wide gravel road that led to Our Lady Lupita Academy. A small stone statue of the blessed Virgin Mary stood outside the Academy, her hands open and her head bowed as she offered guardianship over all of “Our Lady of Lupita’s” inhabitants.

Rosie stopped in front of the statue to cross herself and say a little prayer. Then, she headed inside.

Those inhabitants included a large collection of children on the playground. Nearly every student was there.

“Since you’re all here, let’s get inside and study.”

A collective groan came from the group.

“…but it’s Sunday, Miss Saspy.”

It was the bright but feisty face of Joy Jaramillo greeting her. Joy had always been one of Rosie’s favorite students.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

“Let’s make crafts.”

“You know how I feel about using school supplies on the weekends.”

“…but it’s Sunday,” whined Joy.

“I promise; we’ll make crafts tomorrow morning. If anyone wants to come into the classroom, I’ll teach while you draw with crayons.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Joy extended a hand to Rosie.

“That’s only because you drive a hard bargain.”

Joy fetched the jar of crayons and Rosie removed a ream of Manila paper from the storage closet. Joy handled distribution while Rosie motioned for everyone to take his or her seat.

“On Friday, we were talking about the Sulu islands, so let’s go from there.”

The children quickly settled down at their lab tables – one of the many things that had been donated to Mr. G.’s Academy from friends at the University. Groups of four shared communal piles of crayons as they busily scribbled on their paper. Their heads were down, but their minds, as always, were intent on Rosie’s history lesson.

“Before he became the Sultan of Sulu, Sharif ul-Hashim was a Muslim explorer from Malaysia. Late in the 15^th Century, he settled into Jolo, in the middle of the Moro Island chain. After he married a local tribal princess, ul-Hashim formed the Sultanate.”

“Ma’am?”

A small girl, clad in a floral headscarf, held up a single hand. It was Dalisay, the oldest of three girls from the Rana family. She was also another of Miss Sasfy’s most vocal students.

“Miss Saspy!”

“Yes, Dalisay?”

“You called him an explorer.”

“Yes.”

“But he was a missionary, just like you”

“He, um, was part of a caravan that made trade with the villagers of places like Zamboanga and Jolo. He later became a religious and political leader of a chain of islands all along Moro. It was his efforts which led to the formation of the Sultanate.”

“What’s a Sultanate?” asked Joy.

“It’s a Muslim-based kingdom, ruled by a religious king, known as a Sultan. They were common during that time and extended throughout much of Malaysia, Indonesia, and the southern part of the Philipplines.”

Dalisay raised her hand again. Rosie shook her head.

“His missionary work was very important,” stated Dalisay.

“I agree, but we’re talking about his Sultanate. He constructed a kingdom that even affects the Sulu archipelago today.”

“The musliims have a right to that land. It’s theirs.”

“Maybe that’s enough for today,” stammered Rosie. Dalisay, who was one of the eldest students at the Academy, had been vocal on this point before. Rosie felt that the only reason the Rana family attended Our Lady Lupita was because it was free. Sometimes, it even angered Rosie whenever she got into little skirmishes over history with Dalisay and her brothers.

“Dalisay, will you do me a favor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please wipe down the chalkboard for me. I think we’ll stop for today.”

Dalisay came up to the front of class and wiped down the chalkboard. Meanwhile, Rosie pulled an Autoharp from her desk and sat it on her lap.

“Let’s sing a song or two before we end the day.”

She strummed the bulky instrument as she led the children in two songs. She began with a contemporary song from a Filipino variety show and followed that up with a traditional Catholic hymn. She only knew the melody from what she’d heard the students sing. It didn’t matter. The Autoharp saved Rosie from actually needing to know anything musical at all.

“Alright, kiddoes. It’s time to pack up and get on home.”

“But we want to stay and play,” said Jose.

“You know I’d rather you didn’t. I have errands and It’s time to go before it gets dark.”

“I’ll watch them for awhile,” offered Dalisay.

“Okay, but not too late, okay?”

Dalisay nodded.

Rosie shooed the kids onto the patio and checked the wall map in the back office of the Academy. It was almost exactly like the one from Mr. Gutierrez’s house, with pushpins and all. The only differences were the lamination, the crisp white paper, and the lack of surplus pinholes.

After she got the exact location she was looking for, she locked all the doors and windows and went outside. She tied her rain jacket around her waist as she stepped onto the muddy road next to the Academy. She flagged down a taxi-trike and hopped a ride.

The ride was bumpy as the three-wheeler slowly weaved around mud puddles. Rosie tapped on the driver’s shoulder as she reached her destination. It was Juvie Velasco’s house.

Juvie was one of the oldest students at the Academy, almost sixteen years old. She lived with her mother, aunt, and uncle in one of the shantytowns down by the bay.

The taxi-trike went as far as it could, where gravel roads turned into muddy walkways leading between shanties. Rosie reached up and paid the driver before hopping off the trike. The driver gave the horn a high-pitched beep as he sped away. Rosie felt alone as she listened to the rev of the motorcycle engine disappearing in the distance.

Kids played on the dirt-pad basketball court at the edge of the barrio.

“Hello?” she interrupted.

“Hello, ma’am,” answered a boy.

“Do you know where I can find Juvie Velasco?”

The boy pointed into the distance.

“She’s back this road, just a right and a left after you see the house with the pig pen around the back.”

Rosie headed into the barrio, steadfast on the directions the boy gave her. As soon as she reached the end of the path, she saw the pigpen. Two piglets oinked out an alarm to get her attention. She bent down to look at them for a second. Then, she took the path leading to the right.

All the shanties looked the same. The loudest sound wasn’t the two pigs. Tens of roosters from throughout the shanties crowed incessantly. After only a few minutes of the din, Rosie plugged fingers into her ears to dull the sound. She couldn’t understand how anyone could put up with that sound all day long.

Rosie wandered around the tangled maze of paths until she saw an old man sitting on the porch.

“Do you know Juvie Velasco?”

The man stared at her.

“Do you…”

“Here I am,” interrupted a voice. It was Juvie.

“That’s my uncle. He doesn’t understand much English.”

Rosie nodded.

“Come in. I’m fixing dinner.”

Juvie led Rosie through the tiny two-room hut to a small patch of backyard. Juvie had built a fire and was boiling water for rice.

“Will you go with me to fetch water?”

“Sure.”

Juvie handed a pair of plastic pails to Rosie and grabbed two for herself. They hiked to the little opening where people waited at the water station. A simple green water pump emerged from the center of a concrete pad. People stood around, waiting their turn. Juvie and Rosie stood at the end of the line.

“You do this every day?”

“At least once, but most times twice.”

Rosie sighed.

“You hold the buckets and I’ll pump the water,” said Juvie.

Rosie did just that, taking her turn at the pump until all four buckets were full. She and Juvie lugged the buckets through the barrio to Juvie’s hut. Her mother and aunt had returned from the rice terraces, their day of work finished. Now, they were making dinner.

“Hello, everyone,” said Juvie, “this is my teacher, Miss Sasfy.”

“Ah, Miss Saspy, I think I’ve met you before,” said Juvie’s aunt.

“You have?”

“I have been to the Academy to watch Juvie perform in one of the pageants.”

Rosie nodded, “Of course,”

“Are you having dinner with us?”

“I’m not sure. It’s getting dark.”

“We’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”

“Alright then, how can I say no?”

“Good, we’re making pancit.”

Pancit – an old Chinese-Filipino mix of rice noodles, vegetables and sliced meat – had become one of the few dishes Rosie had learned in her short time there. It had also become one of her favorites.

Pancit was something her mother talked about and sometimes even cooked, but she’d also became very ‘Americanized’ long before Rosie was old enough to eat complete meals. Instead, she’d eaten McThis and Happy Meal that. It was just easier. Her mother had taken on a full-time secretarial job so she could send money back home to the islands. Her mother had also taken on a second job part-time. The only time Rosie got to eat Filipino food was during the holidays, when her mother’s friends visited and shared their own creations.

The four women crouched around the fire pit as they stir-fried the homemade sausage and hand picked vegetables before throwing the rice noodles into the boiling water. The pancit quickly inflated to full size. Juvie’s mother transferred the rice noodles from the pot to the wok. They sizzled as boiling water intermingled with the cooking oil.

“Hold out your plate,” said Mrs. Velasco.

Mrs. Velasco dished up a large serving on Rosie’s plate. It was much more than Rosie could eat at one time.

“It looks yummy,” said Rosie.

“Yeap,” said Juvie, “and here’s your silverware so you can dig in.”

Filipino silverware: no fork, just spoon and knife. Juvie pinned the sausage with the edge of the spoon while she cut it with the knife. She scooped it into her spoon and chewed. It was another of those Pinoy customs to which Rosie had not quite grown accustomed. Still, Rosie made the best of things.

“Thank you so much for dinner, but I think I best get going.”

“Sit and relax.”

“I’d love to, but I have work at home.”

“If you must go,” said Mrs. Velasco, “Juvie, show Rosie to the road and find her a trike back to Alabel.”

Juvie walked with Rosie to the main road.

“Juvie, will you be at school tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. Uncle is very ill. I have to take care of his diabetes. He cannot work his insulin pump and I have to boil and change his tubes.”

Juvie flagged down a motorcycle and spoke with the driver in native Filipino.

“He will take you home for ten pesos.”

“Thank you, Juvie.”

“No problem, Miss Sasfy.”

“I hope to see you tomorrow at the Academy.”

Juvie simply nodded as Rosie hopped onto the back of the motorcycle and wrapped her arms tightly around the driver’s waist. He sped along the road to the main highway. Unlike trikes, busses, or Jeepneys, it was always a quick trip by motorcycle and it felt good to be home. She still didn't feel like she fit in whenever she visited the barrio.

“Salamat,” she said.

“No. Thank you, ma’am.”

The path to the house was flooded. So, too, were the patio and the map room. Rosie waded through the calf-deep water and headed upstairs.

“Are you okay?” she called out.

“Yes,”

“Where are you?”

“Upstairs in my room.”

All of the electric was out, but Mr. Gutierrez had lit several candles in his room. They produced a pleasant flickering light.

“Now I know why you weren’t at school today.”

“The more I tried to fix it, the worse it got. I just gave up after a while and came up here.”

“We’ll work on it tomorrow after school.”

Rosie used one of Jonny’s candles to light the oil lamp in her room. She lay in her bed and listened to the water running down the hill outside her bedroom. The sound both soothed and chilled her. Hopefully, it would soon be over.

.