It wasn’t very long from the time Rosalia arrived in Alabel until she was introduced to life in the barrio. Christmas was less than a week away and school was closed until January, so she was still settling into her new surroundings at Mr. Gutierrez’s house.
As always, Mr. Gutierrez was downstairs poring over the details on a large wall map. Clipboards dangled from hooks below the map, each one a dossier on a student and their family. As a finger moved deliberately from one pushpin to the next, he inhaled and exhaled with short, pensive breaths.
“Rosie,” said Mr. Gutierrez, “Brian Rudie is coming by the house to pick you up later this morning and the two of you will return to the barrio. You’ll be staying with the Jaramillo family and I want you to get acquainted with as many of the families as possible when you’re there. Brian will be there, too, if you have any questions.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Gutierrez.”
“And another thing, Mr. father is Mr. Gutierrez. You can call me Jonny or Mr. G.”
“Alright, I think I’ll call you Mr. G.”
“That’s good by me.”
Rosie quickly packed her things and went down to the map room to wait for Brian. He, however, didn’t arrive for quite some time. Rosie stood in that same spot where Mr. G. always stood and investigated the map.
“Jaramillo, number 7…where are you? Ah! There you are!”
Number 7 was the little red dot at the mouth of Sarangani Bay. The Baluntay shantytown sat on one side of the Jaramillo house and the industrial zone with high-rise resorts sat on the other.
“Hey,” said a voice. It was Brian Rudie.
“Oh, jeez. You scared me.”
“Sorry, but you were focused so intently on the map.”
“I was thinking…”
“I’ve worked with Mr. Gutierrez long enough and I’ve seen him studying that map for hours at a time. By the looks of it, he already has you trained.”
They loaded into the minivan and rode to Baluntay. The rickety old van rambled slowly along the narrow gravel road and bounced from pothole to pothole as it went.
“Hold on tight,” urged Brian.
Rosie cinched her seatbelt and braced herself against the minivan’s interior. The trip was bumpy and uneven, like an old tilt-a-whirl ride at the local fair. Just like the tilt-a-whirl, she was glad when the ride was over.
“Here we are,” said Brian.
Brian parked his minivan on a dirt pad at the edge of a village. He and Rosie weaved through a haphazard collection of old cars, motorcycles and taxi-trikes to the small path that funneled them into the village.
A group of houses encircled another dirt pad rising to a small mound. Children were also gathered in a tight, concentrated circle. After a moment of light chatter, they screamed and cheered.
“What’s this?”
“Sounds like a spider fight.”
“What’s a spider fight?”
“Just what it sounds like.”
An older male sat on a milk crate with a tiny bamboo stick balanced in his hands. He was dressed in a fatigue cap, camouflage pants, and Army boots. He’d have looked half-dressed most anywhere else. Here, though, the boys gathered around him only wore dirty swim trunks. Some had worn flip-flops, but most were bare-footed.
Two boys stood at each end of the bamboo stick. They each held a bamboo stick of their own.
“Now we have Muhammad Melee against The Destroyer,” announced the man.
The two boys fed their spiders onto the ends of the stick as the man twisted it end over end while the spiders paced back and forth.
“I bet the little one wins!” said one boy.
“How much?” asked another.
“Three pesos.”
“You’re on.”
The man in camouflage removed his thumb from the stick and the two spiders attacked. Muhammad Melee cast a spinneret to escape, but The Destroyer chased him to the ground. Muhammad Melee’s owner quickly snatched the little spider away from danger.
“Hey!” shouted the other boy.
“Put them on the sticks.”
“No!” said Muhammad’s owner.
“You know the rules,” said the man.
The boy sighed wistfully as he replaced his spider to the stick. The other boy placed his on the opposite end. Quickly, The Destroyer sprinted across the bamboo stick and snagged Muhammad in a web.
“Come on!” shouted Muhammad’s owner.
However, it was too late. The Destroyer snapped the smaller spider in half in a single bite.
Boys cheered and money changed hands. As Brian stepped in, the boys broke it up.
“Pidro, what are you up to?”
“Just some fun with the younger boys.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be out on detail?”
“The Sergeant Major gave me a couple days off duty.”
Rosie’s gaze switched between Brian and Pidro.
“Rosie, I’d like you to meet Pidro Serencio. He’s a graduate from Our Lady Lupita. These days, he’s serving in the Philippine Army.”
“Good to meet you,” said Rosie
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
Pidro took Rosie by the hand, which she quickly withdrew. The village boys laughed and taunted Pidro. He just ignored them.
Pidro was much taller than the rest and only a little shorter than Brian. Rosie’s cheeks flushed as Pidro shot her a smile.
“The Serencio family lives here on the mound and the Jaramillos live at the far end of the barrio. I’ll take you there.”
“I can take her,” offered Pidro.
“Nah, I have some things to cover with her.”
Rosie followed Brian through the barrio. It was odd, she thought, that he was so comfortable here and she felt so out of place. It was worse when children approached her.
Magandang umaga, ma’am!”
Rosie looked to Brian.
“It just means good morning…”
“Magandang umaga,” she replied.
“Here is a flower, ma’am. Do you have any pesos?”
Brian pushed the child away.
“I’ve got a few pesos…”
“It only encourages bad behavior.”
“But…”
“No worries.”
It became increasingly muddy as they descended the path towards Sarangani Bay. Children and mothers squatted outside their huts. A dog nipped at Rosie’s heels until Brian shooed it away. At the end of the path, there stood a row of huts. A mother and daughter were there, too, scrubbing laundry in an old saucepan. An old man sat on the porch, rocking in his chair. His crumpled old fingers curled aggressively around a stub of a cigarette.
“Hallo, Brian!”
“Hallo, Mr. Jaramillo. How is it going?”
“Good enough,” said the old man, “Is this the famous Miss Sasfy?”
Brian nodded.
“Welcome to our humble abode. It’s not much, but it’s enough for us.”
“Then it should be enough for me, too,” Rosie replied. She tugged on the shoulder pad of her backpack and headed into the house, shooting just under Mr. Jaramillo’s open and welcoming arm that pointed the way inside.
“Hallo!” said a tiny voice.
“Hey-lo! You must be Joy.”
“The one and only Jocelyn Serencio,” said Joy with a smile so great and wide Rosie could not help but smile as well.
“Let me show you to your room!” said Joy.
She pulled Rosie through the living room and kitchen with forthright determination.
“You’re surprisingly strong.”
“That’s because I’m the family bulldog.”
Joy growled as she continued pulling Rosie to the back of the house. Rosie just laughed.
“Here’s your bunk. You sleep in my room.”
Rosie dropped her pack at the end of the bed. It was not what she had expected at all. The room sat on a wooden deck made of plywood and 2x4s. The plywood was bowed with cracks along the seams. Holes remained where heavy feet punched completely through to the ground below. Plywood scraps made up the walls – pieces nailed on top of pieces like a patchwork quilt. There were holes everywhere.
“Is it safe here?”
“What do you mean?” said Joy plainly.
“Nothing.”
She meant holes – holes for bugs, holes for critters, and holes for snakes – and those were just the things that she could think of at the moment. She was sure to imagine others in the middle of the night.
“Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the house. Do you need to use the restroom?”
Rosie shook her head.
“When you do, just go out this door and past the kitchen. It’s right next to the water catch.”
Joy dragged Rosie to the front where Mr. and Mrs. Jaramillo had remained. Now, a little boy squatted next to Mrs. Jaramillo.
“This thing here,” said Joy, “it’s Jose, he’s the family pet.”
“Joy…” hissed her mother.
“Okay, it’s actually my brother.”
“Good morning, Jose.”
“Good morning, Ma’am.”
“Just call me Rosie.”
Jose glanced at his mother. She shook her head.
“I’m to call you Miss Saspy.”
Rosie gently nodded.
“You must be hungry,” said Mrs. Jaramillo, “what would you like for dinner?”
Rosie shrugged.
“You like fresh crab and sticky rice?”
Rosie nodded.
“Then we’ll have crabs and rice.”
Mrs. Jaramillo motioned to Joy and then to the kitchen. Joy returned with an old Styrofoam container. A pile of sand crabs, small and dirty, crawled around inside.
“You have to rinse them first!”
The crabs flailed their claws as Joy picked them up, one at a time. She swished each one in a bowl of cold water and quickly tossed it into a pot of boiling water before she could be bitten.
“All done!”
Soon afterwards, Mrs. Jaramillo scooped the crabs onto a paper plate and mixed coconut milk and vegetables in the pot. When they were partially cooked, she added the crabs and let them cook until dinner was ready.
“First, we’ll serve the guest of honor!”
Joy held out a plate for her mother. Mrs. Jaramillo filled it with large portions of food. Joy then served it to Rosalia. Everyone watched and waited for Rosie to take her first bite.
“Well?” said Mrs. Jaramillo.
“It’s hot!”
Rosie spat her first bite right back onto her plate as the coconut sauce burned the roof of her mouth. She snatched Joy’s juice cup and gulped it down. Mrs. Jaramillo handed her the unused coconut milk. Rosie finished it off, too.
“I’m so very sorry,” said Mrs. Jaramillo, “I should’ve known better.”
“Me, too,” said Rosie.
After the first bite, everything returned to normal: Rosie enjoyed the meal, she helped clean the dishes, and she even helped Joy and Jose dump the leftover water down the hill behind the house.
“I smell like campfire and dirt,” said Rosie.
“Want me to show you to the shower now?”
Rosie nodded.
Brian had not warned her about the showers.
Rosie changed into a bathing suit and followed Joy to the shower room.
The shower, which was constructed of sturdy cinder block, was a small square room with a large open tank (Joy called it the water catch) attached to the back. From the outside, the shower looked no different than the concrete showers at the Oklahoma Sooner Field House.
Inside, a single rusted metal pipe emerged through a hole in the cinder block. It was about five feet from the floor. The elbow joint acted as the showerhead. A spigot sat low on the wall, just about ankle-height. A pink beach pail hung over the elbow-joint.
Rosie did not figure out the physics of the provincial Pinoy bathroom until Joy gave a demonstration. She turned on the faucet, filled the pail, and handed the scoop to Rosie. Rosie dumped it over her shoulders.
“Oh my God!” she shrieked.
Goosebumps popped up all over Rosie’s body.
“This is your shower?”
Joy nodded.
“Alright, I guess.”
“Call for me if you need anything.”
Rosie applied the barest amount of shampoo to her body before wiping it away with a washcloth. It was better than using the scoop, but not by much. Rosie rinsed off the best she could and when she emerged from the shower, she shivered all over.
That, however, was short lived. The Filipino climate quickly warmed her body and before Rosie could even change into a fresh set of clothes, she was hot and sticky.
“How did you like the shower?”
“It was the coldest shower I’ve ever taken!”
“Joy, did you inform our guest about the C.R.?”
“What’s a C.R.?” asked Rosie.
“You were standing in it. We call it the Comfort Room. Our flush toilets are manual. You fill the pail and dump it into the toilet. You never put paper in the toilet, either.”
“Never put paper…?”
“You’ll get clogs.”
Rosie nodded. Her first true culture shock wasn’t what she’d expected at all. She had seen travelogues and read articles in Conde Nast warning about the dangers of eating the local food or the ever-present crime. Not one mentioned the showers.
Not one.
Afterwards, Rosie settled into her bunk. The twin-size mattress was plastic and spongy. It reminded Rosie of a summer camp bunk. It crinkled every time she moved. She tried ignoring it as she towel-dried her hair and began to comb it out. Joy sat on the other bed and watched her.
“Would you like me to comb your hair?”
“Sure!” Joy quickly hopped onto Rosie’s bunk and plopped down beside her.
“I can’t wait for school to begin!”
“Me, neither. What’s your favorite subject?”
“They’re all good,” said Joy, “but I like lunch best.”
“That’s not a subject!”
“But it is…playing with the other kids and trading one thing for another.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I know, because lunch is the best subject of all.”
Rosie laughed as Joy informed her on the ways of the world. It wasn’t long, however, until the conversation and laughter drew the attention of Mrs. Jaramillo.
“What are you two carrying on about?”
“Joy is telling me the ways of the world. Where did she get all this knowledge?”
“Maybe it’s books or television, but she’s got all this curiosity. She starts conversation with anyone who will listen.”
“For such a young girl, she has an opinion on everything.”
“I think she gets it from her father.”
Mrs. Jaramillo tucked the girls in and draped mosquito nets over their beds before turning off the lights.
“Rosie?”
“Yes, Joy?”
“Thank you for coming to visit us.”
“Thank you for being such a good hostess.”
The night passed quickly, as signaled by the rooster’s morning call. Joy rustled about in the darkness and joined her mother at the fire pit. Joy fetched well water while Mrs. Jarmillo weaved tiny bamboo leave baskets and stuffed them with uncooked rice. After they boiled water, she dropped the packets into the boiling water for sticky rice. Joy set out the plates and silverware. Then, she fetched Rosie from her bedroom.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up, it’s time to greet the day!” sang Joy.
Rosie growled.
“That’s no way to say good morning. Say ‘Magandang Umaga!”
Rosie grumbled just a little bit more, “Magandang Umaga, Joyful girl.”
Joy flashed a smile, big and bright as the oncoming sun. Rosie snatched Joy into her arms and tickled her fiercely.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stoppppppp it!”
Rosie finally released Joy from her grip and went to the C.R. for a quick rinse. She came out onto the front porch, where everyone was already up and about, including many of the Jaramillo’s neighbors.
“Busy place,” said Rosie.
“This is no place for sleeping late,” said Mrs. Jaramillo, “there’s too much work to do.”
Mrs. Jaramillo served a plate of fried fish bites and sticky rice packets. There were also glasses of warm coconut milk. Joy cleaned her plate, only to have Mrs. Jaramillo immediately fill it again.
The day was filled with a full to-do list. Rosie cleaned dishes, cleaned house, did laundry, and fetched water. She took care of Joy and Jose while Mrs. Jaramillo worked at her roadside fruit stand. Rosie kept company with the children, playing games and reading stories. She also took them around the village, stopping at the market for juice and candy. She fixed a simple lunch and was glad when Mrs. Jaramillo returned home, because she would prepare dinner.
The next night and morning were much the same. Late in the afternoon, Brian came up the hill from the Serencio house and took Rosie back to Mr. G.’s house.
“How was your stay?”
“Eye opening.”
“It always is,” chuckled Biran, “what was your most eye opening moment?”
“Hmmm, I think it was the Comfort Room.”
“Do you mean the cold water or the self-service toilets?”
“Both!”
“It could be worse. My family owns a piggery.”
“What’s a piggery?”
“Just what it sounds like. They raise about twenty pigs and my room is out back, right next to the pig pen. To make things worse, the air’s stagnant, so the odor just sits inside my nose all night long.”
“I couldn’t imagine living like that.”
“It keeps me from sleeping in too long.”
The moment Brian dropped Rosie off at Mr. G.’s house, Rosie was out of the minivan and up the stairs to the bathroom. She went to her bedroom and stripped out of her dirty clothes and took a long shower.
While Rosalia Sasfy longed for creature comforts, a middle-aged man, stood on a balcony staring across the horizon. He was dressed in fineries such as a fresh-starched Egyptian cotton shirt, French double-breasted suit, and custom-made Italian leather shoes.
For Arvind Lee, this was no hand-me-down life. He had put in long hours at Hong Kong University before moving to the Sarangani Highlands. He had been thoroughly versed in the Philippines’ untapped real estate sector.
As he stood there, he took a swig of brandy and chased it with a puff from one of the finest Filipino cigars. Another man approached him and stood at his side. This man, Jonny Gutierrez, was dressed head-to-toe in white seersucker – a little more suited to the untamed tropics.
“You’ve got this house full of guests and you’re out here on the veranda staring at the sea.”
“Just thinking…”
“About?”
“”Everything and nothing, I guess.”
Jonny nodded, “Have you thought about my proposal for Our Lady Lupita?”
“I think it would be a great idea to improve your Academy. It would provide a good base for the working people. I could always use more employees with a strong education.”
“I wouldn’t…” Jonny stammered as he checked his phrasing, “Most of these people can’t afford to clothe their kids, let alone send them to University.”
“I could always set aside college tuition for your best and brightest. It’s a good tax write-off plus voters appreciate it during elections.”
Jonny inhaled, only to take a deep breath of cigar smoke. He coughed slightly and then a second time, just to clear his throat.
“You know it’s not about the voting box.”
“Everything is about the voting box, you just haven’t paid attention.”
Just then, a partygoer cut between the two men. She was in her early-twenties and looked the part. Her make-up was put on like war paint with waxy maroon lipstick and smoky mascara. The odor of expensive perfume and cheap cigarettes rolled off her body and mingled with the smoke from Arvind’s cigar. Alcohol tumbled from her glass and splashed onto the patio next to Jonny. She did not apologize for her boorish behavior. In fact, she didn’t even notice what she’d done. Jonny simply took a step back and watched.
“What are you doing out here, Mr. Arvind Lee? It’s not a party without the main man.”
“I’m having a conversation with a friend.”
“Pish-tosh! Come inside and meet your adoring fans.”
She had barely noticed Jonny and if Arvind hadn’t said anything, she would’ve ignored Jonny altogether. She dragged Arvind into the house, leaving Jonny alone on the veranda. He clicked his drinking glass against the wire railing. The wire responded in a deep twang.
“Hot night, isn’t it?”
Jonny turned to face Mary Kirkpatrick, one of the consultants for Mr. Lee’s Architectural Engineering firm.
“Actually, I was just enjoying the sea breeze.”
“I guess I’m still not used to the tropics.”
“Where are you from?”
“London…England.”
“Ah,” said Jonny. It was a space-filler. Still, he wondered why she added the ‘England’ at the end. Maybe she thought it was necessary. Likely, that was space-filler, too.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t like these mixers. Everyone puts on airs... Where are you from?”
“Here in Sarangani.”
“Of course, of course, silly me. Of course you’re from Sarangani. Where else?”
He had never met Mary before, but he’d seen her face around the village. Arvind Properties, LLC owned most of the lower archipelago and Mary’s face was repeatedly plastered across billboards at new construction sites, complete with hardhat and warm smile.
Jonny had lived in the lower province his entire life. It was only the professorship that pulled him away from Alabel.
“What do you think of the Philippines?”
“I like it.”
“Do you think you’ll move here?”
“It depends on Mr. Lee. He has investments in Australia and Hong Kong, too.””
“What do you want?”
“I like it here. It’s unbearably hot, but I like it here.”
“Most ex-pats get used to the heat, but not the rains.”
“Yeah, the rains are unbearable, too.”
Jonny chuckled, “then what makes you like the Philippines?”
Mary glanced over her shoulder at the very moment that Arvind crashed the conversation.
“Oh, it’s so crazy in there!”
“Where’s your friend?”
“You mean Eiselle? She’s inside making the rounds.”
The group turned to face the house. Eiselle had gathered a group of old business men and was busy chatting them up. Mary scoffed.
“Yes?”
“Eiselle Santiago is trouble if you ask me.”
“She can be a handful sometimes, but that’s just how city girls are. She’s good for business, though.”
“How did she even get in here?” asked Mary, “This is an Architectural Engineering mixer.”
“She’s my personal guest,” said Arvind, “Like I said, she’s good for business.”
One of those investors, an old man from Indonesia, was in Eiselle’s clutches now. The young girl was all high heels and a little black dress. The arm which she draped around the old man had him wrangled. As she clopped across the veranda, he held on tight. She led him out on the veranda and right to Mr. Lee.
“Hello, everyone,” she announced, “this is Mr. Morita, he’s one of our handsome investors from Jakarta. He hopes to build a new high-rise by the bay.”
Mr. Morita shook hands and introduced himself. His English was broken, but manageable. Regardless, it was Eiselle’s turn to talk.
“And I’m Eiselle St. James. I’m a realtor here in the Highlands. I have some ideas for development…”
Jonny just stood there, sipping his sparkling water and quietly taking it all in. It was, however, getting late. Jonny politely excused himself and went to his car.
He tipped the valets and the guard at the gate. On the way home, he left the windows rolled up and cranked up the aircon. It was soothing, but not for the cool air. The quiet hum of the fan drowned the outside noise. He rolled his neck back and forth, popping the bubbles of tension out of his spine.
“It feels so good,” he muttered.
The drive home was more productive than the trip there.
“She’s crazy, you know…”
“What?”
Rosie sat in the map room, watching a delayed broadcast of an NBA basketball game. It was the Oklahoma City Thunder against the Trail Blazers. Mr. G. turned down the volume and sat down next to her. She obliged by lending a willing ear.
“I’m trying to talk to Mr. Lee about property improvements here at the Academy and there’s this person, Eiselle Santiago. She barges into our conversation and…and she’s not even an architect…but she takes over, talking about everything except important matters.”
Jonny fanned his shirt as he pinched his lower lip over his upper lip and exhaled hotly. “She really got my collar heated.”
“I can see that. Here, have a potato chip and some dip. It’ll do ya good.”
Rosie grabbed the remote as Jonny dug a hand into the bag of potato chips. She turned up the volume on the game and the two watched it together, sitting silently side-by-side.
.
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