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January found us busy moving me from the rental apartment to
I think I already published a picture of the salacote, but, here it is again (above).
This is the front entrance on the left, kitchen on the right
This is the kitchen, fondly known in the
If you will notice, the salacote walls are not really walls but made of bamboo strips, and many of them are missing to allow smoke to escape.
This salacote is 228 square feet. It does not have a CR (bathroom) however there is one in the next building, which is the laundry room.
We changed the salacote a bit, as there was no view of the ocean although it sat next to the ocean. Filipinos are a bit strange in that they live on the ocean front but build a fence that blocks the view. They say it is because they don’t want prowlers, and that may be true, but I believe they also build the fence to calm one of their suspicions, which is that the ocean wind will force air into your body.
Yup, that is their belief. Even though you might laugh when they tell you that, they will insist it is so. I even tried to bring the subject of their fishermen being constantly in the middle of the winds, but with much shrugging of the shoulders it was dismissed. It is not unusual to see someone wearing a cloth over their head to ward off the wind, even at sleep.
The first thing we did is to remove half the bamboo on the ocean side to allow the breeze to enter the building (against every Filipino objections, including
The original cost of the salacote was 15,000 pesos, which is a huge amount to spend on a salacote, but is only $326. My remodeling brought that sum up a further 900 pesos, a staggering sum of $19.56 and left us with this:
Even though we were protected from the mosquitoes,
That’s right, only a month.
We were searching for a home for a friend of ours, a Brit and his girlfriend, and happened across a home that became available just across the street, on the pathway to the family mountain property. As it only had one bedroom (but another room that could be adapted for a second bedroom) and a concrete floor, it would not have been acceptable to our friends (at least not James anyway, but his girlfriend Shirley was ready to accept anything at this point). So we took it and moved out of the salacote.
I miss that salacote.
We now live in a home of 523 square feet, and we are very, very comfortable. The first thing we did, aside from cleaning of course, was to purchase another $20 of mosquito netting. Believe it or not, within 2 weeks I had convinced
No air conditioning, which strikes my fancy anyway, as it is basically the same temperature year round, 86°. We do get some foot traffic past the house, virtually 2 feet or less away, but mostly it is people that live in the neighborhood, so we know most of them. We have conversations with them while they pass by (except for me, I don’t know Cebuano yet).
Electricity shuts down frequently, sometimes 3 times a day. They call it a brownout, but refuse to understand the difference between brownouts and blackouts. Creates havoc on the computer systems.
After a couple weeks of cleaning and fixing the house, as well as the yard (miniscule), I became a bit bored. Of course, I have my music. Some of you may know that I collect music, and presently have some 30,000 tracks or more on my computer. Most of the artists are not recognizable, as they are up-and-comers, or want to be. I do have the odd Madonna and Steely Dan, but the vast majority is the unknowns. I have been spending a lot of time categorizing and researching additional information on the artists and recordings and putting into playlists. I absolutely abhor public radio, far too many commercials and verbal nonsense, and I don’t like hearing the same song 4 times each day, every day for months. I can listen for 8 hours a day and not hear the same song again until 8 months later. And no commercials.
Due to unforeseen hiccups, and my steadfast refusal to back up properly periodically, my collection had become a travesty, a burning issue with me.
So, I have spent many hours reconstructing my past accomplishments. Not having an internet connection here has caused an extremely difficult situation; I have chosen to ignore all the free (legally free) music out there until we finally get an internet connection. The past year one of the providers has spent the year laying cable alongside the road. The town before us (Jagna, pronounced Hagna), and the town after us (Gundulman, pronounced Gun-DUL-man) are connected but we are not.
But, one cannot live their life constantly behind the computer screen (unless they are getting paid for it) and as Filipino life is typically spent outside 75% of the 24 hour period (and most sleeping in bamboo huts), I began to look at the lot behind our house, which has coconuts on it, and a huge amount of weeds. I cleaned that lot in a few days, and got huge compliments from lots of neighbors (including one statement that they have to thank that foreigner for cleaning up their back yards), except for the one family that used to dump their garbage there. Now that it is clean, it looks almost like a park, and that family changed directions for their garbage trekking.
Once again, I began looking for a small escape.
Hmmm. That got me thinking.
That very day I started to build a path up the mountainside (or more accurately, the hillside, which is part of the mountain range behind us). I had a bolo knife (known by most of the world as a machete, but here it is a bolo) that the landlady had left in the store room, so I began in earnest.
Just so you know there are left and right handed bolos, as well as bolos specifically for digging, specifically for chopping trees, specifically for grass cutting and specifically for chopping weeds. I still don’t know what type I have, but it seems to work well at cutting trees (small trees).
So I started immediately.
An hour later I was totally exhausted, having cleared at almost 3 feet.
We went home, and without bothering to shower, I hit the sack for an hour.
We returned the following day, and another hour and a further 5 feet, I was exhausted again.
You have to understand that this is the jungle. Or the forest. Or both. Kind of a cross between the two. Hard and soft wood trees, thistles, raspberry bush-type vines, vines as thick as your forearm, vines wrapping themselves around other vines, sometimes as many as 6 or 7 vines intertwined, pythons, boas, nasty spiders, mosquitoes, bees, ferocious ants and strange folks walking through the wilderness.
Maybe it should be called fungle.
Because it is forest, jungle and fun. One of the benefits of working for most of your adult life pushing pencils across the desk, and occasionally wadding up paper to throw at the basket is that you dream about actually seeing the completion of your accomplishments. It is amazing how one can chop and sweat for an hour, and then look back and see that a pathway 3 or 4 feet long has been accomplished, and be bursting with pride.
It might have been only in the movies, but, Tarzan was actually able to commute via vines, although some seem to be quite brittle.
On the second day, Joshua asked his mother why I wasn’t afraid of the snakes. She of course, didn’t know. When she told me, I asked ‘What snakes?’ Since then I have done a lot of thrashing about, letting everyone/thing know I am coming, before I take the next step.
I spent days doing that until I reached the halfway point. I sat down to rest in a clear spot, and
That was a challenge.
Apparently the long noses never actually work, they just order the work to be done.
If the Filipinos can do it, I can do it.
I continued working for the top a few more days, finally reaching my goal. I called down to
2 feet later she stopped, as she could not proceed any further.
But we were at the top! I managed to push our way a bit further, maybe 4 feet, but it was so dense with saplings and brush we could not go any further. Little did we know that we passed a fallen togus tree, with a diameter of 4 feet and a length of at least 50 feet, and we were within 3 feet of it without seeing it!
Since then, we have been to the top everyday for the last 2 months, except for 4 days. Each day, climbing to the top, and then clearing the land, spending between 4 to 6 hours each day. After the first few days, I decided to find another way to the top, on the other side, which faced our home. We found a few paths, tried them all and eventually picked one to use, unfortunately the steepest one, but the quickest ascent. Yesterday we were coming back down the mountain, and a neighbor was at the bottom cutting bamboo. He was totally aware of the land on the other side, doing odd-jobs for the family that sometimes consisted of cutting their bamboo on the other side.
His facial features were classic, as he could not imagine
Occasionally I have dug a few steps into the dirt and stone to make it easier, but, it still is a tough climb. I have to rest halfway now, and then again once we get to the top. Going down is not too bad at all, so I was not winded when he saw us.
After about 8 days of chopping at the top,
So I began to make a narrow pathway towards the ocean, which took the rest of the morning. I saw a glimpse of the ocean and decided that was enough for one day. I didn’t tell
The next day I widened the end of the pathway enough to confirm that it was indeed the ocean, and called
It was on that new approach path on the first day that we found the first concrete surveyor’s mark that indicated the corner of her father’s property. There are about 6 posts we figure, but it took almost 2 months before we found the second one. And, Murphy’s Law then took over.
We had cleared quite a lot of land, but all but 10 square feet was beyond her father’s property.
So, I was quite concerned that 1) the owner would be quite upset, and 2) we would be sued for damages. But it seems I was worrying for nothing. Here in the
But, we still have not found the other 4 cement markers. But we know we are trespassing, but even more importantly, we don’t care.
Round about the end of the second month we began to get visitors. Most of them said they never bothered to come up there because the growth was so dense that it was almost impossible to move. Actually, it was so dense that when we first got there, we never saw any birds. In fact, it was only after 2 months that the birds began to arrive. And now they are here, and they are beautiful. And butterflies started to appear.
Each day we go to the top, taking 2 backpacks with us, laden with water, bolos, ax, snacks and my hammock. After the first 2 weeks
Chop, chop, chop. Pull, pull, pull. Burn, burn, burn. Done with that? Repeat. Over and over and over and over.
At the end of each day, I am black with soot, having moved the remains of yesterday’s fire to the new fire place. Remember when you were allowed to burn leaves? It is a national pastime here. Everyone does it, and takes absolutely no safety measures in doing so. Amazingly, there are no fungle fires.
During April and May the water stops running at 5:30am, starts again slowly at 1pm, but shuts off at 2pm until about 7pm at night. This is because it is the summer here, school is out, and with the normal low pressure, everyone using the water during the day causes these problems. School resumes the first week of June, and the water will return to its normal low pressure, meaning no water after 7am, back on about 1pm.
When we moved here I installed a shower head. I don’t even use it any more. A 5 gallon bucket of water and a teapot full of hot water does the trick, and is becoming more preferential.
Who needs modern conveniences? But, if I build a place, I will install a tank above ceiling height, and pump water there every evening. Gravity is cheap.
Back to the mountain. My body hurts every single day. I have scratches all over my arms and legs, it looks like I ran into an irate cat.
Remember when you would start a new labor-intensive project? You hurt for a few hours, or even a few days, then it was over.
It ain’t over when you are on the fading side of 63.
Let me give you some advice if you are almost 64 years old and have spent your life
sitting at a desk and now decide to clear a jungle:
DON’T
Not unless you are prepared to suffer for a lengthy period of time.
I hurt every day. My muscles ache. My bones hurt. I can’t find a proper place to lay and sleep. I can’t find a proper place to sit and eat my dinner. I can’t find a proper stance to even stand at rest. I can’t think properly. Don’t confuse me with facts. Don’t expect a lengthy span of attention. Don’t expect me to put the cap back on the milk bottle. Or put the lid down on the toilet. Or make any intelligent conversation.
I gotta tell you about
I now know it true, that she is the woman she seems to be.
You have never met a gentler soul. Every situation is met with calmness. People come to her for her advice, from local tax matters to how to feed medicine to a 2 year old.
Each day she makes sure I take extra clean t-shirts to take up the mountain. And she forces me to change them as soon as she sees the slightest perspiration. And she puts a Turkish towel on my neck, under my shirt, to soak up the sweat. She always packs snacks that I like, that lend to my diabetic situation. She watches what I eat, she makes sure I rest enough. I cannot do too much around the house, or the mountain, for that matter. I want to oil the chains on the motorbikes, she does it. I want to clean the bikes, she does it. I want to plant some vegetables, but she does it. She scolds me when she thinks I am overworking. She doesn’t allow helping in the kitchen, it is her kitchen. She boils water twice a day for my bathing. Every morning she collects Sambong and Myabana leaves for a tea that cleanses the system. I call it the tree tea. Every single utensil we have is covered each day after being used, the electrical plugs being removed from the receptacle. A fresh cover is put over the bed every day. Not one piece of clothing is to be worn twice, irrespective of it being worn once for only 2 hours.
I am an ornery, obnoxious, opinionated and out-of-ordinary individual. I will complain even if there is no need. I will act angry. I will want everything my way, after all, I deserve it, don’t I? I know everything, and my decisions will obviously be the correct one, so why argue. Hey! I am human, right?
I have no idea how she handles me, or why, but she does.
And all she has to do is flash that huge smile.
Although she has a child, I seem to be her one priority. She is a terrific mother, don’t get me wrong. But she has made me feel like I am and always have been the number one. Maybe that is why I have been working so hard.
I wish that everyone could meet her. She is an extremely simple-living woman, one that is as happy as anyone you have ever met. Have some adversities facing you? Learn from
She calms the soul.
I have taken a city girl (albeit familiar with what we consider country-ways) and forced her into the mountains. And she does a superb job, she matches me chop by chop, minute by minute, and even surpasses me (ok, I really have a difficult time admitting that, so give me credit already).
But don’t tell her.
But, as with even the most perfect relationships, there are conflicts. As an example, English is not her first language, in fact, she probably knows Mandarin better, having spent 10 years in
Or, “Mumble rumble giggle greek tree (all to the tune of the passing motorist’s horns, other people trying to talk over her, etc) jumble shumble.” “Tree what?” “Tree.” What tree?” “That tree.” “Oh, that tree. What about that tree?” “That’s the one.” “One what?” “Like the one in the mountain” “What one in the mountain?” “The one you asked about.” “Oh, which one?” “That one up there in the mountain.” “Oh. Can you show me tomorrow when we are there?” “Of course.”
Next day: “Which tree was it?” “What tree?” “The tree you told me about yesterday.” “Which one was that?” And it goes on…
Abbott and Costello.
Everyone is a she, regardless of their sex. Makes for confusing communications.
Go ahead.
Tomorrow morning, change the leg you put into your pants first to the other leg.
I bet your day will be slightly off-kilter all day.
Now, I have to get used to a left handed life.
It took me several days to realize why my underwear was on backwards.
Another thing that happened on the hill/mountain: I must have brushed against a weed that acts like nettles. I say act, as it is not entirely like nettles. I was in agony for almost 2 weeks. Nettles hurt a day or two, maximum.
I tried everything, from antibacterial cream from the good ole US of A to baby powder. We finally called in a quack doctor, who happened to be
So she came back for 2 days and the same rituals were performed. On the last day she gave me a little packet, about 2 inches square, made of some sort of cloth, with something sewn inside. She told me that I must always keep that in my pocket when I left the house, it would protect me from bad people. So I keep it in my pocket. So far I haven’t met any bad people.
A week later the itching finally subsided.
They actually call them quack doctors here. This one is
Quack doctors don’t have a set rate, you are to determine what to pay them. I am sure I will have more stories to tell you in the future because of this, both the cost and the practice.
Superstition. Huge.
We have a small mayonnaise jar at each door, and each window full of water, with no top on it. This is to keep bad people out of the house.
When we moved in there was garlic at each window. Keeps the snakes out.
You ask, has there ever been a snake in a house? No one seems to know, although there have been reports of snakes in the waiting sheds or salacotes. Especially if there are chickens nearby. Maybe no reports because everyone has garlic in their windows. No snakes so far in our house even though we have removed the garlic.
We have talked about building a waiting shed or even a salacote on top the mountain. We spend every day here, it is our day house. Long range plans include a windmill for a well (eventually) as well as electricity (via the windmill). I am told that to protect the salacote, we should hire the quack doctor that performs spells. Should someone break into the salacote to steal something, the spell temporarily makes the person go crazy. He will walk around in circles for the next 24 hours, not able to find his way from the salacote. If you do not return within those 24 hours, he will eventually be cleansed of the spell and will no longer be there, so you want to go there each day to find the crazy man. The cost for that spell is 500 pesos ($10.86), a set price. But it is only good for one-time, gotta pay again for the next burglar.
Be best to visit every 24 hours.
Itching. A couple weeks after the itching episode, I contracted it again. This time I have narrowed it down to a type of brush/weed that seems to like to take over wherever there is a lack of trees. But, this time, on the second day of itching, I happened to look at the spot on my arm under a bright light, and saw what looked to be a hair across the itching. Turns out (under a magnifying glass) it isn’t a hair, but some sort of thorn-like thing. I took it out with a tweezers.
No itching.
Let me interject something here now. It will, from now on, be called the mountain, or better yet, the ebabou (eee-ba-bow – bow as in bow before the queen) even though it is more like a hillside due to its height, and actually, is part of a ridge. If I were a geologist, I would hesitate to call it a mountain, or even a ridge. Actually, if I was a geologist, I would definitely not propose that this ridge was once connected to the ridge behind this ridge. And, if I was a geologist, I would for sure not propose that a combination of ocean and earthquake caused the split.
I am not a geologist, so hear me out, and I will say this without recrimination.
This ridge was part of the ridge behind it, tens of thousands of years ago, and was most likely split by two forces, the ocean and an earthquake. My observations show that the shape and height of the ridge in question is almost exactly the same as the ridge behind it. Furthermore, the Philippine Islands are volcanic, and suffer as much as 20 earthquakes a day, although most of them are minor and not felt by humans. Down at the family coast, there is some bedrock seen at low tide. The bedrock for the most part is absolutely flat, but for a stretch of about 30 feet the bedrock is tilted at about 30°. Sorry folks, that isn’t done by the wind or the water.
To add to that, on the 4th day we went to the top, I found a piece of rock I thought was petrified honeycomb. On second look, I found it looked exactly like the coral I had seen while snorkeling 20 yards off the beach at
The coconut trees on
Did you know that the papaya tree is hollow down the entire center of the tree?
Speaking of snorkeling, I went with my Brit friend, John, in January. I had never snorkeled (except as a kid in fresh water). If you have never snorkeled, be aware that in salt water, breathing in is not advised when the little ball is below the surface of the water. The salt water is disgusting. But, if you want to see some of the most beautiful live things you have ever seen, go snorkeling here, or somewhere there is a coral reef. My friend has spent almost every vacation of his life snorkeling around the world. He says the coral reef here is equal to every place he has been, and is virtually undefiled.
If you can, see if you can find the BBC Blue Planet series. The entire series would cost you $75 (I think I bought mine at a Discovery (?) store in some mall in the states), and consists of 4 DVDs, each of which has a couple excerpts on it. I was living in
The first night of the first chapter of The Blue Planet, the pubs were filled as normal. For every single chapter after that, the pubs were empty. If you don’t have the $75, steal it, or copy it illegally, or even try the library! It is one of the most riveting series you will ever see, and took years to film. At least check out the
Did I ever tell you I owned a pub in
But, back to the fungle and the ebabou.
While I was suffering from that nettle-like attack, I was told about the White Lady. The White Lady lives in the fungle, and is rarely seen, but is everywhere. She seems to be the authority on fungle issues, and is the one responsible to see that invaders behave themselves. I was told that if I even wanted to answer the call of nature, I must call out ‘Excuse Me’ prior to answering that call.
So I do.
Hey, I am a foreigner living here now, so I adapt.
I am very pleased to announce that I am able to put that age-old question about the noise a tree may or may not emit if falling down if no one is in the forest.
I was chopping down a hardwood tree called a Mardikakao (mar-di-ka-kow) about 1 foot in diameter. I know, not a huge tree. But a damned hard one. I had been working on it each day, spending about 20 minutes hacking away at it with my bolo. Have you ever tried to cut down a 1 foot tree with a bolo? No? Then shut up. Yeah, ok, I hear you cynics in the background, get an ax, or even a chainsaw! I am in the
Anyway, each day for about a week I would chop away at this tree. I call it the Mardiculous tree, as it is one of the most ridiculous trees I have ever seen. It starts with a normal trunk, but then about 4 feet up, it starts to branch out, and the branches are quite thick. But somehow, within a foot of branching out, they begin to intertwine with each other. Where the branch eventually straightens out, there will be many sproutings of thin upward branches, reaching directly up for many feet because the original branch has bent over with the stress, eventually twisting to intertwine with other branches again. If you try to cut it down branch by branch, especially with a bolo, you could spend the rest of your life on one tree and never finish.
One of the most ugly trees I have ever seen. We have some beautiful trees here, like for example the acacia tree – absolutely gorgeous. And we have the epilepil (ee-pill-ee-pill) tree, a tall, softwood with delicate leaves, seems to let the sunlight bounce against itself, and offer a calming respite. And it grows extremely quickly. The epilepil shades you but lets the sun shine through enough to allow things to grow beneath its shadow.
Back to the Mardiculous tree. This one actually had grown some 6 feet before branching out, which it then produced some 20 trunk-like sprouts that almost equaled the trunk size.
Using my new-found knowledge of trees, their gravitatious (I know, not a word, but should be) tendencies, and the clearing of land in front of the tree to allow a safe landing, I began to whittle away at the offending structure. While the fresh sprouts can be extremely soft, the oldest parts are extremely hard and obnoxious, like some older people I know.
I carefully balanced my chopping between the attack side and the directing side, being conscious of the weight of this tree, which was about 40 feet in height. I cleared a reasonable site of land for the downfall, making sure I had an escape in case the trunk sprung to the backside, as they sometimes do.
The day came that after many hacks at the tree over many days, there started to sound a small creak, almost indiscernible, which made me stop in anticipation, standing aside of the tree, making sure I was not in the downfall area, but at the escape area.
I waited for almost a minute, and then hearing nothing, I tentatively hacked again. An extremely small crack was the result.
I waited again, next to the escape area.
It was a dark and windy day.
Storms were threatening but never delivered. I had calculated the prevailing winds, making sure that every factor was in my favor. I had made sure every hack at the tree was calculated to bring the utmost favor to the falling of the tree, in the proper position.
While I waited, I checked again to ensure that the winds were working properly.
They were.
Nothing happened.
One more hack, and a much louder crack sounded. I stepped back and anxiously watched the crevasse in the tree, and suddenly I saw it cracking, bending exactly towards me.
I jumped sideways and ran down the safe landing area as fast as I had ever run, the safety escape being the prime target of the fall.
I don’t believe I had ever run so fast before.
I suddenly ran past the safety zone, brush and thorns ripping my skin apart, and, as it is a fungle, 5 feet later ran into the edge of the fungle, an immense clear area.
So, I was outside of the forest, so to speak, breathing heavily and sweating profusely.
A very clear, loud, thunderous thunk sounded.
So, the age-old question has been solved.
Tell all those folks wasting your time with silly questions that they are now rendered useless, as the question has been answered once and for all.
On the rare day that we have not gone to the ebabou, we really don’t feel quite right. Up there we have virtually no noise that we have become accustomed to down at the house. The air is fresh, there is always a breeze, and we have a 360° view, the ocean to the east and south, the mountains to the north and west. We can even see Camiguin, the live volcanic island off the coast. Being up there is such a pleasant time, one longs to remain. Now I can see the end of my world further out.
I love this place. I love this life.
The election was yesterday. For the last 2 months there was excitement building, ad-hoc parades, loudspeakers blaring, mini-festivals, lots of discussions, and bribery.
I have complained a bit about Stefanny (Filipino spelling) in this chapter.
There is one in every family.
Stefanny is
There is one in every family.
Grandmothers should be grandmothers; that is what they do best.
Stefanny needs discipline, but unfortunately doesn’t get any. She throws tantrums, demands attention, eats like it is her last meal (noisy, as everything else she does), walks through the house throwing things around, breaking things, terrorizing neighboring children, and has the most abrasive singing voice I have ever heard. To be fair, she can carry a tune, but you will end up wishing she would not. She has only one volume level: maximum. We can hear her at the top of the mountain. And she has no shame whatsoever about her actions.
There is one in every family.
And if you don’t know who I am talking about,
IT IS YOU!!!!!!
And, while I am complaining, I have to tell you about Noel, the nephew.
There is one in every family.
He borrows my jigsaw and drill, as he is doing a project, and then doesn’t return it for a month. When I ask him, he says he hasn’t gotten the wood yet to do the project. I have known him for more than 5 months, and he has, as of today, borrowed the jigsaw for the fifth time. Then he said he couldn’t do his project without the drill. The drill is way up the mountain, being used to build chicken houses at the moment. So he said he will take the jigsaw and wait for the drill. I asked him what he is doing.
You guessed it.
The same project from last November.
I asked if he has the wood now.
No.
He has a thousand or more ideas about making money, all of them do not entail labor. One of his latest is to install water bottles in schools to sell 1 cup of water at a time, the student pushes the button for a cup of coffee and deposits 1 peso in the moneybox. Right.
There is one in every family.
And if you don’t know what I am talking about,
IT IS YOU!!!!!!
And Grandma, dear, dear Grandma.
There is one in every family.
She is never at fault.
The food burns, it is the gas regulator. She forgets the milk, it is because a neighbor was talking to her at the market. She doesn’t buy the laundry soap, it is because they changed the layout of the store. The vegetables don’t grow right, it didn’t rain properly.
There is one in every family.
And if you don’t know what I am talking about,
IT IS YOU!!!!!!
So, I need to conclude this episode, but there are still a few things to tell you.
We had some bad news last week. Tonette, one of
That evening he came home, sat down in his chair, asked for some milk, and then slumped over.
He was 57.
They would have celebrated their first anniversary later this month.
I knew he was diabetic, but I did not know he had only one kidney. I also knew he liked his tuba (coconut wine), but he should have known one kidney is not a good drinking foundation.
I liked him, having met him at the Christmas family doings, which lasted about 10 days. We did not have particularly deep conversations, but, you become very much aware, very quickly, of the members of a family you have just joined.
And in his own way, I will miss him.
I have recently gone through an experience with the Filipino Law. When I came here, I was in Ubay, with Didith. That eventually did not work out, and we separated.
Unfortunately she determined that everything I had owned rightfully belonged to her.
To make a long story short, that included items I have had for 20 years.
Against all advice given to me by foreigners and natives alike, including the lawyer, I filed suit. No foreigner has been known to win a case against a Filipino.
I cost me $2000, a tremendous sum of money here. But, against all odds, including the judge offering an excuse for Didith and her lawyer not showing up, I won eventually in the next hearing.
A great pressure has been relieved.
Everything I owned, that I brought here, was only things. But, I had gotten them for my enjoyment later in life, and intended on sharing them with my wife. But, that was not to be.
A little bit of history was made here.
Last but not least. I must apologize that I haven’t gotten a camera since I broke the old one, and now would have been a good time to publish some pictures, especially of the ebabou. I haven’t even tried to price one, or to see if the old one could be fixed. But, my mind has been involved with this suit, and there doesn’t seem to be much more room for those thoughts. Hopefully, now that it is over, I can resume my normal (inane) thoughts.
I hope to send many photos next time, not only of the ebabou, but (maybe hard to acknowledge based on my writings of
If I can’t, it is not my fault.
