The Least of These

Intertwined with the tropical beauty around us and the gracious hospitality of our hosts, there were constant reminders of the vulnerability of the islands and their wonderful people. Constant reminders of how very fortunate we Americans are and of all that we take for granted.

Our shuttle driver, a quiet Philippine native, deftly maneuvered through the streets of Cebu taking us from the airport to the Bai Hotel about 20 minutes away. One might have imagined as you looked through the windshield that we had been transported into a real-life Super Mario Cart game where the car horn was used more frequently than a turn signal. Though John sat cool as a cucumber, Steve, Susan and I rode white-knuckled, holding our breath so our accomplished chauffeur wouldn’t hear our gasps. How in the world did he manage to avoid collisions with on-coming traffic or pedestrians?

We would soon learn that in order to drive in the Philippines, such dexterity and skill is a must, and unlike in the States, no one in his right mind looks at a cell phone while he drives.

After a night’s stay at the hotel, we once again climbed into a van for the two-hour ride to our first resort, Magic Island, near the town of Moalboal. In addition to Steve and Susan, Joe and Kellie joined John and me for this leg of our journey with Joe riding shotgun.

As we traveled from the city streets of Cebu across the bridges to the rural areas, merchants selling all manner of Philippine wares lined the paved, two-way road on both sides. Patrons moved along within a few feet of the buzzing motorcycles, some carrying people in sidecars. Motorcycles appeared to be the preferred method of travel. And so adept

at traveling were the operators and their passengers riding on pillions that they split the lane down the middle and jockeyed for position on the narrow shoulders – if one could call them that – with an easy confidence. Some of their passengers even rode side-saddle. The most plentiful public transportation was the jeepneys, originally made from U.S. military jeeps left over from World War II. They are known for their colorful paint jobs and crowded seating. Motorized tricycles and pedicabs, or cycle rickshaws, round out the elements of traffic all maneuvering for position in both directions. The near-misses were constant and breathtaking – at least to us. There seemed only one rule of the road: get around the slower vehicles ahead of you any way you can while avoiding a collision with another vehicle or a pedestrian as they stroll along the narrow paths in front of the food carts, markets, cafés, bakeries, and other shops situated in adjoining rows just feet from the passing traffic.

So fascinating were the aspects we were witnessing of this culture that I could scarcely take it in. There was poverty reminiscent of what I had seen in Roatan, Honduras, but with a population many times that of the small island in the Central American country. The farmers and fishermen who owned the tiny businesses that were housed in little more than shanties sold the products they harvested on their land and from the sea. Men and women, young and old, stood behind the counters and display cases, exchanging pesos for snacks like lumpia, isaw, kwek kwek, and balut.[1] I have since read that one of the tastiest snacks is mango shrimp paste. They take a green Indian mango, cut off the seed, slide it onto a skewer, and serve the sweet fruit with a salty shrimp paste.

Something else that stood out, particularly in Cebu, was the rubbish and debris piled everywhere, between the buildings, in empty lots, sometimes on half-built structures with rebar poking out of the tops like stark sentries guarding chattel ravaged by bombs of war. But it wasn’t war that caused the devastation. Rather, it was typhoon winds and waves. Just last year on December 20th, the archipelago was slammed by a major storm for the 15th time that year. This time it was Category 5 Typhoon Rai, locally known as Odette, and she wreaked havoc throughout Cebu province with 160 mph winds.[2] Odette was the second most devastating typhoon to hit the islands since Super Typhoon Haiyan struck the Philippines in 2013. Typhoon Odette killed 410 people and impacted millions more.[3] With limited resources, it takes a very long time to recover and rebuild from such a powerful and destructive storm, and the evidence of this was everywhere.

We were actually stranded at Magic Island and lost two days of diving due to Tropical Storm Nalgae. The storm made five landfalls in its trek northwestward, the strongest part of it sweeping across islands north of us. Even so, a bridge in Datu Odin Sinsuat, a municipality on the island of Mindanao 240 miles south of us suffered massive destruction, including the collapse of a bridge.[4]

When the outer bands of the storm rolled in on us, we had just finished our first morning dive. Our boat captain and dive guide decided we should skip the second dive and head back to the resort. The way the crew maneuvered the outrigger boat in the waves and current to bring it close enough to the dock for the divers to disembark was nothing short of amazing. It’s a little bit harrowing now to watch the video Susan captured as the crew struggled, with help from Joe and Wade, two of the divers in our group, to get the last of the tanks to shore. Later that night, we lay in our bungalows listening to the rain fall, the wind howl, and the doors rattle as the storm blew. It was of no consequence that our trip was disrupted. The torrential rainfall that tracked mostly north of us killed 110 due to flash floods and landslides. [5]

Intertwined with the tropical beauty around us and the gracious hospitality of our hosts, there were constant reminders of the vulnerability of the islands and their wonderful people. Constant reminders of how very fortunate we Americans are and of all that we take for granted.

Back in the van as we rode along the rural stretches of road, we caught glimpses of the people and animals whose islands and oceans we had come to enjoy. It was all so strange and different. Of course, I took special notice of the animals – mostly dogs interspersed with goats and cattle now and then. In the U.S. when you see someone with a dog, it is usually on a leash, and often it is a pedigreed breed – like a French bulldog, a poodle, or a Labrador retriever. In the Philippines, most of the street dogs – and they were everywhere – were probably strays, eking out an existence on the scraps people would toss their way. There were veterinary clinics in many of the municipalities, but often, they were scattered many miles apart making them hard to get to. Besides, the rural population probably didn’t have the means to provide veterinary care. There were cats as well, mostly varieties of calicos and tabbies, all small and scrawny, cared for by whomever was inclined to feed them. As an animal lover, it was tough to see and I felt sad when I saw a forlorn looking dog or a raggedy kitten. I wished I could scoop up every one, save them somehow from a life on the streets and give them a warm place to sleep with plenty of food and lots of love.

Joe, who was riding in the passenger seat in the front of the van, could always be counted on to share a witty remark, the higher the shock value the better. From his vantage point he was able to catch the most surprising sights: the children sandwiched between their parents on the back of a motorcycle, the pig riding in the sidecar of another, the man operating a jackhammer while wearing flip-flops, or the strangest one of all, the “missing link.” This being appeared to be a man, slump-shouldered and shabbily dressed. He had long, black hair so thick and bushy you could barely see a face. And the face was covered with hair too – a thick, long beard that seemed to be a foot or two in length. As he trudged along, I caught the briefest glance of him just as Joe yelled, “Did you see that? What was that? The missing link?”

John had seen him too, and we all laughed at the correlation. He truly looked like an ancient specimen of human being covered with fur, walking upright.

But even seeing the neglected animals and the “missing link” didn’t prepare me for the most disturbing sight of all that still haunts me now and I suspect always will.

As I looked out the right side windows of the van at the people along the sides of the streets, I saw a woman. She was walking slowly in front of a row of shanty-shops. She appeared to be elderly, and she was slight of build, barefoot and unkempt. Her gait was uneven and tottering, as though she were unaware of her destination or her surroundings. The briefest observation I made of her face as we passed revealed an empty, expressionless gaze. Most shocking of all, she was completely naked from the waist down.

The atmosphere in the van had suddenly taken on an air of quiet solemnity, and I knew the others had seen her too. Someone said in quiet astonishment, “That woman isn’t wearing any pants!” I heard someone else whisper, “Oh my goodness.”

I don’t remember how long we rode in virtual silence after that, probably only a few minutes before someone, probably Joe, offered something to lighten the mood once again, but I was still lost in thought about what we had seen. It’s not that this was something unique to the Philippines. Heaven knows you can visit any large city in the United States and find human beings in as pitiful condition as this poor woman. Lonely, forgotten, often mentally ill, they walk among us in appalling abundance. Who was this woman? Why was she on the street all alone? Whose mother was she? Whose grandmother? Was there anyone who cared about her at all? And the most disturbing question of all: why was no one helping her?

Part of me screamed inside, Stop the van! We have to help that woman! But how could I demand that my Filipino driver stop the van? After all, I was the foreigner in a strange land. Is it my business to interfere? What could I have done? I could no more have saved that woman than I could have saved the thousands of mangy dogs and cats that roamed the streets just as she did. Yet, how much more precious was her life?

I have thought of her so many times since I saw her. When I boarded my flight to leave the Philippines, I wondered what had become of her. I like to imagine that someone with a kind heart was able to get her inside, clean her up, clothe her and feed her. I imagined that they located her family, who had been desperate to find her after she wandered away. Perhaps those who found her learned she had no family and took her in, cared for her until they could get her to hospital where she got the medicine and help she needed.

Imagination can be a wonderful thing, and I choose to imagine the best possible outcome. Too often, however, the best outcome is not what happens.

The question still haunts me: What could I have done?

This happened in the fleeting span literally of a few seconds, but the quandary remains. It didn’t dampen the excitement I felt the first time I rolled backwards off the boat into the warm waters of the Visayan Sea. It didn’t quell my enthusiasm for snorkeling and diving with the beautiful whale sharks in Bohol. It’s not the story I will tell when friends ask me about my trip to the Philippines. But it’s a story worth telling, if only to remind us that if we aren’t moved in a moment of joviality to the silence of solemnity; if we feel no regret about being helpless to act; if our hearts don’t ache for another human being wandering alone, half-naked, in the confusion of dementia or insanity, then it is our own heart that is dying from the disease of indifference and selfishness.

I will pray for the woman in Cebu and for all those like her everywhere. I will pray for the wisdom to know what to do. And I will pray for the courage to do it.

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The Sheep and the Goats

“When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory. And before him shall be gathered all nations. And he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.

“Then shall the King say to them on his right hand, ‘Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me meat. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. Naked, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you visited me. I was in prison, and you came unto me.’

“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry, and feed you? or thirsty, and gave you drink? When did we see you a stranger, and took you in? or naked, and clothed you? Or when did we see you sick, or in prison, and came to you?’

“And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Truly I say unto you, inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.’” (Matthew 25:31-40)

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[1] “Filipino Street Food Guide - 21 Must-Eat Snacks in the Philippines!” 2017. Migrationology - Food Travel Blog. April 30, 2017. https://migrationology.com/filipino-street-food-philippines/. [2] CNN, Rhea Mogul. n.d. “Philippines’ Typhoon Death Toll Rises Further as Areas Remain Cut Off.” CNN. https://www.cnn.com/2021/12/21/asia/typhoon-rai-philippines-deaths-intl-hnk/index.html. [3] “Typhoon Rai.” 2022. Wikipedia. January 31, 2022. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Typhoon_Rai.‌ [4] “Tropical Storm Nalgae Destroys Bridge in South Philippines.” n.d. Ph.news.yahoo.com. Accessed November 18, 2022. https://ph.news.yahoo.com/tropical-storm-nalgae-destroys-bridge-170621411.html.‌ [5] “Death Toll Rises to 110 in the Philippines from Tropical Storm Nalgae - La Prensa Latina Media.” n.d. Accessed November 18, 2022. https://www.laprensalatina.com/death-toll-rises-to-110-in-the-philippines-from-tropical-storm-nalgae/. ‌