Small Island, Big Adventure

The Peace Valley Profiles, final installment: Gorgeous

2011-11-12T07:15:00.008-05:00

Amy's Nickname: Gorgeous

Amy was my favorite habal-habal driver. I was the second passenger to hop on Princess Whitecloud, her trusty scooter, and we were almost hit by a car. But after that she quickly mastered driving – even with multiple passengers. She really could have started a business shuttling people through the traffic-jammed streets, so adept was she at squeezing between jeepneys and cars in her silver astronaut helmet.

While always friendly, I think Amy really became my friend on the night we went looking for mischief. She had seen an abandoned casino along the road to Tops, a mountainy area that edges Cebu City to the northwest, and we felt compelled to explore. In rugged clothes and close-toed shoes we set off on Princess Whitecloud, ready to overcome all obstacles in pursuit of excitement, adventure and discovery.

But before we had even reached JY Square, the shopping mall close to our house, a light rain swelled into a downpour and we were running for cover inside McDonald’s.

And there, accomplishing no mischief whatsoever, we instead discovered that we were friends.

Amy: Partner in Crime

Amy is a good friend to have. She’s excellent at planning trips, taking photos and being creative. She’ll be brutally honest with you, but never give up on you. Her stories are great.

We had other adventures after that first failed attempt. During our ‘ocular inspection’ of a resort outside the city, we were shocked and appalled to find a huge spherical monkey cage and a mysterious courtyard filled with ailing birds in cages. Yes, we explored the place thoroughly before running in the opposite direction.

There was a point in time when Amy misinterpreted everything she saw me eating. In the mornings before work, I would make espresso and heat milk for a latte. The milk heated faster if I used a frying pan, so one day Amy saw me pouring milk from a pan into a travel mug. Of course she assumed I was drinking grease.

Then there was the time when I was cutting raw chicken to marinate for the next day’s meal. After I finished cutting the chicken, I made myself a salad for dinner with chunks of feta cheese. Amy only saw me preparing the chicken and then devouring my dinner, and was convinced that I was eating the raw meat.

Amy was welcomed and loved wherever she went. I could not go to her favorite breakfast café without the waiter asking me where Amy was that day. A deeply compassionate person, she draws people to her and makes them welcome.

Plotting Mischief. Eating cookie dough with wine. Having deep conversations on rooftops.

We had a good year in Cebu. And now Amy has ventured off to Manila while I've moved to northern Uganda with the same NGO she once edited videos for. Small world, no? And I'm glad, because in such a small world there stands a pretty good chance that we will cross paths again.

Amy: World-class Traveler

Amy, if an 11’ caste-iron replica of the Eiffel Tower ever appears in your yard…

… I don’t know anything about it.

Happy Birthday, Sunshine!

2011-10-26T04:38:00.003-04:00

Ever since I read her blog the summer before moving to Cebu, I had an inkling that Crystal and I were similar souls, and after arriving in Cebu I learned we had more in common than a fondness for eggnog and C.S. Lewis.

Here are some highlights:

The Book of James Talking Party. Meant to be a self-explanatory title.

Watching TV shows in her room - including zany British quiz shows - for hours.

Sharing life stories on the drive to Dumaguete.

Getting excited about the prospect of reading out loud on a road trip because the iPod adaptor broke.

Rescuing huge dogs from the middle of a busy road while running late to catch the ferry back to Cebu.

Realizing that we have the same body shape.

Night picnic at Tops overlooking the city.

Eating seafoods.

Watching Crystal lead her staff in devotions before the opening of My Refuge House aftercare home.

I don’t think I met anyone in Cebu who worked longer hours than Crystal. She would leave for work early, stay late and work most weekends. And you can tell she loves what she does. For all the challenges she has to deal with, she still comes home with stories of celebration, rejoicing with each victory in the lives of the trafficking survivors she is serving.

However, this did prevent me from spending much time with her for the first several months, and was part of the reason our friendship was rather slower in developing than might be expected of people sharing something as deeply personal as a bra size. Those initial hang-ups overcome, Crystal quickly became one of those people I trust and value the most.

Crystal finds joy in life and delight in people. She listens, engages and asks good questions. She is brave and kind. My life is immeasurably richer for having intersected hers.

One of the most difficult things about leaving Cebu has been the loss of my daily dose of Sunshine. Let's meet again soon, Stal.

Even gentle people play basketball

2011-08-29T13:08:00.009-04:00

A few weeks ago Crystal and I roadtripped down south and took a ferry over to Dumaguete (a name that I will probably never be able to pronounce just right), a city on the neighboring island Negros.

To sum it up, it was beautiful. A college town, it is home to numerous universities including Silliman University – the first private American university in Asia. It is clean, laid-back and peaceful. Exactly what you’d expect from a place known as “the city of gentle people.”

I spent a good chunk of the day driving about on a rented motorcycle, enjoying the freedom and sunshine.

I also enjoyed the ~$6 all-you-can-eat sushi/sashimi buffet.

It is true that no matter what barangay (the smallest government unit in the Philippines) you visit, you are sure to find two things: 1. a church 2. a basketball hoop. This is indicative of the deeply rooted Roman Catholic tradition, and the also very deeply rooted obsession with the NBA.

Some samples of the basketball courts I encountered on the weekend roadtrip:

Equally enjoyable were the hours driving along winding oceanside roads, sharing life with Crystal. I highly recommend her if you are looking for a good roadtrip buddy. It didn't even matter that her iPod adapter was broken.

Fish nights

2011-08-29T12:33:00.007-04:00

It was late, very late, on a Saturday night. My mom had made her famous, incredibly delicious tiramisu and the espresso was keeping us all awake. I wandered out to the porch around 2AM and found my sister chatting with Francis, Nino and Ced. I can’t remember exactly what happened, or how it came up, but someone proposed a trip to the night fish market and everyone was just caffeinated – or crazy – enough to second the motion. Mom, Marie, Ced and I piled into the back of the yellow VW, with Francis and Nino (the fish ‘expert) up front.

At 3AM I am generally sleeping soundly in my tiny twin bed (army cot, some have called it) with the gentle breeze from my fan softly brushing my face and the sound of the occasional motorcycle or furious dog the only interruption to my slumber. Not so for the crowd at the fish market. People are everywhere, buying fish, selling fish, carrying giant buckets of fish on their heads. Fish, people, noise, fish people, fish noise and chaos.

Francis gives us strict instructions on where to we can go. Nino is trying to buy fish, and if it looks like the ‘white people’ are with him, it could drive up prices. We dutifully walk where we are told, trying not to be a liability. It’s an impressive collection of seafood, this market. Fish of all sizes - squid, sharks, stingrays and eels. Francis takes on the role of our bodyguard, keeping us in sight at all times. Sometimes I think we’ve lost him, only to find him right beside us warning, “that guy there is a thief, be careful.”

After wandering through the many rows of ocean harvest, we move on to the next market scene – via horse and buggy.

At Carbon market the vegetables and flowers are fresh, but the people show more signs of the wee hours.

Things you must do when you live on an island. Resistance is futile.

2011-08-14T04:43:00.007-04:00

Living in the same house as a dive instructor with a beach only 45 minutes away, it was only a matter of time before I agreed to a Discovery Dive - basically a first date with the ocean, after which one decides to get serious or stop calling.

After my first dive last November - I wasn't sold on scuba. I had a tough time equalizing pressure in my ears, and the mask was uncomfortable, and my mouth hurt from the mouthpiece. So while others suited up for deep sea explorations, I needed to wash my hair.

Then, in June, I decided to give diving a second chance. Mostly because Francis started waking me up at 7AM on the weekend insisting that I join them.

“Come on, B. Don’t be boring. Let’s go diving!”

This time, diving treated me much more kindly. The pressure was right, I began to get my underwater balance with the correct number of weights, and seeing all the sea life was awesome!

But I was still just flirting with the idea of diving. Not in love. And certainly not ready for the commitment of becoming a certified diver.

“B! We’re going on a night dive! Just come with us. It’s a birthday present!”

Oh, ok Francis.

So we drove out to Mactan at 10pm, setting up our gear for a shore dive as lighting began flashing near the horizon.

In we plunged with our flashlights, and were caught up in a fast-moving current.

The night dive experience is unique. Your view is limited mostly to the beam of your flashlight. You catch the flash of a red sea creature, and because your vision is so limited, you are better able to observe colorful details and tiny animals.

At one point I turned around and looked up, through the water to the sky. The other divers were silhouetted above me, flickering as the lightning far away splattered on the surface of the ocean.

Hm, I like this.

After the night dive, I went to Coron with mom and Marie. We went snorkeling and saw the most brilliant coral I’ve seen anywhere. At least in my limited experience. And I decided then that I should not limit my experience.

When I got back to Cebu, I went on more boat dives.

Went to Moalboal for my 8th and 9th dives and was enthralled by the massive wall of sardines, easily 40 feet tall, pulsing and forming tunnels and passages as the fish re-oriented themselves to get away from the nosy divers.

We saw 10 turtles.

Diving may have a chance after all.

Kulot

2011-07-04T11:05:00.004-04:00

'Kulot'

Lindsay was my first connection to Cebu, contacting me early on to help answer questions and ease the adjustment to life in the Philippines.

I love the way that Lindsay threw herself into, well, everything. She was dedicated to the street children she met regularly as part of a feeding program. She volunteered once a week as a tutor. She decided to apply to law school and filled out applications for at least 18 universities. Although she hardly ever bought groceries before, when we started making family dinners she came up with creative and incredibly delicious meals every week for her night. She made excel spreadsheets for absolutely everything.

Francis nicknamed her 'Kulot' for her curly hair.

We shared countless lunches of veggies and rice together, talking about life, the future, and how our hearts were changing because of the things we were seeing and the work we were doing.

I know that it was difficult for Lindsay to leave this place she loved.

It was hard to say goodbye.

Driving to the airport the night she left it felt like the end of an age had come. Hugs under the orangey street lights. Long hugs with whispered final words. Loading up luggage onto a cart. More hugs and wet eyes. In the final moments, a light rain sputtered down from the dark sky - even Cebu was sad to see her go.

One year in Cebu. One year as a Peace Valley girl. One year donated on behalf of victims of violent oppression. One year dodging through traffic on a little yellow motorcycle. One year of diving, trekking, and buggy riding. One unforgettable year.

Birthday blog

2011-07-03T06:06:00.006-04:00

June has been the month of birthdays.

First Francis.

I've had some requests for blogs about unique foods, and considering the impressive spread at Francis' birthday gathering, this seems like a good place for me to insert some remarks on Filipino cuisine.

This, quite obviously, is squid. Squid is eaten grilled, or fried as calamari, or cooked in black ink.

At the bottom left corner is a bowl of palitaw. It is a dessert made of rice flour mixed with water and flattened like a pancake. It is then boiled and rolled in shredded coconut. Just before eating, it is dipped in a mixture of sugar and toasted sesame seeds. The texture is similar to mochi and it may be my favorite Filipino dessert. Lami kaayo!

On the bottom right is kinilaw, my overall favorite Filipino dish. It is a sour/spicy salad made with raw fish, vinegar, tomatoes, hot peppers, and onions. There are other versions which substitute fried pork or eggs for the raw fish.

Just above the kinilaw, I think that is just a sauce for dipping pork.

The little basket-weave sachets in the top right corner are called puso, or 'hanging rice.' They are like individually wrapped portions of rice.

Top middle, a nearly finished bowl of kinilaw.

The caramel-colored discs are kutsinta, another very sweet dessert made from rice and eaten with shredded coconut.

The pan with sliced egg on top is some kind of salty/sour noodles, similar to a dish called pancit. No one seemed to know what this particular kind was called, but it was 'not pancit.'

Happy birthday kuya Francis!

Next was my birthday, with more friends and food arriving at the house.

So blessed to be surrounded by lovely, loving people.

The evening wound down until only a few of us were left awake. Although midnight passed, we continued to celebrate - after all, on the other side of the world I still had 12 hours of June 27^th left.

We just sat and talked…and sang. Mic Mic undertook teaching me a Tagalog lullaby about vegetables: 'Bahay Kubo.' For some reason I never could keep the tune in my head, and opted to sing it to the Philippine national anthem instead. And then the U.S. national anthem. Somewhere there lurks a video of this horrendous rendition which I hope never surfaces publicly.

After this, we tested one another’s verbal dexterity with English and Bisaya tongue-twisters. Mic Mic was much more successful than I, although eeny meeny miney mo did trip him up a bit.

The very next day, my friend Karla celebrated her 21st birthday [picture pending]. Happy birthdays all around!

Things I miss

2011-07-01T05:09:00.004-04:00

When I miss things, it's usually something like a smell, or a feeling, or a sensation. Like walking into my grandparent's house at Christmas: leaving the quiet, white cold of snow and entering the orangey light of Christmas trees and candles, the clamor of a dozen (emphatic) conversations, and rich, sweet smells of food cooking.

The warm wetness of heat rising from the grass on a summer day in Ohio, and that fresh, green earth smell.

The route I used to drive in LA when visiting my best friend.

Those things I miss. And I miss the people associated with them.

When it comes to material things though, there's not really much to miss in Cebu. You really can get just about anything you would want. Sometimes it's a little more difficult, or a little more expensive, but usually not impossible.

I had begun to think, however, that finding good tomatoes was impossible.

They have tomatoes in Cebu, but they are not like my mom's fresh, garden-grown tomatoes. They are not even like the ones in the grocery stores at home. They are very small, usually hard, and rarely red. Usually they are more greenish yellow. When I tried to think of things that I miss here, tomatoes always seemed to come to mind.

And then...

Oh, the tangy smell of the vines and the sweet juiciness of perfectly ripe, fully red tomato!

I am about to see two other things I miss as well: My mom and sister are coming to visit me and together we will be turning the Philippines upside-down! Only four more days!

Bicycles

2011-06-14T21:57:00.003-04:00

Francis is very serious about his hobbies. The last hobby was bicycles. He and his friends started collecting and repairing vintage bikes, and now we have a veritable fleet of them at the house. They really are lovely - bright and candy-colored. A smile forms inside merely from looking at them.

On occasion I have joined the 'biker gang' for drives around town. There's usually not a plan, we just make it up as we go, stopping for picnics or photo ops along the way.

Once when we were preparing to go on a ride, I got tired of waiting for the tires to be pumped up and decided to start a game with the neighborhood children. It was a great game, in which my role was to be the scary monster that chased them down the street. Then I'd come back into the yard and wait while the kids slowly got up the nerve to come creeping up to the gate to find me. As they started peering inside I would leap out of a bush and chase them screaming and laughing down the road. Fun for everyone!

It's Very Traffic Pt. 2: Horses

2011-06-14T21:49:00.002-04:00

Althouth this is by far the least common means of transportation, there are certain parts of the city where you are likely to see horse-drawn vehicles.

The first goodbye

2011-06-09T06:16:00.004-04:00

Ali

It has been nearly a month now since Ali's departure from Cebu. I believe that sufficient time has passed for me to have the emotional strength to talk about her and all that she's meant to me over the past 7 months. Also, she's in China now and can no longer physically restrain me.

How I prefer to remember Ali.

Before she left, I conducted an in-depth interview with Ali, so that I would be prepared to share with the world the whole scope of who she is and what she plans to do with her life. It went something like this:

Q: Why are you in Cebu?

A: No no no no no.

Q: Why are you leaving me?

A: Can we talk about this later?

Q: What’s your favorite part of living in this house?

A: The gayness of it all. You cannot publish this.

I would say that Ali was my first Cebu friend. The second night I was in Cebu, we all went out for pizza and I talked with Ali almost exclusively for most of the evening. It was Ali’s sense of humor that first drew me in. Whether she’s relating a funny story from her morning ride on the jeepney or sharing a viral Youtube video (that’s right: Double Rainbow), her laughter is infectious.

Before she left Cebu, Ali planned a trip to Tibet. At least it began as a trip to Tibet. Then she decided that she would go to Vietnam first. And then she decided that she would end her trip in New Delhi, India. Somewhere in the middle there she will be going to Nepal, and the rest of the time I guess she will be trekking over mountains and country borders to make all her flights. She's not going to Tibet any more.

We had an unusual relationship. She liked to berate me for trivial things, and pretended to punch me in the gut every time I saw her at work. Eventually we agreed to scream at the top of our lungs every time we saw each other - which was great for bursting capillaries!

So many good memories of riding the jeepneys, arguing/negotiating with motorcycle drivers, planning the trips we want to take, and even having extended arguments about John Wilkes Booth and the difference between artistry and progressive thought.

The essence of Ali – spontaneity, awareness of the absurd, quick to smile, quick to laugh, eager to meet new friends. Ali’s approach to life is to enjoy it.

I miss you friend. It's not weird that I'm sleeping in your bed now, is it?

Investment Advice

2011-04-24T04:59:00.003-04:00

The moment I arrived in Cebu I was greeted at the airport by two of my new roommates, Ali and Lindsay. They were awesome. Prepared to answer a million questions that I was not prepared to ask, they enthusiastically filled me in on what to expect in Cebu. It was a good thing they were willing to carry the conversation because after the 20 hours of flying and layovers I had few questions outside of ‘when can I take a shower?’

With every major move in the past I remember going through a months-long adjustment period of finding good friends and building a new community. Usually that time involved many nights of missing the people and places I had just left, feeling lonely and longing for closeness to another human being. After leaving Los Angeles I remember having many dreams in which I drove the route between my downtown artist’s loft and the cozy house in Glendale where my dear friend Jessica lived.

Here, I feel like I walked directly into a community of people I could relate to and learn from, who were passionate about their work and equally enthusiastic about having fun. It has still taken time for those relationships to deepen, time for me to decide that investing here now, even if I know I will be leaving eventually, is worth the effort. But the more I risk investing, the greater the return in life learning.

I was talking to Pastor Dave a few weeks ago about wanting to be intentional with this year. About looking seriously at the story I’m telling with my life. It can be difficult to find time for this when constantly in transition, but something Dave said resonated with me. He talked about not leaving a place until you’ve said all the things that you need to say, and heard all the things that you’ve needed to hear.

I’ve been hearing a lot of things that I needed to hear. Mostly from the friends I have been honored/privileged (PSYCHED!) to meet since arriving here. From time to time I will be featuring these friends and acquaintances right here, in this very blog. A small nod to a few of the people who are speaking words that need to be heard.

It’s Very Traffic Pt.1: The Jeepney

2011-03-22T07:27:00.005-04:00

Riding taxis through the streets of Cebu, I frequently hear this apology from drivers frustrated by gridlocks:

“Sorry ma’am, it’s very traffic today.”
Until I arrived in the Philippines, I had never heard traffic described as though it were a variation in the weather. Sunny with a 90% chance of traffic.

And like the variations on the weather, the modes of transportation here are numerous and creative.

Today’s traffic: Jeepney 10mph from the southeast

The jeepney (or Public Utility Jeepney) is easily the most affordable way to travel at a mere 7 pesos (16 cents) per trip. There’s one that stops just at the end of my street and passes only a few blocks from where I work. I’ve become quite familiar with the route, and can now read a book comfortably despite the crush of people and the jolting from bad shocks and pothole-ridden roads.

Each jeepney has a unique personality. They range from plain van-like vehicles to elaborately decorated vintage jeeps. Some are World War II vehicles that were preserved and modified following the war. They might be named after saints, the owner’s child, or name brand products like ‘Extra Joss.’ It’s also not uncommon to see U.S. branding on a jeepney, like logos for Coke or even a mural of Finding Nemo. Occasionally there will be prayers or blessings written across the back, or all the members of the owner’s family listed on either side of the back entrance. I purposely ride the fancy ones whenever I have the option.

How To Ride a Jeepney:

Major locations on the PUJ route will be listed on the side of the vehicle. Each route also has a number, so if you know your route then you can find the 17J or the 08B, etc. To call a jeepney you can wave it down by extending your arm palm downward and moving your hand up and down, or you can make eye contact with the driver and raise both your eyebrows (this gesture also communicates ‘yes’ or ‘hello’ when coupled with a smile).

Once it pulls over, you climb in through the back and take a seat on one of the benches that run along either side. Typically the seat space closest to the entrance fills up first, so if it’s already full you have to force your way between a row of knees and feet to squeeze into whatever space is left for you. If you are male, you can stand on the step and hang onto the back. The few times I tried they made me get off and sit inside. Once I sat on the floor. Inquiries into this blatant sexism are forthcoming. I’ll let you know what I learn.

To pay, you pass your fare either forward to the driver, or backward to his partner (usually a man who hangs off the back and yells at passersby to try and get them on board, but sometimes his wife or child). As you hand the money to the person next to you, you say ‘pliti og,’ ‘ako Bayad,’ ‘palihug’ or some variation of those phrases.

When you are ready to disembark, you can make a loud kissing noise with your lips, tap coins against the metal grip bar over your head, or yell ‘lugar lang!’

There you have it, your first taste of Cebu traffic. Yes, that is the taste of diesel exhaust.

God sits on my doorstep

2011-02-09T21:51:00.004-05:00

For the past few months, a homeless man has been staking out our house.

What I mean is, he sits across the street from our gate, head drooping, not moving. He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t say anything, hardly stirs. He is an old looking man with long hair and wispy beard who has become one with the rags he is wearing. He appears to sleep most of the time, or maybe he’s sunk deep in thought, huddled within himself where no one else has the will or interest to pry.

At first I regarded him with suspicion when I would consistently arrive home in the evenings to find him planted directly across the street from our gate.

“Who is this guy?” “Why is he always here?” “What does he want?” My housemates and I would occasionally wonder, when we didn’t overlook him altogether.

The answers to those questions were in the end quite simple.

“He’s called ‘Boy,’” Francis explained. “Some people think he’s crazy, but I’ve talked to him.”
“Is he crazy?” I asked. Francis and I were walking our bikes down the street, past Boy’s regular nesting-place.

Francis makes a face, “I don’t know. Maybe. He’s harmless.”

I wondered what kinds of stories Boy had to tell, but I didn’t ask.

..................................................................................................................

In early January my housemates and I implemented a new plan for meals. Each of the five of us would be responsible for cooking on one day of the week, simplifying our shopping and ensuring healthier eating habits. For the first two Sundays when it was my night to cook, I made empanadas. Actually, I just made too much the first time and was lazy/efficient enough to serve the same meal a second time.

“You should give that to Boy,” Francis suggested after the second Sunday as I was wrapping up still more leftover empanadas (really, they were delicious, I just made too much! Promise).
“Oh, OK.”

“Give him some water, too.”

It was dark and I couldn’t open the gate while carrying food and water, so Amy volunteered to come with me.

“Talk to him before you approach,” Francis warned. “He gets startled.”

Water, empanadas and fruit in hand, Amy and I walked slowly across the street to where Boy was sitting - asleep or otherwise disconnected from the world.

“Boy,” Amy called. She ventured forward and he lifted his head.

Boy didn’t say anything or make eye contact. He accepted the food and water and Amy and I went back inside without further interaction. It was a little awkward, I think he could not understand what we were saying to him. Fortunately, food doesn’t really need an explanation.
Since then, I’ve been more aware of Boy.

When it’s hot I think, “Boy must be thirsty.”

When we eat I think, “Boy might need food.”

When it rains I hope he’s found a dry place to shelter.

I guess this is what it’s like to have neighbors.

Matthew 25:40

Luke 10:25-37

Christmasy Time

2010-12-24T05:13:00.012-05:00

Although I have yet to experience the Philippines without Christmas decorations (the carols in stores start in September), the intensity has been ratcheting up these past few weeks. A giant tree of wood and metal was erected in Fuente Circle, an alarmingly ugly and even more alarmingly dangerous (it electrocuted a teenage girl and landed her in the hospital) landmark I pass every day on the way to work. Christmas carolers began making their rounds of the neighborhood, singing outside our gates every evening or once even swarming me when I got out of a taxi. And of course, it’s Christmas party season.

Two weeks ago the trivia team I am part of went to the Christ for Asia children’s home to put on a Christmas program. We spent the entire afternoon there hosting games, serving food, and watching the kids perform their dance routines. Impromptu singing is also a popular pastime here, and several of the talented children honored us with songs.

Then last Sunday at church I met a young couple who invited me to a family work party. Kathy’s parents own a fishing business and they were celebrating with all their employees at a hotel in Cebu. The program was very typical Filipino, beginning with a Doxology, the Philippine National Anthem (which I am determined to learn), Dinner Dinner Dinner, an Inspiring Speech, and of course a dance competition. As one of the judges, I had a tough time deciding which team had the best routine, especially considering the elaborate costumes and complex choreography.

Finally the evening wrapped up with disco – not disco music, but electronic dance music. At least there was a disco ball.

December 23 I flew to Manila to spend Christmas with the family of an IJM intern I met while in D.C. When I first met Tala, she gave me her mom’s phone number telling me, “If you want to have a family, just call my mom. But if you don’t, DO NOT call her!”

I opted for adoption.

When I arrived on Thursday the house was bustling with preparations for a dinner party with friends and family. The house is already quite hectic with the 17 family members here visiting from their various places of residence around the world, yet the culture of hospitality never ceased to shine as I was shown to my own room and given directions to make myself comfortable. It’s difficult not to be comfortable in such a charming home with so many kindly hosts, and I reveled in the luxury of an afternoon spent reading by the pool.

The evening party was equally delightful, with friendly and entertaining neighbors, friends, and family engaging in lively conversation. Two renowned musicians also were brought in to perform piano/flute compositions, which I listened to with delight while dividing my attention between the classical music and 4-year-old Mary, a precocious Filipino-Austrian who was determined that she had met me somewhere before and sat loudly whispering to me throughout the concert.

These past several weeks have been incredibly busy as I have lost sleep finishing up projects and coordinating year-end events, so this respite in Manila is just the kind of change of scenery that I needed. Even so, I have had the odd sense of homesickness. Or maybe more of a wistful missing of familiarity than homesickness. It is not terribly logical, however, because while I am missing my family and the Christmas traditions that I’ve never missed out on before, right now I am also thinking fondly of my little army cot in my little room in our peaceful house in Cebu. The twinge of longing for my newfound dwelling does gives me some hope that while there may be no place like home, there may be many places that become homes.

Recap: Weddings, Exhibits, and Thankfulness for Spiders

2010-11-28T00:21:00.026-05:00

In the past week I’ve been to a Filipino wedding, the opening of my first public photography display, a concert, and two Thanksgiving dinners.

The wedding was in a beautiful, enormous Catholic church. Filipino weddings have ‘sponsors’, a select group of men and women who contribute to the financing of the wedding and also receive special recognition during the ceremony and reception.

The sponsors all dress in off-white/gold clothing, men wearing the traditional barong, modeled here by some guy on wikipedia.

The reception began with a series of recognizable traditions, including cake cutting, releasing a pair of doves, the first dance, and a dance in which you ‘buy’ a dance with the bride or groom by pinning money to them.

Special note: The night before the wedding, Ali and I were getting ready for bed when we were surprised by the largest wild spider I’ve EVER seen. This picture provides no sense of scale, but I think you can appreciate its hideousness. Fortunately, Crystal came home while Ali and I were still trembling on the other side of the room and smashed the arachnid into dozens of pieces. Later we learned the poor little fella was totally harmless, in fact he eats cockroaches. Oops.

Monday was the start of Justice Week at University of the Philippines – Cebu. It kicked off with the opening of our photo exhibit from the Treasuring Children photowalk. I was thoroughly impressed with the talent of the photographers and the skills of the UP students organizing the event. The week of justice-related events culminated in an evening of performances and presentations that reflected great credit on the UP Justice Advocates. They put on quite the professional event, and hopefully it will inspire more students to get involved in seeking justice for children.

Thanksgiving Day is of course not a public holiday in the Philippines. Even so, Thursday night Francis and Brian prepared a delicious meal of chicken and vegetables, rice and tortillas for our little ‘family.’ After the meal we went to the upstairs porch to break in the new hammock Francis got at Carbon market. I think we were all agreed that our adopted family was up there at the top of our ‘thankfulness’ list.

Saturday we were able to have a more traditional Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, apple pie, cranberry sauce, etc. It was also a multicultural mix of Filipino, Canadian, and Australian friends. I learned that Canadians also celebrate Thanksgiving with the exact same meal, but on a different day and for different reasons that no one can seem to remember. It’s my theory that the reason is ‘because it’s a really good meal,’ but that’s just my opinion.

Something you can do

2010-11-27T23:37:00.001-05:00

Today I once again failed to give blood. I’ve failed lots of times in the past – low iron, not hydrated enough - but this time it was far more serious, more significant. One of my housemates, Crystal, works with a pastor named Noel, and his niece was recently hospitalized because of bleeding gums. On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, she underwent surgery with a 50-50 chance of survival. She made it through and is beginning to regain strength, but during the surgery she used up six bags of blood. This blood is very expensive, but the hospital will give her a discount if people will donate to the blood bank on her behalf.

So that’s what took me, another housemate, Lindsay, and our friend Matt to the hospital on a Saturday morning: the opportunity to do something really simple that will help a family in a very real way. Unfortunately, only Lindsay qualified to donate, and finding people willing to give blood here can be challenging.

Pastor Noel’s niece, Rejoice, is the same age as me, 23. She lost her parents when she was still young, and was raised for part of her childhood by Pastor Noel’s wife, her aunt. After having our blood tested, Crystal, Lindsay, Matt and I went upstairs to meet her and pray with her. She was far too weak to talk to us, but we sat by her bed and prayed for healing and provision.

Healing for her condition that the doctors have still not been able to explain (they think it might be a tumor in her gums), and provision for the massive and growing hospital bill that the family is in no position to pay.

Rejoice’s hospital bill is already over 100,000 pesos (over $2,200), and her medications are costing about 3,000 pesos each day. To put that in perspective, Pastor Noel makes only 12,000 pesos each month (less than $260), and there are no other family members at this point who are able to contribute to these bills. In order to pay for a CT scan for Rejoice, Pastor Noel used his entire bi-weekly paycheck, leaving the family with little to live on for the next two weeks. To pay the entire bill would take close to a year’s wages, but Rejoice will not be allowed to leave the hospital until her bill is paid. And the longer she stays in the hospital unable to pay, the larger that bill will grow.

For many Filipinos unable to pay the hospital bills for a family member, this necessitates them borrowing from a loan shark. When your choice is between going deep into debt and allowing a family member to die, your hands are pretty much tied.

I’m hoping to get my iron levels up this weekend so that on Monday I will be able to at least give the small gift of my blood to Rejoice. I don’t know if you are able to contribute any amount to Rejoice and her family, but I do know that they would be incredibly blessed and thankful for your help. If you are interested in donating, please send me an email: bettywilliams1900@gmail.com

Ragamuffins

2010-11-18T10:45:00.022-05:00

I like to stay up late. Even when I have no good reason. Which means that getting up before the sun is rarely on my agenda. Saturday morning was the first time I have been up early enough to see the sunrise in Cebu, and that was only because I was lured out of bed by something very enticing: a photo walk.
There’s something about the sky here that is 10x more epic than back home. Maybe it’s because we are surrounded by water that the clouds here are unusually large and shapely. Maybe it’s because there is so much pollution the sky turns unnaturally bright colors. But the combination of billowy purple clouds piling up in the orangey-pink sky as the nearby hills were slowly illuminated by the rising sun that actually made me say,

“I should get up at 4:30 every day!” (It was in the heat of the moment – obviously I was up too early to be thinking clearly)

At that hour there were no jeepneys or taxis to be found, but to my relief a lone young habal-habal driver was up early to make a little extra cash. He drove me through nearly-empty streets in about half the time it normally would take to reach Santo Niño, the site of Magellan’s Cross.

I arrived about 3 minutes before 5:30am, the agreed meeting time. Immediately I regretted not taking the time to have coffee and breakfast. Arriving early without something to read has recently been added to my list of fears. Like in many cultures, there is a special time zone that exists for meetings in the Philippines. If you don’t want to spend 10-30 minutes sitting and waiting, you should really take your time getting to scheduled meetings. Stop at the bakery. Make some coffee. At the very least quit worrying about being late.

However, I was fortunate to spend the next 3 hours in such delightful company that I did not even once regret getting there so early or think about going back to bed.

By 6:20am everyone was present and SLRs were snapping left and right while photographers exchanged advice and jealous remarks about one another’s glass. All around me were creative minds and photo-enthusiasts, and in front of us were our subjects: charming, adorable street children.

Come, come with me on the most incredible walk I’ve taken and see the faces of these beautiful children who play, run, cry, eat, sleep – on the street.

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These photos will be used during Justice Week at University of the Philippines to raise awareness of the plight of children in the city and inspire advocacy of children’s rights: their right to play, to be educated, to have family, and to be safe. The theme of the week: Treasuring Children.

Conviction!

2010-11-15T00:46:00.009-05:00

One of the clients before the promulgation, with her attorney

A week ago I witnessed the second case to reach a verdict in the history of IJM’s work in Cebu, Philippines. It was the first case they took, back in February 2007, involving five women who had been trafficked to Malaysia. The neighbor of one of the women had offered them the opportunity to earn money for their families by being singers in a band. They were even given singing lessons during the month leading up to their departure. But their plans faded away when they arrived in Malaysia and the job turned out to be not in a band but in a bar, where the women found themselves sexually exploited and far, far away from home.

Despite the seemingly desperate situation, these five women devised an escape plan. On a rainy night after they had been driven back to their sleeping quarters, they slipped out through an unlocked gate to find help. Despite many challenges, including threats and accusations from the bar owner, they refused to return and eventually found some sympathetic Filipinos willing to help them. Through the Cebu City government and Philippine embassy in Malaysia, the women were repatriated back to the Philippines where IJM intervened to assist them as they pressed charges against their traffickers.

Sitting in the courtroom after the nearly four-year wait from the beginning of the case to the promulgation, it was uncanny how long a few hours could feel. We arrived at the courthouse at 9AM, only to have the judge push the trafficking case back another 6 hours. This was because before issuing a conviction or acquittal, a sometimes 50-page document will be written explaining the court’s interpretation of the evidence and detailing why the verdict was reached. The document was still being written when we arrived, so we went back to our office to work half the day before returning to the courthouse. When we got back at 3PM, the document still was not complete, so we sat on the wooden benches of the courtroom for almost another 3 hours, chatting in small groups and making small talk to relieve the tension. And it was intense. We had reached the culmination of a four-year pursuit of justice for these clients, and now their bravery and tenacity would either be recognized with a conviction, or overlooked with an acquittal.

Even so, I felt ambivalence when I looked at the trafficker. The night before, as I was preparing my camera equipment to document the promulgation, I had anticipated feeling only a strong sense of satisfaction at seeing justice done in the case of a conviction. It was a different emotion that I encountered upon entering the courtroom and seeing the accused sitting alone on the wooden bench in front of the court, her bright yellow prison shirt matching the clips in her hair. I had not expected to see a woman. I had not expected to see someone so close to my age. I had not expected to be able to identify with this person.

Spending three hours in the same room as this woman caused me to pause and re-evaluate my preconceived notions of traffickers. In the past I had identified my strongest reaction to injustice as a sense of anger. Anger at the cruelty that one person could inflict on another. I struggled with the thought of loving such people. Fallen people, abusive people, but still people.

And just as my first night sharing food with rescued victims finally made them into real human beings to me, my first time in the same room with a trafficker forced me to begin erasing those presuppositions.

The air in the courtroom was heavy when the judge entered after three hours and we stood up to hear the sentence read. We all could feel the weight of those moments; the accused standing before the judge, waiting to hear the decision that would determine where she spends the rest of her life.

“The court finds the defendant…guilty.”

She was found guilty on two charges of trafficking, carrying sentences of 20 years and life in prison. There was stillness in the courtroom during which we all, I think, silently prayed for the crying woman in the yellow shirt.

Although her conviction was deserved, IJM does not support prosecutions in order to somehow avenge the exploitation against victims, but rather with the hope that others will take warning and avoid engaging in modern day slavery. Trafficking recruiters often are young women, and perhaps there will be other women out there who will hear about this case and decide that any incentives to luring victims into slavery are not worth the risk of life in prison.

We can feel compassion even for these perpetrators who have violated the basic rights of innocent victims, and we can pray that grace will reach them behind the prison bars where they must live on with the decisions they have made.

And then we can stand up, as the judge in this case did after the reading of the sentence, breaking the somber silence with his words,

“Well, there are thousands still out there waiting to be rescued. Let’s go.”

Lights Among the Graves

2010-11-01T10:45:00.009-04:00

November first, All Saints Day.

This past weekend, my housemates and I hopped on a 2-hour boat ride to Bohol, a neighboring island. An attempt to commemorate the October 31st holiday was made by hanging paper bat cutouts from the ceiling. After a standard safety announcement, the speaker launched into an explanation of Halloween, describing the ‘traditions’ surrounding the American version of the holiday.

“People might dress up in costumes, tell each other scary stories, or go Trick-or-Treating, which is when you walk around and get candy.”

Then came the exciting announcement:

“Now, look under your seat chairs for a Halloween surprise!”

Soon passengers throughout the boat were shuffling their feet and baggage around trying to locate the Halloween gift. Puzzled looks followed when no one found anything underneath except our life preservers. I hope we weren’t supposed to be surprised to find basic safety devices available.

Never did learn what our treat was.........…trick?

This whole ‘dressing up to go Trick-or-Treating’ thing is a relatively new, American-influenced practice. According to Francis, anyone over 25 would find it entirely out of place in Filipino society. Upon arriving back in Cebu City this afternoon, I expressed an interest in seeing the All Saints Day festivities as they are traditionally celebrated – in the cemeteries.

Francis, Lindsay and I drove in the rain out to a cemetery in the city. This was one for the poorer classes, not like some of the cemeteries that purport to have such opulent houses for the dead that they include amenities like furniture and toilets.
The atmosphere at the cemetery was akin to a festival. Although the rain discouraged large crowds from showing up and becoming drunk and rowdy, there was beer for sale inside. Also, vendors selling other foods and drinks, jewelry, and popcorn lined the entrance.

The sight of the graves was mesmerizing. Light bulbs were placed in front of the tombstones and families gathered to light candles, place flowers, say mass, and feast together. The glow spread out into the distance over countless resting places, umbrellas gliding among them and ducking down as visitors stopped to pray or place candles at a gravesite. I hopped along the muddy paths, shielding my camera from the rain and trying not to step in the garbage-filled puddles.

Borrowing from Chinese traditions of leaving food at graves, some people will leave fruits and other eatables on the tombs - including donuts as you can see in the right corner of this particular tombstone.

Some tombs are enclosed in their own rooms, and relatives can sleep there overnight during All Saints Day. Other times, squatters make use of these rooms for shelter. I spotted a tiny boy curled up on the rocky floor next to a baby in a crib, most likely squatters in need of a place out of the rain.

As we returned to the buggy, we walked through a haze of smoke. People were burning what looked like weeds or grass in buckets to create a ‘purifying’ smoke that was supposed to cleanse any evil spirits from visitors exiting the cemetery.

Next time: Tales from Bohol

A walk to the store: in images

2010-10-28T08:01:00.018-04:00

From the upstairs window, I can see the yellow VW van hanging out with a banana and a mango tree, while in the distance a temple is partially obscured by power lines. Or is that cable?

Stepping back a few feet, the serenity of our Peace Valley home soothes the heart with light and color.

And then, I step outside... ...and into the garden.

Just inside the gate, where the bikes are stored.

Just outside the gate, a short walk down the street, a gathering of neighbors.

Moving on down the street now, around a few corners, trying not to get hit by taxis, trucks and motorcycles.

Residences mix with the overgrowth.

Where the horses are, and where I want to be.

Then the smells of food cooking accost me. There are coconuts for sale.

A bustling bridge
spans the sewage-strewn valley
of corrugated metal apartments.

At last, the store is across the street, and I only have to wait for a slow in the jeepney traffic to make a dash for it.

Operation

2010-10-13T20:27:00.015-04:00

Last Friday at 11:30am the staff gathered as usual in the conference room for morning prayer. We began sharing requests by department, and when it got to the legal team an important announcement was made,

“There’s going to be an operation tonight.”

At this point I’ve been off the plane for five days, haven’t unpacked yet, still don’t have a key to my house, and have only begun trying to figure out where everything is on a map. I am not mentally prepared to be spending my first weekend in the Philippines out on a rescue operation, but then, is it ever possible to be completely prepared to face such instances of injustice?

An IJM client signs her affidavit before the prosecutor

As soon as I heard the announcement my senses came alive and I wanted desperately to be part of this mission, to see firsthand the work that had compelled me to travel halfway around the
globe. At first I was afraid they wouldn’t need me on this one, or that I was just too new to be part of it, but to my relief they welcomed me on as a volunteer with the aftercare department.

Because this was going to be a street operation targeting multiple perpetrators and victims around the city rather than a single establishment, it was easier for the majority of the aftercare team to wait back at their station rather than ride in the rescue van. I waited with them, and the wait was long.

Initially, 12 perpetrators and at least 30 victims had been identified as the focus for this operation. This work can be unpredictable, however, and as the evening went on the strategy changed. Of course, this was due to the staff and police in the field gauging the situation and altering plans to prove that trafficking had occurred before making arrests, but back at our aftercare home base, it just got later and later and we began to wonder if the whole operation would be canceled.

It was not.

At about 10pm we began getting texts that a transaction (a set-up purchase of girls by an undercover police officer from a pimp to prove that they are indeed being sold for sex) was imminent. The social workers and I sat around a table in the air-conditioned break room, cell phones near at hand, waiting for the final word.

Then the text came: “1 transaction complete. No details yet.”

Aftercare staff began to move around and prepare for the arrival of the girls. Subsequent texts informed us that there would be five rescued victims from two separate transactions.

The social workers began laying down mats for the girls to sit on, brought in drinks and food, prepared changes of clothes and provided shampoo and soap so they could shower.
A coworker looked out the window. The night had erupted into heavy downpours of rain and frequent lightning, making subsequent street operations impossible for the time being. Then the aftercare van pulled into the parking lot, “they’re here!”

I stood at the top of the stairs waiting to see them come through the door. My camera was on hand, but lowered. I didn’t want to intrude on their privacy or frighten them by looking like the media.

The girls came in from the rain clinging to each other in little groups. I am not sure how I expected them to behave, and I had heard horror stories of past clients who had gone so far as to burn whole rooms down, but these girls seemed like your typical high school students. Four of them were talking and smiling and one was crying softly to herself. I could not imagine the emotions they must be experiencing, from fear to confusion to curiosity. What a strange night for them.

They eagerly picked apart the chicken and rice that were provided for them, and as they were eating, one of the girls waved me over and gestured for me to sit by her. They started asking me questions about where I was from, how long I would be here, and if I had a boyfriend. I asked them questions about themselves as well. They were divided on their favorite subjects in school; two of them loved science, especially frog dissection, one preferred Tagalog.

It was so normal and casual, this exchange of small talk. And it was humanizing to finally meet and share food with these victims of sex trafficking. Now, for me, IJM clients have a face, a personality, interests, lives. In my mind they have gone from being two-dimensional victims to evoking an image more akin to little sisters. I don’t want them to feel like their best option is to go back to a life of exploitation. I want to see them not only rescued, but cared for, rehabilitated, and loved.

Fortunately, IJM has several aftercare partners in this region that can provide the girls with counseling and therapy, rehabilitation and job training. Please pray that they will not be re-trafficked but will be able to heal and create new, healthy lives as a result of this rescue.

A client puts her thumbprint to an affidavit during inquest.

Sunrise halfway around the world

2010-10-09T13:17:00.007-04:00

The view as I first opened my bedroom door at 7:30am Monday morning.

The kitchen, where everyone keeps their own personal stockpile of mangos.

Wednesday's brownout lent an air of charm to the birthday festivities.

Fortunately, Crystal has the proper gear for dealing with situations that might require cooking in the dark.

That's the first week in photos - stay tuned for more!

Spider Men

2010-10-08T22:04:00.001-04:00

It’s been less than a week since my arrival in the Philippines, where I was warmly welcomed at the airport by two of my housemates, Lindsay and Ali. By that time I was exhausted from the close to 19 hours of flights and layovers, during which I felt like I was constantly being fed. At least three meals, several smaller snacks, and a steady flow of orange juice, water, and wine made me crave some kind of physical activity.

I attempted to think of questions to ask my predecessors, but mainly kept staring out the windows trying to get a feel for the place that will be my home this year. It was almost midnight in Cebu, but in the orange street lights I got glimpses of shop fronts pressed up against the road, of small crowds of people engaging in the night life, of stray dogs and of gorgeous hotels.

We drove into the hills and down some narrow lanes to the gate of the house in Peace Valley. Inside, a mango tree, yellow VW van, and the occasional fluttering bat mingled harmoniously in the courtyard. Even better are the people, who since have shown me the ways of the city, from local markets to how to find an ATM.

The experiences of this week have already been beyond what I have time to record. I began work on Tuesday, and have found it to be interesting, challenging, and stretching. My supervisors have been lovely and helpful and my coworkers have been very encouraging to me in my attempts to use the very few Cebuano words I have learned so far.

My social life has certainly not suffered. Since Monday we have met with friends for pizza, engaged in trade at Carbon Market, celebrated Ali’s birthday with a Mexican fiesta, and met with friends for drinks by the pool of a brand new hotel.

But by far the best night so far was Thursday’s 'buggy' adventure. After dinner, Ali proclaimed her need for ice cream, and we piled five of us into Francis’ (our incredibly kindhearted landlord) buggy. We were off to the nearest McDonald’s, singing a strange compilation of all the choruses to songs that we knew. Think the ‘Oklahoma’ scene in Canadian Bacon, but in a tropical climate.

After successfully procuring our sundaes, Francis took us on a sightseeing tour of the area. We were heading up a mountain road reminiscent of Mulholland Drive, when Francis saw a crowd of men on the side of the road and pulled over.

“It’s a spider fight, do you want to see?” He asked us.

Of course!

We joined the crowd of variously aged men around a small table. They were intently comparing their spiders, watching them crawl up and down the sticks they held and putting the rejected arachnids away into their matchbox homes. We bet our 5 pesos on a spider waited for victory. At this moment, a huge downpour begins and we swarm to relocate under a nearby shelter which I had a difficult time identifying, as it was an open-air building containing several old video game consoles on which young children were earnestly engaged in some of those old boxing games (yet another situation for which I have no frame of reference), where the bets continued.

The set up for the fight was this (in case you’d like to replicate it at home): a small table with a short pole on either end and a string attached to the tops of each. For the fight to begin, the spiders are placed on either end of the string. A ref has his hand blocking the middle until both creatures are ready, when he removes his hand and the fight begins. The spiders rush each other for a brief boxing match in which one is knocked off the string. Our spider wins round 1!

Unfortunately, in succeeding rounds he loses his momentum and walks away from a few fights, effectively losing the lead. At last he is knocked from the string to become the official loser.

We drove back to the house in the pouring rain, stared at by everyone we passed, and singing still at the top of our lungs.

Photo Fundraiser !!!!!!

2010-09-05T00:06:00.002-04:00

I am excited to announce a partnership with Kathleen Marie Photography to raise support for my fellowship with IJM!

September 25th we will be holding mini photo sessions throughout the day for $50 each. This will include a 25-minute session with one or two photographers, a 5x7 print of your favorite pose, and a digital copy of the pose of your choice. Additional prints of any photos from the session can be purchased from an online store and profits will go to the photographer who took that picture.

This would be perfect for someone wanting a nice family photo, professional shots of the kids for this year’s Christmas card, pet photos, or commemorative photos of a special time in your life. PLUS you get to support a good cause! Half of the earnings from the fundraiser will go to Kathleen Marie Photography, and half toward my volunteer work in the Philippines – which means if you want you can write a separate check for half of the session’s cost ($25) and it can be tax deductible. Any donations over the $50 fee will be donated to my IJM fellowship fundraising.

This may be a bit of a hike for some people not in the Akron/Medina area, so to make it more fun for everyone we are inviting you to bring a lunch, set up a potluck, and plan on enjoying the park with your family before or after your photo session. Make an afternoon of it! I will even bring cookies to share.

The Details:

Date: Saturday, September 25th, 2010

Location: Fort Island/Griffiths Park
413 Trunko Road
Fairlawn, Ohio 44333

Time: 9am-6:30pm (last session ends at 7:00pm)
Sessions start on the hour and half hour

If you are interested, e-mail your name and contact info along with your preferred time slots to bettywilliams1900@gmail.com

Support the cause of justice AND get amazing photos!

Check out the Facebook page for Kathleen Marie Photography for ideas of what you might like to see in your photos.

My favorite is her portraits album: http://www.facebook.com/?sk=messages&tid=431941183591#!/album.php?aid=23729&id=128530413830890

Coming soon - my own portrait portfolio will be posted to the Bethany's Going to The Philippines Facebook page. In the meantime, check out my 'Architexture' portfolio:
http://www.facebook.com/?sk=messages&tid=431941183591#!/album.php?aid=23744&id=133641863333972

Movie Makin'

2010-08-12T16:11:00.002-04:00

It has been almost exactly 3 years since I left Los Angeles for the green pastures of Athens, Ohio. But the movies don’t let you escape so easily…

When tax incentives for filmmaking were initiated in Michigan, the movies moved to Detroit. A dear friend of mine has been steadily employed on films in Michigan for the past 2 years, while crew in LA have been hard-pressed to find work. Now similar incentives have been passed for Cleveland, and for the first time ever I’ve received two calls in one summer for production jobs in my home state.

My first day back in a production office was at the very least unsettling. Until now the world of production, producers, and SAG rules had lived in my LA world, but now it was only a 30-minute drive from my parents’ house. Cleveland seemed too innocent for Hollywood.

When booking hotel rooms for cast and crew, I enjoyed conversations like this:

Me: Hello, I’m calling from a film production office, we will be shooting in Cleveland for the next month and would like to book several rooms during that time – do you have anything available?

Hotel lady: There’s a movie being made in Cleveland?

Me: Yes.

Hotel lady: Oh wow, where are you shooting? Who’s going to be in it? Is it big?

Me: I’m not sure of the details…about that room, now?

Hotel lady [very excited]: Do you need rooms for the actors? I’ll see if I can get you a special rate!

It felt like State and Main; Hollywood attempting to go about production as usual and finding that expectations in the rest of the country are considerably different. I enjoyed some private laughs at the LA personalities that found themselves out of their comfort zones. Actors making special requests for cranberry juice and late night trips to the grocery store, graphic designers attempting to figure out how to make storyboards, a cinematographer reportedly reduced to a screaming fit when the refrigerator in his suite was too small. Big personalities aside, the staff were quite friendly and warm in their treatment of me and I was able to settle comfortably into my role assisting the production manager.

And then the other shoe fell. While sitting at my desk fielding phone calls, I overheard a discussion between the art department and casting. Without going into details that might give away identities, I learned that they were still searching for the movie’s ‘topless model.’

There it was, that sinking feeling I get when I know I’m supposed to do something but don’t want to do it. I fought with it momentarily, but couldn’t suppress the insistent voice telling me, “You have to leave.”

Mostly, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, leave a job unfinished, or be lumped in with the rest of Cleveland as a naïve, inexperienced farmer’s daughter type. I knew I needed the money as well – this job would have provided enough to pay for my year’s worth of rent in the Philippines. But considering that one of my goals for volunteering in Cebu is to restore the dignity of trafficking victims, it did seem hypocritical of me to fund my trip by taking part in a film that was blatantly objectifying a woman – even with her consent.

Because I don’t care what label you slap on, be it ‘talent’, or ‘model’, you are talking about a person being used for her body.

Now I know that not all Christians agree with me that quitting is necessary in this situation. I know some who stay on with the hope of being a light in a dark situation. I wish them well, but feel that for me to take that approach would be the first step to throwing away my desire to work on projects I believe in.

I would have thought the creators of questionable films would have a defense for why they include nudity or over-the-top scenes of violence. So when I explained to the producer of the movie that I was leaving because of the topless model scene, I was not expecting him to reply with, “yeah, I hate nudity in films.” He added that he thought the film was too violent as well, although he’d already done what he could to cut back on gore. In essence, although he hated the content in his own work and was really the only person capable of changing it, he chose to leave it in because, “otherwise it wouldn’t sell in Europe.”

In my experience I have come across numerous people in the film industry who begin careers with lofty goals and end working for a paycheck on movies that even they cannot defend.
I think this is what happens when we give up on dreams. When we give in so often we lose heart and purpose. It makes me wonder what would happen if we stopped imagining that we can keep giving in and then at some undefined moment, once we achieve some level of power or status, switch our convictions back on and make a difference. It doesn’t happen that way. You can’t live as the world lives in order to make it to the top and then suddenly expect to start doing good. It makes me think there might be something to what Jesus said about being faithful in small things, if only to remind ourselves at every lowly step that we are serving God, and not man.

Thoughts? I'd appreciate hearing some other perspectives on these issues. Have you buried any of your dreams because they aren't convenient?

Cebu is an island, but I'm not

2010-07-08T15:44:00.002-04:00

How you can partner with me for the cause of justice

The Fellowship I have accepted is unpaid and I will be responsible for all travel and living expenses associated with the position. Based on conversations with current interns and fellows at the Cebu field office, I estimate my costs at $14,000. I am still evaluating the actual cost of flights and living, so it may be more or less than this amount. I can keep you updated with any pressing financial needs as they occur.

You may give financial gifts directly to me through my Paypal link on this website, or you can make a tax-deductible donation through International Justice Mission.

Tax-deductible donations:
You can donate online by clicking on this link http://www.ijm.org/getinvolved/internshipsupport

In order for the funds to be counted toward my fundraising goal, you must select my name from the drop-down menu when you enter your donation information. If you do not see my name in the designation menu, you can also type in my name in the “Comments” box. (but I’ve checked, my name should be on the menu)

Donations are welcome in any amount, no matter how small it may seem to you. You can also use the online form to set up monthly donations if that is more financially feasible for you.

If this technology stuff makes you uncomfortable, you can donate the old-fashioned way by sending a check. If you want it to be tax-deductible, make it payable to “International Justice mission” and do NOT write my name anywhere on the check, including the memo line. Mail to me at:

Bethany Williams
4787 Locust Lane
Brunswick, Ohio 44212

To receive regular updates on my experiences in the Philippines, subscribe to this blog or send me an e-mail and I can send updates directly to your inbox. E-mail: bethany@netwinds.com

Please don't talk to me about water buffaloes

2010-07-08T13:59:00.000-04:00

According to my spell check, Cebu is not a word. It is an island, however – one which I expect to become familiar with during my year-long fellowship with International Justice Mission in Cebu, Philippines.

Whenever I hear stories or meet victims of injustice and abuse, I find myself ignited with a strong desire to fight for their cause. I imagine myself donning a superhero cape and flying to the rescue, ready to kick some villain’s tail.

Turns out superhero capes are pretty useless. And except for in dreams, my attempts at flying never amounted to more than some lame arm flapping. So I’m finally getting practical.
I’m offering the skills I’ve acquired through my work in the LA film industry and 3 years studying documentary journalism at Ohio University to produce media as a Communications Fellow in the Philippines. This will include anything from writing articles, to compiling a photo database, to training individuals how to better tell their stories in order to garner local support for the International Justice Mission’s work in Cebu.

Bloggedy Blog Blog Blog

2010-07-08T12:41:00.000-04:00

Generally I have a fondness for the smell of aging books and clackety typewriters. I never remember to bring my mp3 player anywhere. I resent every time I have to send a text and frequently threaten to delete my Facebook page.

But today technology wins - IT'S A BLOG!

Pass around the cigars.

If you're curious, the title comes from the lyrics of a Derek Webb song, What is Not Love http://derekwebb.net/song-vault/what-is-not-love/

For me, it serves as a reminder that without love what I dream of as success is only another way to fail.

And perhaps what looks like failure, is really success.