Philippine First Days

When I first arrived in the Philippines from India,
I was in culture shock.

I had gone from wearing flowy,
modest punjabis with scarves in sweltering heat,
buying vegetables down the road from a family with a hand scale at a roadstand,
eating with my hands and drinking tea for 3 rupees (7 cents) on the street, to....

Western clothes,
tight fitting t-shirts,
the land of make-up,
hair straighteners,
big box stores,
aisles with everything wrapped in plastic,
plastered with a bar code,
and you could get Hamburger Helper in a box imported from America.

There was air conditioning in every store,
people had keys to their house,
and there was toilet paper in the bathroom.

The second or third day after we arrived
(there were 5 of us who came later, because we stayed in India for an extra month),

the team took us on their “regular Saturday routine”
which consisted of doing a children’s program at a slum in the morning, then walking through an airconditioned mall, to wait at the bust stop next to the fast food joint, to take the free airconditioned bus down the smooth civilized highway,
to an industrial part of town with massive Wal-Mart like stores, shopping carts and long lines.

My eyes bulged open wide as I slowly walked down the aisles in a shocked daze...
beholding rows and rows of canned foods,
mass produced clothing on hangers,
and bar code after bar code of packaged goods.

I didn’t want to be there.
I didn’t know what to do.

Any “list” that I had of things that I potentially wanted to buy,
had flown out the window of my mind. I was overwhelmed.

The others, more adjusted than I, casually filled their arms and baskets with sprigs of this and a can of that,
“Oh let’s try this,” and “Wow, I haven’t had this for months!”

I bought a pocketcomb.



We then proceded to a nearby, massive Starbucks.

The air conditioning chilled you as soon as you entered, and there was a “door opener” who greeted you through the wall-to-wall glass windows.
There was “cafe art” hung.
Shades of cream and mocha and espresso bean coated the walls,
and all the Starbucks “popular favorites” were professionally displayed on the board behind the baristas.
The latest jazz mix-CD played lightly enough in the background to find yourself leisurely tapping your foot while waiting in line.

I got a frama-lappa-chocolate something for 3 dollars ( enough for 4 lunches in India),
and sat on a plush velvet coffee-coloured armchair by the window.

What is this.

This looks exactly like North America.
This scene could be coming straight out of a downtown street in Winnipeg, and yet I am on an island in the Philippines.

My thrift store clothes are baggy and not matching.... but this is outreach, right?
Just this morning we were holding kids in a slum,
and now I’m drinking a frilly chocolate drink,
sitting in a luxuriously comfortable chair,
and I’m actually getting cold from the intense, unrelenting air conditioning!
I tuck my barefeet up into the plush seat and take it all in.

The half-litre of sugary-sweet coffee and whip cream were
settling in my stomach and shocking my system.
We didn't eat very many sweet things in India.

Culture shock.
I don’t like it.
Everything’s so.... organized.
so... excessive?

Oh man,
is this what it’s like?
How am I going to survive!



.....