Beyond Their Control

"Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody's watching."                                                                                                         Satchel Paige

At least once in our lives, each of us has a weighty decision to make, usually in the blink of an eye: do we join in the pure joy of the moment and dance in the street, or do we stand on the side and take pictures?

After nine months of teaching fourth graders in a troubled upstate New York school, I was exhausted. I wanted the approaching summer to be special. I had seen an ad in a union magazine offering a tantalizing possibility: "Observe a school in the tropics for a month; live with the local people." Adventure beckoned. I sat up and listened.

Spring had finally arrived, with new promises. My social life was a dim memory, so I joined the program. I was assigned to a Filipino elementary school in a tiny mountain village on the island of Cebu. My host family lived next door to the school, and we introduced ourselves through Facebook.

I learned that my Filipino family consisted mostly of sisters. They  lived in a small bamboo house in the center of a hamlet called Salmeron. It was a community of little farms, and animals wandered everywhere.

The oldest of the sisters was a bright, charming young woman named Jenny. She did a good job of preparing me for the culture shock I would certainly experience. For weeks we were in touch about our differences, and also our common ground.

In late June I stepped off a small Chinese motorcycle to meet my eager new family, and I saw Jenny for the first time. She was a heavenly vision, a petite whisper of beauty...followed by a little goat.

The school year in Cebu begins in June, after the hot, dry season has ended. It had been an abnormally dry year, and the village hadn't seen a drop of rain in almost two months.  The reservoir that supplied Salmeron was too low to send water to the top of the mountain. Village homes had been without running water for more than a week when I appeared.

In America, a situation like this would be a catastrophe! 

But I learned quickly that Filipinos are survivors. There was a working water spigot two kilometers away, so nobody complained. They just walked every day to fetch their water.

Weary young mommies followed by toddlers struggled in the sun with buckets twice a day to bring home their precious liquid. Teenagers took the opportunity to drive motorcycles and fill water cans. And when it was time to bathe, families gathered towels, soap and shampoo to walk together and wash themselves, in their clothes, by the side of the road.

When the village water faucets had been dry for weeks, I asked Jenny about the severity of the problem.

"Can the corn survive, Jenny? You must be worried. Will your farm be OK?"

She took a deep breath before she answered. "We'll harvest some, but not much. Maybe enough to feed our animals, but there will be no extra food to sell. Many farmers will have to buy animal feed because they can't grow their own. The mango trees have no fruit at all this year.  Things don't look good, amigo."

It didn't seem fair. Next year, Salmeron's villagers would have less to eat because of this drought. But I never heard a complaint. Jenny's family always offered good meal, with lots of laughter and plenty of rice and smiles.

Everyone in the village treated me as if I was born here. In their eyes, I wasn't a teacher from New York. I was part of their family. I was their tall and pale Americano brother.

And I was feeling something that I hadn't felt in a long time. When Jenny was across the room, I watched everything she did. Every perfect move. And when she was gone, I missed her.

After school dismissed one Friday, clouds gathered along the ridge on the western side of the village. Everyone had been teased by dark clouds before, and they went about their business. But I stood on the porch and watched closely as the charcoal clouds approached. The air had a scent that meant a storm was approaching.

Kids played in the street, as always. Two of Jenny's sisters sat with me on the porch. Suddenly, we heard a bang on the corrugated steel roof, like a stone had hit it. Two more came right afterward.

Marie, the older girl, jumped out of her chair and shrieked, "RAIN!  This is it, amigo!"

Dust exploded where raindrops as big as geckos hit the ground. Within seconds a deluge had enveloped Salmeron. Small streams of water appeared. Nothing was dry anymore. Water flowed everywhere.

I instinctively moved back from the edge of the porch to stay dry. Marie and Julie, younger and more adventurous, joined other kids already in the street. They became part of the storm, dancing wildly in the raindrops. Overcome by joy, they didn't think before running into the street to dance.  "Come on, Kevin, dance with us!  It's only water!"

I could do nothing but admire them all. "No thanks.  I'll take pictures."