Culture Shock

When I hear the phrase "culture shock" I tend to think of what happens when someone first arrives in a strange place.  It's that in-your-face moment when you see, hear and smell things that are truly foreign to your senses.  Well that definition surely does have its place, but there is another version of culture shock which is a little less obvious -- in fact it's down right sneaky!

I've been here for just a little over two weeks now. Not very long in the grand scheme of things, but in the past 24 hours I was hit with a second wave of culture shock.  At first it seemed like a bout of depression or anxiety.  I've had experience with this in the past, so I have a rather good idea of when depression is rearing its ugly head.  I also thought perhaps it was a touch of home-sickness, which could actually be an element of culture shock.  Let me explain how this all came about.

Chicken adobo

I went to bed on Wednesday night at a reasonable time -- I had worked online finishing up one of my writing assignments for my personal employment.  I set the alarm for 6:00 AM and fell right to sleep.  I woke up just before the alarm, which tells me that I've gotten acclimated to the 15 hour difference in time between here and Albuquerque.  When I woke up I was exhausted.  Even though I had slept the whole night, I felt like I hadn't slept at all. I pushed through the day, working with the kids and teachers at Ichtus Christian Academy.  I went back "home" to my hotel and took a power nap.  I joined my "host" family for dinner at 6:00 PM, which was a wonderfully prepared chicken adobo.  I learned a secret about cooking adobo -- I might share it, I might not.  Anyway, as I am eating this wonderful food, all I could think of was, "what I'd really like to have is a heaping helping of mashed potatoes and gravy!"  You know, the kind of serving you have at Thanksgiving when the diet is thrown out the window and you just enjoy yourself.

My humble bathroom --  the shower doesn't
work, as there isn't enough water pressure.

I went to bed that night with thoughts of traveling from Ubay to Tagbilaran.  I will be visiting Pastor Jul Castellano for church on Sunday in Tubigon, which is about an hour from Tagbilaran.  I had some immigration business to attend to before my visa expired, and the only office on Bohol is in Tagbilaran.   So I decided to combine my trip and take care of both visits in the same journey.  Anyway, I woke up that morning feeling terrible. I wasn't sick as in having the flu or anything like that, but I sure didn't feel well.  I drug myself out of bed and forced myself into the bathroom where I shaved and got ready for my "shower".  If I've explained this before, forgive me as I repeat myself.  My shower here consists of a bucket of cold water and a long handled dipper, called a "tabo".  You just pour the water over your self and enjoy a fresh, invigorating wake-up.  This morning's shower was anything but invigorating.  In fact, it was down right miserable!  I hated it. I have entertained thoughts in the past about maybe living part time in the Philippines -- not that it will ever happen, but, you know, just saying.  My thoughts this morning sounded like,"if I ever move here I WILL have a hot water shower, and not this stupid bucket of cold water!"

A typical express van

I forced myself to get ready for my 2.5 hour ride to Tagbilaran.  The ride there is in an air conditioned 11 passenger van.  That doesn't sound too bad until you realize that they pack 16 or more people in there, depending on how they can squeeze them in. Children sit on parents laps, and the chicken-in-a-box (yes, it's alive) sits on the floor at someone's feet.  I was one of the first people in the van, so you know I got smashed against the wall with four other people in a seat designed for two.  Did I mention it was air conditioned?  Well it is, and it works fine going down hill, but when going up a grade or anytime the engine is having to strain, that wonderful "air con", as they call it, starts blowing hot, humid, outside air: smoke, exhaust, and anything else that might be in the air comes rushing in.

You thought I was joking - ha!

So in the midst of this I send  my wife a text message back in the States, telling her about  how I feel and that I might be battling a renewed case of clinical depression.  Of course, part way through our discussion, my prepaid cell phone runs out of prepaid "load" and I am cut off from the outside world.  My wife has no idea whether I'm okay or if I'm "wigging out".  And everyone in the van is talking in Cebuano, which I only understand a fraction of -- I had a good chat with the chicken though, as its clucking was much more understandable than the chatter of those around me.  And of course, an hour into the trip, people start falling asleep and my shoulder becomes the head rest for some lady whom I have never  met before and probably will never meet again.

I can't paint the picture for you well enough about the van ride itself.  I've told people about how vehicles have to dodge chickens that are crossing the road, and of course they always go to the "why did the chicken cross the road" joke . . .  but really, they are everywhere, darting back and forth across the road at every opportunity.  Add to that dogs, kids, adults, caraboa (water buffalo - okay, they don't dart), motorcycles and motorized vehicles of all sorts. All are vying for the same patch of asphalt.  The center line painted on the road is only a mere suggestion -- most vehicles have at least a third of their chassis straddling it.  The van driver is honking his horn -- not as in an angry tirade, but as in "I'm coming and you're stupid if you don't get out of my way".  I've determined that there are no stupid dogs in the Philippines.  If they aren't smart enough to get out of the way, than they will be dispatched rather swiftly and with little regard by the vehicle doing the dispatching.  I know that sounds cruel, but that's life in the third world -- just get over it.

This is common on every street in the Philippines

Somewhere along the way I put two and two together and realized that my biggest problem was a second wind of culture shock.  It isn't any one event or observation.  Each by itself is simple and easily dealt with.  It's when you have 50 or 60 rather peculiar occurrences all striking repeatedly -- over and over and over -- that the senses go into overload and the brain starts to manufacture all sorts of chemicals in an effort to cope with the signals that the senses are sending -- not that much different (and maybe no different) then when the brain is coping with stressors that cause depression in otherwise healthy human beings.

By the time I reached Tagbilaran I had regained control of my wits and was feeling reasonably "normal" again.  The lady beside me woke up and began apologizing profusely for having fallen asleep on the "kano's" shoulder, and the chicken had finally clucked itself to death or something as I didn't hear from it for quite a while (it revived as we pulled into Tagbilaran).  I found my hotel, which has a hot water shower and not a tabo or bucket of water in sight. I reloaded my cell phone and sent an explanatory message home.  I made it to the immigration office and within 30 minutes had secured my visa extension.  I visited a coffee shop which is run by an American and is the hang out for foreign "expats" (ex-patriots -- foreigners who now live in the Philippines) and had a good cup of coffee and some good conversation with a Joe from parts unknown.  I did some shopping for gifts to come home with (the women folk are taken care of, but the men and boys haven't garnered a thing yet) at the nearby mall, and then came back to my hotel for a meal and to just relax.

Cup of Jo restaurant -- the owner is second from left.

Okay, when I started this I didn't think I'd write quite this much.  But I hope somewhere in the story that someone reading this will have an appreciation of what probably all missionaries go through as they venture into foreign lands. Unlike a vacation, where the average person goes to enjoy some exotic location and is catered to at every step of the way, being thrown into living like the locals, at least in large part, is an experience that needs to be . . .well . . . experienced.  I'm not sure how else to say it.  I can write about it ad nauseam and still not capture the true essence of what it is like to live here -- but hopefully this has given you some sense or flavor of what it is like.  I hope I haven't put you off about thoughts of taking a trip like this.  Instead, I hope I've done something to help prepare you for it.  It's not all fun and games -- but as long as you are smart enough to get out of the middle of the road, I think you can survive it quite successfully and have some reward in the end.

So, until the next time -- Pag ayo-ayo!