Some Call it Paradise

green mangoes as my farewell gift

the boat that ferried us to the island

looking for dolphins…

our deck hands

walking onto the beach

angie

angie and angie

alona

making bracelets for threads of hope

bracelets

snorkelers

fresh from the ocean, covered in sea salt

fresh tuna

alona and i

alona and two of her sisters

banana boats and bathing beauties

cito and i

tourist shopping

i may sell this as a postcard

crowding the doorway at pastor al’s house, peeking in at the foreigner

it was a jungle out there

gabriella

i swear there were monkeys in these trees … look closely

a couple dolls

the community

sunset over the ocean

me (with espresso) and alona

dinner at an italian restaurant, right on the sand

cito teaching tagalog after church service

pastor al, at church

I am not used to swimming in the Pacific Ocean without being completely numb first. But on the white beaches of Puerto Galera, the water is perfect, and apparently, many agree with me. The small island was packed full of tourists – mostly Filipinos from Manila escaping the pollution and noise to breathe deeply and soak their skin in salt water. But there were many white folks too - Americans, Europeans, Australians – and mostly men. I saw mostly older white men, accompanied by Filipinas, and one of them made me nauseated.

It looked like he had just washed up the beach. He was a crisp red from the sun and strolled up to a cluster of Filipino women making bracelets under the shade of palm trees. I was standing there, buying some of their bracelets when he approached the women, rubbing his bare stomach and looking us all over. Grinning from ear to ear, he asked which of the ladies was the best at giving a massage. One or two turned his direction and told him he’d have to wait a minute, they were helping me. He grabbed the nearest lady within arms reach, squeezed her shoulders and mockingly said that he didn’t have a minute to wait. I just stared at him; then looked down at the hundreds of bracelets the ladies were displaying within inches of my face, and then I looked at my own white skin and wanted to distance myself from this other brash American.

As I walked away, I thought about which one of the ladies would be the one to have the unpleasant job of massaging his sun-burnt skin. And I prayed that he wouldn’t ask her for sex, tempting her with the prospect of earning much-needed cash in such a deplorable arrangement. Prostitution is common on the tourist islands of the Philippines where businessmen from other parts of Asia and abroad come for a good time.

That is one reason for Threads of Hope, a ministry started by an American missionary to provide families in Puerto Galera with the means to earn an income by making and selling gorgeous bracelets. I spent the weekend at Puerto Galera, where I met Alona. She is 26, just my age, and pretty much runs the bracelet-making operation. She also rises at 4 a.m. to prepare food for her parents and siblings and till the family’s garden. She has just completed elementary school and is hoping to start high school in the fall. Alona wasn’t able to be educated at a normal rate because of her commitment to her family and helping to earn money at a young age. We swam and swam together in the ocean and took long walks in the sand. She spoke only a little English, but we got along so well despite the language barrier. She took me through the tourist shops and helped me get good bargains on jewelry and other souvenirs.

One of our stops was under the palm trees where the ladies sat making the bracelets. The ladies swarmed around me, holding up their wares and Alona explained to me that they are all licensed masseuses as well. One of them spoke surprisingly good English - revealing her frequent dealings with foreigners. We conversed casually about her business, and then I said that this island was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been … like paradise, I said, heaven on earth.

And she looked at me and said, to you this is paradise. And I said, but you must love this place, you sit in the shade of a palm tree and listen to the ocean all day … and then I stopped myself because I realized this island represented long days to her - hard, hard work, waiting for foreigners to come her way, hoping they’ll open their wallets, dreading what they may ask her to do in exchange. In a quiet, respectful way, she made it clear Puerto Galera was not her idea of paradise, and I regretted my insensitivity.

What a clash of cultures here on the island! To those who live at Puerto Galera, life means struggling everyday to earn money, hawking their wares til they are hoarse and their brown skin turns even darker under the long hours in the sun. Alona rubbed my arms at least five times during the day as we shopped together – she would hold up dresses and swimming suits and tell me they would look so beautiful with my skin color. She said her skin was too dark, that no Filipino wants such dark skin. I tried to tell her how beautiful it was, because I truly meant that. And because I knew it meant she is not afraid of hard work, willing to sacrifice hours in her family’s garden instead of going to school and building her own career. I have much to learn from her.