hermanajuli

I have been repeatedly invited to join an outreach project out of town but because of the toxic schedule, I would always politely decline.

Last December I was asked again.

“Would you want to join us on our next outreach coming this January?”

“I will request a vacation leave if it is granted, count me in.”

Although I have plans to travel alone, January is my birth month,  it was weirdly fine to cancel it.

We rode a bus, full of volunteers, and travelled 9 hours on the road to reach the site.

It was uphill where dirt looks a little bit yellow and some of the homes are still built with bamboo and nipa. Ventilation is alarmingly well, with almost no solid walls to protect them from angry storms but maybe, the trees did.

They have a communal television to watch Pilipino movies at night and a church helping them to get water, electricity and livelihood. Their honey is stunningly delectable. You can smell it while pouring it on your afternoon tea.

Children roll over mud and are bare feet. 1-month-old babies are snuggly dressed in a loose shirt with minimal to no protection at all.

“So the cold never bother you little one, may you grow up strong and resilient.”

Life seems to be very slow. I would often wake up early in the morning and before I knew it the whole day was gone. There, as we were sitting under the tree preparing name tags for the kids time seems to tick slowly until 1 pm hits.  We are ready to roll.

We played.

Gave what we could.

I accompanied a little girl who can’t seem to carry all her school supplies to her home. It was a humble hut. She was happy.

Many of the girls in their tribe marry at the age of 12. The one-month-old child I was telling you, his mother was sixteen.

I can’t help but look at her and think, so how old will you bare yours?

Will you marry because you were madly in love or because it was a social obligation?

I  was there to help for a day, and the congregation helping them has been there for years and the culture of having children as early as one could to suffice the family needs is very intact.

We camped when night comes.

We ate dinner together, deciphered on how on earth are we gonna take a bath and where to sleep.

As darkness grew deeper, waves of laughter cracked while playing games. They were seated in a silver plastic blanket they call the silver lining. We exchanged stories of our lives and I agreed to be interrogated in exchange for brewed coffee.

There were little to no stars that night but my heart was warm. Maybe it was the people I am with.

We started as strangers and departed as friends.

I wonder if I’ll be on the next stride of P200.

Video?

Click. You fool.