#cadiao

November 30, 2013

Hi, I’m Britt and I’m a climate change specialist and child welfare professional. However, in my mind I like to think of myself as a big kid who enjoys getting her hands dirty, making real changes in the world that matter. I am part of the Green Warrior Recon Team with my fiancé Mark (aka Wombat) having arrived in the Philippines just over a week ago. After the devastation of Typhoon Yolanda/Haiyan, communities throughout the country were flattened and much of the damage was simply unquantifiable. Not only had the brave Pinoy people lost their homes and possessions but the long term outlook for their livelihoods, often based on agriculture and fishing, was looking pretty grim. We decided to jump on board with Steve as we could both see how Permaculture Aid could make a tangible impact in their recovery and create a more resilient community for the future.

Arriving in Barbaza, the physical signs of the aftermath was quite shocking. The road up to the mountains was lined with remnants of bamboo houses and school buildings. It looked like the gods had played monopoly with the town as some houses were completed wiped out whilst other remained reasonably in tact, even if they were just a few houses apart. The van played limbo underneath the fallen power-lines which were propped up by a few thin pieces of bamboo. We passed many trees with serious battle scars including a coconut stump that looked like a twizzle stick. I imagined a spinning explosion of coconuts hurling from the tree during the storm like canon balls. I was shocked at the amount of people smiling and waving at us with bright faces and I remembered that these communities had received barely any aid besides food drops from local groups. There was no sign of any international assistance which explains why they might have been so happy to see us. Despite this, I felt a powerful admiration for the Pinoy spirit, especially within the children we passed along who were all smiling as they shoveled materials off the road.

We arrived in Cadiao after dark and I could see little peering eyes in the darkness watching us while we ate dinner by candle light. The barangay (village) captain’s wife cooked up some rice for us and I whipped out some Veggie Stock to add some extra flavour. A great thing to always have on hand as a traveling vegan aid worker. The local children were very curious about the strange westerners coming to visit and watched intently like a reality tv show. Big Brother goes native! They are very shy and only spoke broken English so my greetings only received with bashful smiles in return. I look forward to getting to know them better over the coming days.

I awaken the next morning to the giggles and pit-patter of children running around the building. Wombat and I camped out in the empty room next to the main class in the elementary school. We can hear the sounds of little climbing feet scaling the massive tree that smashed through the roof during the typhoon to get a closer look at the sweaty visitors. I head to the shower/toilet which is behind a 1950’s looking curtain in the right hand corner of the main classroom. I am greeted by a green bucket with a plastic scooper next to the toilet in a small room perfectly sized for a 6 year old. I feel bad for Wombat who is 6 foot 3 and have a little laugh to myself picturing him squatting over the bucket to wash himself. Suddenly the compact bathrooms in Hong Kong don’t look so bad.

Whilst everyone was eating breakfast, I followed the children up the hill to the local village of Cadiao. At the top of the stairs, I was greeted by the beautiful Nava who welcomed me to their community. She spoke very good English and spoke with such a bubbly energy in her voice as she showed me around. She explained that the community had rebuilt some of the damaged houses after the typhoon but there were still many problems such as severe damage to food crops and fruit trees. I was lucky to catch her because she usually stays in another town where she goes to college during the week. A privilege of a very lucky few since college fees are almost 2500 pesos per month plus 50 pesos a day on average. Many of these families in Barbaza live on less than 5000 pesos a month which is easily swallowed up in school fees especially considering the average family has 5 children. I got the impression that these communities had severe financial problems before the typhoon with all their funds being directed to education or food production. Like most third world countries, agricultural chemicals were very expensive too and kept the farmers just above debt. A backyard garden approximately 4x3m I was shown in the village cost roughly 500 pesos per month just for the pesticides. Not including the cost of hybrids seeds, fertilizers and other inputs. I saw a great opportunity for permaculture to propose a few easy fixes here which could potentially raise the livelihoods of the whole community.

The kids guided us to the site where the eco lodge used to stand along the dirt track. Along the way, trees were uprooted a fell across the path creating new climbing apparatus for the children. Fallen power lines lay across the trees and the kids are even using one as a flying fox before Roli tells them off. I chuckle thinking about the overprotective parents I know back in Australia having a heart attack. Laughter could be heard from river below as my wild playmates dove fully clothed into the creek. After a refreshing dip, they scaled the mountain to the eco lodge which looked like the end of a game of pick-up-sticks. Steve began to explain to potential for permaculture to rebuild the site which would start with a big clean up of all the plastic and unwanted materials. We grabbed a bag and started the plastic patrol with the children to show them how quick it can be done with the power of kid energy. The kids also took me out the back to an area where I could see the tree house perched like a bird’s nest amongst the chaos. The only thing that seemed to survive the storm was the old toilet with panoramic view of the fallen forest. I know what I’ll be hanging on to next typhoon.

After another dip, the young ones kidnap Wombat and me, taking us on ‘kid only’ track via rice paddies and rock faces to the next barangay. ‘Lets go!’, is one of the few English phrases known to the children so the whole line of them skip along yelling it to us. We stop at a small clearing with a few houses and Wombat smiles at me as he notices a little boy picking up plastic rubbish around the area like we showed him at the ecolodge. Suddenly the other children began filling a bag of discarded potato chips with rubbish which encouraged an older women to join in. It filled me with such joy to see such an instant change in their attitude towards plastic waste. This is why I love working with children!

At the end of the trail, I spot a monstrous old Banyan tree that looked like the Home Tree from Avatar. Beck and I called over the troops and headed down the rocky path. As the rest of the children marched down the road with enthusiasm, one young boy was walking the other direction carrying a huge bag of aid rice on his shoulder up to the mountain community. No play time for him, another downside of aid dependence. We climbed its strong limbs and the kids began to laugh with me as their shyness wore off. I could feel myself falling in love with this place and these kids who were already starting to connect with me. I felt excited about giving these kids a better future with abundant food, security and resilience within a thriving ecology. Better still, the whole world would look up to them as the next green leaders who saved the planet with their own hands.

Till our next adventure,

Britt

Each morning in the village of Cadaio, I awake to some rooster crowing nearby. Its around 5 am and still dark. I exit my orange tent to stare into the universe of stars above the valley. The sacred mountain above begins to glow in the dawn’s first light. What a place this must have been before the colonization of the Philippines.

I make my way down the narrow path to the wild river below for my morning swim. This is one of the few rivers I know where it is safe to swim and drink simultaneously. I intend to help it stay that way…

It's 9 am and our team makes its way up the track to the destroyed mountaineering lodge. I can hear people working already clearing the debris. We have made a deal with the surrounding communities to help restore the lodge and create a new eco-education version of the lodge as an upgrade.

I see a heap of smoke pouring from the rear of the lodge area. The villagers are burning the leaves, fronds and branches lying everywhere. Wombat scrambles up next to me and says, "They burning everything, we got to stop them!” I hold him back. “Mate, you cant just stop this energy, you have to manage it.” He backs off to see what I’m going to do.

I grab Roli, our cultural guide and translator. I get him to call the people into the clearing. We pull most of the organic matter out of the fire. Roli translates as I explain that this organic matter is useful. I also explain there was a landslide on the riverside of the ravine and this organic matter would work to help hold the slope together instead of burning it. Wombat shows how to mulch the gardens in the clearing like a mime artist while I talk. We are like a theatre team. Soon I have various groups throwing the non-useful organic materials off the cliff in front of the lodge creating a kind of post destruction mulch. Many of the timbers are termite riddled, so over the cliff they go.

Brittany rounds up the 20 or so children and shows them she wants all the plastic picked up and heaped in a pile. Off they go, smiles on their faces grabbing every skerrick of plastic in sight.

The roofing iron is piled in one spot; the big timbers are stacked in another. Some old women are recovering clothing items and folding them neatly in another stack. Our teams pick apart the smashed tangled heaps that were once buildings. I look at the ground. An Australian health and safety inspector would have a heart attack! Huge nails stick up out of broken wood bits everywhere. The kids run past wearing only flip flops, dodging the rusty nails without batting an eye. The adults stagger past stepping around the hazards carrying armloads of waste to throw off the cliff face. I smile, thinking the best safety is awareness.

For several hours we wade through the mess and slowly order becomes visible out of the chaos. The pathways open up and clearings are uncovered. It’s actually a very nicely sited location. No time to gawk at the scenery, I work like a Trojan to show the villagers white men can work too. Many have never seen a white guy up close. Our languages maybe different but the language of good hard work is a common one. I get heaps of smiles as we pass each other on the way back from the cliff face.

Yam Yam, the elder’s son who was sad and depressed looking when we arrived is amazed how fast the crew is making progress. I see him begin to smile. That’s a good thing. Yam Yam’s father started this loge many years ago and helped the villagers in many ways over the years. The father, Babe, is waiting in San Jose, a few hours away. He recently became ill but wants to return. Yam Yam’s had instructions to clean the damage up and prepare lodgings for the old man. It now looks feasible. Yam Yam's stress level is abating rapidly.

We go nonstop for over 4 hours until I read the energy level is flagging. It’s hot and the work is difficult so many people are slowing down and keeping to the shade. I know its better to manage the finish of the days work than to let people slip away, so I get Roli to call everybody into the clearing which is much bigger than before.

“Form a circle, form a circle!” I call, and Roli yells the translation. Some speak English but most speak their own local dialect, which sounds a bit like Indonesian.

I do a rough count and see we have the same as what we started with, no runaways. That’s a good sign for me for future projects. These dudes can work!

I thank them for the day’s efforts and tell them I’m happy to work with such diligent people. Nothing is impossible with a group like this that can pull together to complete a job. I can see also they enjoyed the camaraderie of the group effort. We all feel something good just happened. It’s a new beginning.

--- 

I’m in the mayor’s office. It’s the only part of the municipality building that has air-conditioning. Nice and cool. Beck and I are chatting with the agricultural officer, Juan, and the organic farming extension officer, Mara. Both are so happy to meet us and warm to our project immediately. Juan tells us that the mayor is stressed because the municipality is paying for the aid packages downstairs and there is no other assistance coming in from outside the municipality. Funds earmarked for other projects are being diverted to the “calamity packs” and they are almost out of money. I’m also told the municipal staff are seeing behavioural changes in the people where they deliver the packs. She describes their behaviour as people acting like rats. They scramble and push each other to get the food and some of the staff are getting scared.

I casually tell them it’s going to get worse. I’ve seen it many times before, on other projects I’ve worked on. Eventually it will lead to total aid dependency. The alternative is permaculture aid and teaching the people to become self-reliant. Juan and Mara want to hear more. They tell me they will convince the mayor our ideas have merit.

Mara jumps into our vehicle and we move onto the highway on our way to see an organic farm. Many smashed houses and bent power poles show the force of nature when it’s having a temper tantrum.

The power lines are being repaired meter by meter. Its just over 3 weeks since the storm and some areas still look like it happened yesterday. As we pull up outside the organic farm I see ruined houses and bent outbuildings and a heap of felled coconut trees lying on top of each other. Once this small farm must have been a beautiful model of organic agriculture. Yolanda didn’t spare it though. It’s going to need a lot of work.

We meet the farmer who is an electrical engineer on his day job. He explains that organic farming is his passion. I see plastic mulch and straight raised beds. In my minds eye, I see a new productive permaculture version of this place. The farmer and I agree to work together when I return. I promise to bring non-hybrid seeds, which he has never heard of. This place is begging for permaculture!

Next stop, an organic seedling producer. He speaks English well. I see his large square trays with thumb sized pots made from a banana leaf.  Mara tells me he can produce 3,000 seedlings per day in the worm castings he uses as potting mix. Cool! I see a small pink coloured seed poking from the pots centre. It’s a sure sign he is using hybrid seed varieties dipped in a fungicide. Again, another organic worker that’s never heard of non-hybrid seed. This is going to change.

Back at the mayors office I see an ugly park in front of the mayor’s office with a half destroyed building in one corner. The civic central meeting hall structure is a naked twisted mass where a high tin roof was once. In its place I see a vision in my head of a community garden and healthy food café. The dilapidated concrete children’s playground is totally devoid of children. There is an iron pipe climbing gym with red peeling paint. Empty. Who’d play on that crap?!? The busted bent steel building looks like more fun. The park has a statue of some guy pointing off into the distance…maybe he’s trying to tell the people something is wrong.

I suggest my idea to Mara. It’s a radical idea I say. A community gardening club right in front of the municipal office. A Perma Club! Let's train the householders of Barbaza in home gardening and self-sufficiency there. She raises an eyebrow and then smiles a wicked grin. Perhaps she will suggest such a proposal to the mayor… I suggest the same thing to Juan later on. He grins too. Before the typhoon these people would have laughed at such a plan. After the wrath of Yolanda and dwindling food supplies, such an idea may just float.

Back at our peaceful camp in the mountains I arrive to see Brittany doing art with the kids. She has torn all the pages out of her notebook and each page has a beautiful drawing of a village scene from each of the 20 or so school kids attending the one room school. No longer shy, the little children chatter to Brittany in faltering English. I see a beautiful bond forming.