A photo shoot in San Vincente

San Vincente is the second slum F has ever set foot in. The first was a short walk away from his resort in Venezuela. In the market there, you could score a bargain on a Poly Station. Not sure if it was compatible with Play Station games though. On one of his first days in the Philippines, F took photographs San Vincente.

The entrance gate to San Vincente

In politically correct terms, San Vincente is an "informal urban settlement". It's a lively hub of activity a block and a half from our current home in UP Village. Vendors hawk their wares and street food. Small sari-sari shops line the main road selling everything from rice, sachets of Datu vinegar, fresh fish and buko (fresh coconut) to hair clips, cell phone covers and secondhand clothes. Haircuts at the barber are a mere 50 pesos (PhP); pedicures will cost you slightly more. There's a laundry shop where the women will wash, dry and fold your clothes for 25 PhP a kilo.

Sari-sari shop

Just outside the gate separating San Vincente from UP Village, tricycle drivers sneak in catnaps between ferrying customers along Maginhawa Street to Philcoa. The drivers are mostly young men and very friendly. Some blare music from old radios, probably scrounged from recycled parts. The stench of dirty diesel 2-stroke engines wafts through the air.

Tricycle drivers

On the side of the street that receives the most shade are two wire mesh cages. Tethered to each is a handsome rooster. The black and white one is scrawny and shy. His counterpart is much more regal looking with his rich brown, black and green plumes and his slow and deliberate strutting. Both are being groomed as cock fighters.

Rooster on the bridge

The "residential area" is located adjacent to University Avenue. Houses are constructed out of corrugated tin, old pieces of plywood, tarpaulins, and other makeshift building material. There's electricity; some houses have lights, televisions, or even an imitation Play Station. It's cramped. Clothes lines stretch between roofs and trees, connecting neighbours in the daily airing of (previously) dirty laundry.

Laundry hanging out to dry

Everywhere there are children. Running. Skipping. Playing marbles. Laughing. Yelling. Shooting baskets. Carrying school books. Carrying younger children. Fetching this or that for an adult. Drinking soda from a plastic bag. Calling out to the "Americanos". Sneaking looks at the baby "doll".

Children walking to school

A small stream runs through San Vincente. It reeks of urine, garbage and rotting leaves. The stream forks somewhere between the footbridge and the shanties. Right now, there's a mere trickle of water, but whenever a typhoon rolls into Manila the trickle swells and swells and swells. It rises above all the houses, forcing residents into the safety of the second floor of the barangay hall.

San Vincente is a part of our daily lives. We hear the sounds of roosters at dawn (and every other time of day). I buy fresh buko on my way back from morning runs at UP. We stop and chat with the vendors on our way to and from the university. We bring our laundry to the laundry shop.* Someday (I hope), F or I will join the boys in a game of basketball. I chat with other young moms about their babies.

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The cost of these pictures is 1,000 PhP - not because San Vincente residents demanded money in exchange for being photographed. In fact, many people excitedly asked him to take their picture. No, the fee was an unfortunate accident for F, and a lucky find for the person who found the crisp, bank-machine-ironed bill. From now on, cameras and loose bills will not share the same pocket.


* Well, everything but A's diapers, but more about our daily routine in another post.

The fourth “M”

This blog chronicles the journey (and tangents) of my PhD.

It begins in Montreal, where I am a student in the Université de Montréal’s geography department. Almost immediately it jumps to a tiny street in Quezon City called Mayumi. Mayumi was my home base for my three month exploratory field season in the Philippines in 2010. Then, it returns to Montreal for coursework and comprehensive assessments (neither of which receive much space on these pages). The third “M” refers to an intensive two-month Tagalog (Filipino) language course in Madison, Wisconsin.

Thus we arrive at the fourth “M”: motherhood.

On many occasions, I have been told that there is never a “good time” to have kids. This is particularly true for academics – not as an undergraduate or graduate student (time and financial constraints), not as a post-doc (similar constraints as students), not as a young prof trying to balance a research programme, teaching requirements and administrative duties. The gap in publications that often accompanies parental leave isn’t always looked upon favourably in tenure applications.

And so, for someone (hopefully) headed on a professorial track, the question is not when to have a family but rather how to make it work.

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Four months ago my husband and I became parents. Thus far, it has been an exhilarating experience.

Motherhood is also changing various dimensions of my PhD, in particular the dynamics of my field research. In this field season, for example, I’m joined by my husband and daughter. While they won’t accompany me to every meeting, interview and event, they will be integral parts of the research process. I anticipate that I will be treated differently, and perhaps privy to different kinds of insights, when people see me as a mother, in addition to being a western woman researcher. Caring for an infant also means that the pace of research is slowed. Plus, it's more challenging to act spontaneously and chase down leads at a moment's notice. 

On a personal level, I'm thrilled to share the highs and lows of new experiences with loved ones in person, and not just via Skype, email and blogs. 

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And so I enter my main field season with fresh eyes and ears, attuned not only to things relevant to my research project, but also to things relevant to family life.

I invite you to follow along, and to comment on things that intrigue, surprise or provoke you.

Dear Marie

One of my mentors passed away yesterday. I met Marie Aminata Khan on my first day of work at the Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) back in 2007. Over the years, we grew to be very good friends. She nurtured my passion for gender issues and has been a major champion for my doctoral pursuits. Losing a dear friend is a new experience for me, one I am unsure of how to navigate. So, I began by writing her a letter, a (slightly) edited version of which appears below. 


13 December. 2011

Dear Marie,

It's impossible to formulate words expressing what I feel right now. N told me that you'd died, only yesterday after falling ill on your way to South Africa for the climate change conference (UNFCCC COP). But in my mind, you remain vibrant, full of life, smiling that dazzling smile of yours, & thinking of how to slip in an astute comment or two about gender into the conversation.

I've always admired the mentorship role you assume to help young CBD staff navigate their way. You open doors & take chances, shining the light on others. Whenever I take newbies out to play shinny hockey at one of Montreal's outdoor rinks, I tell them that everyone is on a level playing field rink. The best, most skilled players go out of their way to make even the shakiest skater look like Sydney Crosby. The stars work hard so that the beginners can make great plays; they set them up with a perfect pass or protect them from goons on the opposing team. They don't hog the puck or show off themselves. But everyone else on the ice knows they're great; everyone wants to share the ice with them because they bring everyone to a higher level (all while having fun). These star players work to enhance other people's strengths. To me, you're one of those star players. There are so many examples I could give of the opportunities you gave me to contribute to initiatives and to pursue my passion for gender during my stint at the CBD.

You respected everyone as an unique individual with talents. You always make time for others, even when your office door is closed and you're furiously working to meet a tight deadline. You were never stingy with feedback, always delivering it with critical, thoughtful and eloquent poise. You go out of your way to help others, go to bat for the principles and the people that you believe in, even (and perhaps especially) when it is a steep upward battle. Thank you.

I admire the vitality, the life you bring to everything you do, to everywhere you go. Remember dancing in the hotel bar in Bonn at the end of the CBD COP-9? Or the many parties that you graciously hosted at your apartment(s)? So much delicious food & drink. A relaxing ambiance that puts everyone at ease. Great music. Best of all, stimulating conversation and company.

Do you remember all of the advice you (lovingly) gave me over the years? On relationships, jobs, professional development, the UN, family life, African jewelry? About gender, development, project implementation? And when I told you I was engaged ... to never give up on a career or rely solely on a man for money?

And you listened too. You're an excellent and astute listener. Perhaps that is why people love you so much and trust you. Good listeners are difficult to find, especially those who genuinely care.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention your extraordinary beauty (your physical beauty - I think it's already clear I think you are an extraordinarily beautiful person on the inside). When I first arrived at CBD, S, G and I were chatting. Somehow it came up that we were in unanimous agreement that you were the most stunning person at the office. We were later stunned to discover that you were over 40! How you manage to always look like you stepped off the cover of Vogue  is beyond me.

Marie, I will miss you very, very dearly - as I am sure many, many other people will too. The light and laughter you bring into any room you enter is a quality possessed by very few individuals. I will miss your love of life, your passion for gender equality, your drive to nurture the growth of others and your ceaseless ability to live each day as if it were your last. You bring joy and inspiration to so many people, especially to me.

My condolences to your family, friends and colleagues.

Yours,
chris



There are several official tributes to Marie on the CBD and the Global Environment Facility websites. This unofficial one, penned by a colleague, beautifully captures Marie.
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In one sense I consider myself lucky. On my last day at the CBD I had left notes for my colleagues, expressing my gratitude for what they had taught me. My letter to Marie was quite long and heartfelt, so at least she knew how special she was to me.

Solar bottles light up the homes of poor Filipinos

Here's an example of a simple and inexpensive innovation that improves the quality of life of people living in impoverished conditions. Coke bottles, water and people looking for work are in ample supply in the Philippines.

Sandhill cranes and plastic pink flamingos

Full disclosure: I like birds. I mean, I really like birds.

As in, I travel with a pair of binoculars and a bird book, am easily distracted by bird songs and calls and often walk with my eyes scouring the treetops for signs of avian life.

As in, I spent the summers of my undergrad chasing songbirds through the woods across Canada and the USA.

As in, the first book I purchase before traveling to a new country is a bird guide. (The Philippines was rather challenging because the country has so many endemic birds and the only complete book is very expensive and is also the size of a 1990s telephone books ... not exactly conducive to slipping into a backpack for a weekend trip.)

Thus ends the preamble to this story.

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Wednesday morning at the crack of dawn. Six am. The sun has been up for a while now, beating down on the campus track where a dozen or so runners are lacing up their shoes. Some are stretching out tight hamstrings and quads, others are gulping down Gatorade. No coffee for this crew pre-workout. Yet others are still trying to wake up.

The hour-long workout passes quickly, albeit not without the addictive pain and breathlessness that characterises track workouts. Running intervals with a group makes the time and the laps fly by. The pre-determined workout eliminates the need for conscious thought. Runners need only breathe and put one foot in front of the other. Fast. Sometimes very very fast.

During the endorphin-filled cool-down someone spots a pair of leggy creatures moving purposefully along the edge of the soccer pitch just opposite the track. When they raise up their heads, they stand chest-high. The scarlet plumes above their bills catch the sun's rays, giving the creatures a regal aura. They make no sound. Another runner identifies the birds as Sandhill cranes. I think they're spectacular.

I make a mental note to bring my camera to next track practice.

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For six weeks, I tried unsuccessfully to photograph the "track cranes". The camera was nearly always in my bag. But, if I had my camera, they were nowhere to be found. On the days that I'd left the camera at home, the pair would be strolling along the soccer pitch or eating the peanuts someone had left for them outside the nearby Cereal Crops Research Unit.

One Sunday afternoon, to my surprise and delight, the birds, the camera and I found ourselves together at the Cereal Crops Research Unit. The lighting was not great, but I was not about to miss out on this opportunity. Here are some of the photographs.

  

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Post-script: Other birds you are likely to see in Madison and the surrounding areas include: Northern cardinal, house sparrow, mourning dove, cedar waxwing, Baltimore oriole, herring gull, bald eagle, turkey vulture, osprey, American goldfinch, American crow, raven, European starling, purple finch, tree swallow, nuthatches, blue jay, American robin ... and plastic pink flamingos.

The official bird of the city of Madison is the plastic pink flamingo. Back in 2009, city councilors voted in favour of adopting this unusual avian symbol to represent the city. This article has a short video explaining how this quirk came to pass.

Language learning through song

Music is a great tool for learning a new language - whether you can or cannot carry a tune. You get a feel for the rhythm of the language and word pronunciation. It can be easier to sing a song than to read aloud. When the song becomes an earworm and you can't get it out of your head, you begin subconsciously (and likely involuntarily) acquiring new vocabulary.

In my beginner Tagalog classes, we've been nurturing our musical talents. We listen to simple (slow-ish) songs, fill in the blanks of an incomplete set of lyrics, translate them into English (both word-for-word and by phrase), and practice many times. Here is a sample of the ones we have learned in class.





Biyahe Tayo! was made in the early 1990s as a shout-out to Filipino emigrants to come back and visit the Philippines. Twenty-one artists for Philippines Tourism contributed to the song. During my exploratory field season last year I experienced / visited roughly half of the places and activities they mention / show.



Apo Hiking Society's Pumapatak na naman ang ulan should sound familiar. The song is similar to Raindrops are falling on head. The members of Apo Hiking Society began their musical partnership at Ateneo de Manila High School, and continued making music together during their years at Ateneo de Manila University. The group became popular in the 1970s and are known for their humour and political outspokenness as well their their music.



Bahay kubo is a song about all the vegetables and legumes that you would grow in your garden. A bahay kubo is a traditional nipa hut (nipa is a kind of palm).

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While yours truly has been tactfully told to avoid singing outside the shower, I am convinced that exceptions can and should be made when learning a new language. And so, if your ears happen across a not-so-melodic version of these or other Filipino songs, please make a small allowance. I am merely practising my limited repertoire of Filipino songs so that my spoken Tagalog will improve.

Montreal to Mayumi to Madison

My studies have taken me away from Montreal yet again, this time to the Madison, Wisconsin. I'm here to learn Tagalog (or Filipino), one of the main languages spoken in the Philippines. Tagalog was originally spoken by people living on the island of Luzon. The word "Tagalog" come from "taga ilog", which means "people of the river".

So why come to Madison when I live in one of Montreal's Filipino neighbourhoods? Why not just study with a language tutor or focus on language learning during my next field season? In a nutshell, it's because:

• learning languages is a big challenge for me and the discipline of a formal course is extremely helpful;
• the Centre for Southeast Asian Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison offers a special Southeast Asian Languages Summer Institute (SEASSI) that attracts scholars from other American universities, as well as scholars from foreign institutions;
• UW-M has an excellent collection of Southeast Asian library resources, which are not easily accessed in Canada (or even in Southeast Asian countries);
• SEASSI is a great opportunity to network with other students and professors studying Southeast Asia. 

I am under no illusions. An intensive two-month course will not make me proficient enough to conduct my research without a translator. Understanding the nuanced meanings of a spoken or written language  (often) takes years of dedicated (informal or formal) study. Learning vocabulary or grammar doesn't confer the knowledge required to decipher culturally-embedded expressions or (in)appropriate ways of asking questions and expressing ideas. The beginner language course will, however, make life a lot easier and more enjoyable during the next field season. And it will open doors. More importantly, it will show respect and facilitate more intimate connections with people.

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Having no background in linguistics or the history of language, I am limited in what I can say about languages in the Philippines. The nation's two official languages are Filipino and English, although there are dozens of other native languages spoken throughout the archipelago. I am unclear of the selection process (and politics) that led to Tagalog and not other languages being named the national language of the Philippines. In an effort to assuage any bitter feelings harboured by non-Tagalogs, government officials decided to call the national language "Filipino", even though it is essentially Tagalog.

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While my life here in Madison revolves around language classes, there is some time for other activities. I hope to share some of them here.