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"Everyone here is very aware while driving because anyone can
do anything anytime," Herr Doktor Haufmann drives wildly between three horse-drawn
carriages, makes a 90 degree left turn in front of a taxi and scatters a small group of
screaming pedestrians.
Filipinos love to drive and they do it
with gleeful abandon. Dr. Haufmann, director of the Marine Department of San Carlos
University at Cebu City joins in with deadly enthusiasm.
The everyday traffic is a carnival of colour and action. Bright red
and yellow enamels flash with chrome horses and eagles. A motorcycle with a side car zips
past loaded with seven people and a pig. A jeepney bus with 25 people sitting on top of
each other careens down a crowded street with giant chrome horns blaring; an angry war cry
answered left and right by screeching brakes, taunts, challenges and curses. Paper and
debris flutter behind, a squashed chicken and outraged owner all flash by in a riot of
colour, noise, and overpowering whiffs of decay.
The non-traffic scenery outside Dr. Haufmann's Mercedes is just as
colourful. One second I see a charming little thatched hut in the middle of a bright green
rice field and then an dilapidated factory choked with grime snaps into view followed by a
store with its windows completely lined with empty coke bottles, some tin roofed squalid
hovels, a brand new modern furniture store strangely transplanted from some San Diego
shopping mall.
Suddenly there is a solid roadblock of taxies, horsedrawn carriages,
trucks and jeepney busses all honking at once. Dr. Haufmann accelerates honking
wildly as we plunge into the thicket of cars.
"HA HAH!" He shrieks in his thick German accent, "Did
you see the fear in that man's eyes? He was frightened, yes?" I wonder if he is
talking about the guy who almost stood his car on end in the intersection, or maybe me, or
the Chinese student sitting next to me or Freddy who is in the front seat. We are going to
the local market to show the Chinese student (a budding Ichthyologist) the kinds of fishes
caught here in Cebu. Then we go to Dr. Haufmann's house for lunch.
The car skids to a stop on a layer of slimy garbage next to the
market area; a millimetre from a sleeping, very sick looking dog. Dr. Haufmann bounds out
of the car commenting, "I never let my wife drive anymore, she's too dangerous."
Frederique declines to go with Dr. Haufmann to see the fish display.
She hates the markets of the Philippines. When she goes shopping in them she wears her
little sea boots to keep the muck off her feet. She complains, too, about the beggars who
touch her and slobber on her hand unless she pays them off. She especially does not like
to be fingered by lepers who, of course, make it a point to try.
But the smell.... Ahh, the aroma of the Philippine market is
unsurpassed. Having spent some time in Taiwan, where the student was from, I knew the
effect all this must have on his delicate and sensitive training on food handling. While
Taiwan, itself, may be filthy, their markets are clean and food is handled with great
care.
The fish display is fascinating. There are reef fish of every
description in the stalls. Although some are a bit ripe, they represent an amazing
variety. They are also little. Teeny. I see little tropicals less than 2 inches long,
bashed and battered and very cheap. Some of these have been skillfully speared right
through the middle leaving a hole almost a big as the fish.
Actually, this is not much of a surprise. The reefs around here are
barren. Overpopulation. Overfishing. Have one you've got the other. The Filipinos take
anything and everything which is eatable off the reefs.
Dr. Haufmann leads the Taiwanese student to the back of the stalls.
He's got one arm around the kid's shoulder, the other is waving in the gamy air as he
expounds on something or other about fish. I follow along. Behind the fish stalls the
market opens onto what is obviously a yummy mix of community dump and public toilet. There
is this brick building on one side. On the far side of the dump is a river; more or less
of the same size, color and ripeness as Shit River in Subic Bay. The good doctor and his
charge stop at the edge of all this. As if on cue, a door in the brick building is kicked
open and a skinny middle-aged guy in baggy pants comes staggering out holding a big block
of mudcolored ice. A medley of colorful fishes of small size are imbedded haphazardly in
the ice.
The man plops the icefishcake down on the edge of Slime River and
proceeds to urinate on it. With what is obviously practiced skill, he neatly slices the
ice cake into two halves with copious dark yellow urine. He hefts the two chunks and
saunters off towards the fish stalls.
Our Taiwanese friend has fainted. Dr. Haufmann drags him toward me
chortling happily. "Ahhhh, they are so delicate. They always turn a little green when
I bring them here." I got hold of one limp arm and together we start back to the car.
My friend the doktor is very pleased with himself as this is the first time one of his
visiting fish experts had actually fainted.
After a perilous ride to Dr. Haufmann's house for lunch (The
Taiwanese student went straight to his room. We never saw him again), we are driven back
to the boat. Naturally we would never, in the Philippines, have left Moira unguarded, even
though it was tied to the Custom's wharf. Dr. Haufmann loaned us one of his personal house
guards, complete with shotgun, to sit on the wharf and watch the boat. When we come back
it is only three hours before curfew. Cheeco, Dr. Haufmann's guard, is sitting on the edge
of the dock with a friend his cousin Bruno. Bruno is very friendly.
"Do you like Cebu?" he asks as we stand on the edge of the
dock with them. "You know, I really envy you this fine boat." He says.
"Would you believe it? I happen to be a sea man myself. Yes, with papers, too. Three
years ago I worked for the Sweet Line. The Moslems of Mindanao chartered the vessel to go
to Saudi Arabia. We stopped at Calcutta. It is not so nice there. Many beggars. And,"
he pats his pocket meaningfully, "You have to watch out for thieves!"
Actually, I'm doing just that. Bruno's patter is too grandiose.
Fake. His toothy grin brings back a conversation I had on a bus to Manila with a stranger.
I commented how pleasant it was to see so many people smiling in the villages as the bus
hurried past. The man, a well dressed, middle aged Filipino, replied, "Ahh yes,
that's true. But you must not make the mistake of thinking that just because a man smiles
he is happy."
"A sign of poverty, you know" Bruno goes on. "When
people are poor they do not mind taking another's wealth." He flashes another
sharky-smooth smile. "Would you be interested in having an extra crew member with
you? You know, to help guard your boat and do small jobs for you? I would love to see
other islands, sail off with you."
"Uh, not really, thanks, we don't have the room." Freddy
has obviously been waiting to say that.
"Oh. Yes. I see. And how many people will be going with
you?" He asks. Of course, it will be just Freddy and me; heading south to the
northwest tip of Mindanao and then out towards the Western Caroline Islands. Bruno's gun
running days on the Sweet Line with the Moslems no doubt earned him some friends among the
pirates. His interest in our movements is making me very uncomfortable.
"We expect six American Marines to join us for their
vacation," Freddy announces matter of factly. Bruno looks very unhappy.
"Will you be leaving soon?" He asks. We are leaving in the
morning.
"No, not for another two weeks or so." I look approvingly
at Freddy. She is handling this very well. I smile and nod agreement.
"From here you go to...Bohol? No? Then....where?" He was
as subtle as a hungry shark. Cheeco meanwhile has said nothing the whole time.
"Oh, we're not exactly sure, maybe Porta Princessa on
Plawan," I say (Porta Princessa is the heart of the pirate turf). At this Bruno's
head snaps up and he looks at me steadily for a minute. He's caught on. Bruno and Cheeco
look at each other, say "good night" and walk off towards the gate.
A Starlit Pacific Ocean...
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