The young man glowed with pride as he stood beside the antelope hanging outside his house. He was clad only in cutoffs and sandals. Young muscles rippling, he aimed his rifle at his prize and snarled fiercely. I took his picture and he grinned.
I was visiting the village of my wife's uncle. When the young man had returned from his hunt I was called to record the event on film. Everyone always wanted his picture taken.
Kwabena stood beside me now, eyes downcast, brow furrowed with thought. His wife Ama was speaking to the boy's mother and plainly envious of her. There would be red meat in that family's pot tonight while we had eaten only chicken and fish since my arrival. When I looked around again Kwabena had slunk away.
We were the same age but Kwabena appeared older. We had become friends at once although we were not able to communicate except through an interpreter. He had no English at all and my Twi was limited to "Good morning" and "Thank you".
My young nephew Kwaku appeared as we were on the path back. "Uncle Kwabena says to get ready. You are going to the forest." I hurried to the house to put on boots and get the rest of my camera equipment. I had been looking forward to this opportunity.
Carrying the heavy camera bag, I was drenched with sweat long before we reached the forest. The heat and high humidity were oppressive even though the path through the cocoa plantation was shaded. The sweet odor of cocoa in flower and rotting vegetation was almost overpowering.
Beside me strode Kwabena. He was dressed in sneakers, a pair of slacks which were more patches and tears than anything else, and a short-sleeved shirt which had lost its buttons and collar. Over his shoulder was an ancient percussion-cap muzzle-loader and around his neck hung a pouch with packets of powder, shot and caps. At his belt hung a large knife. A small, sinewy man, his stride was shorter than mine and I had to slow my pace to remain beside him.
Finally we reached the edge of the forest and a path leading into it but Kwabena began to turn aside. By hand signals to supplement the English which I knew he didn't understand, I made known that I wanted to enter the forest to take pictures. Reluctantly he led the way.
The path was more of a tunnel with vegetation close on both sides and overhead. I had to stoop to walk along behind Uncle Kwabena. He gazed apprehensively in all directions, rifle held at the ready. Twice he halted and motioned to return along the path the way he had come. The third time he refused to continue, edged around me in the narrow passage and began retracing our steps. I was disappointed. It was too dark for photography, even if I could have seen anything in the dense growth. But I could see clearly that Kwabena was uncomfortable in the forest.
A cocoa farmer, not a hunter, he was more at ease when we regained the edge of the plantation. Walking along the border between the forest and the groves, Kwabena constantly looked up into the forest canopy. What could he be watching for, I wondered. Panther, I guessed, but I had no idea of the local wildlife.
Suddenly he stopped and pointed into a tree with a finger to his lips. He raised and aimed his rifle in a most unusual manner. Rather than hold the stock against his shoulder he braced it against the heel of his left hand and held the grip with his right. As he squeezed the trigger there was a resounding boom and a billow of smoke.
It was plain he had missed. His smile disappeared and his head hung. Again, by signs, I asked what he had shot at, and he managed to convey a squirrel. The way he pantomimed the bushy tail would have made me laugh if he had not been looking so dejected.
We had come quite a distance from the path so Kwabena cut through the groves towards home. I felt sad for my usually happy friend as I followed him between the trees. His shoulders slumped and his eyes were on the ground. The rifle trailed casually from his hand. I would have liked to console him, but without a common language it was impossible.
Suddenly he was happy again, grinning and pointing, and talking rapidly in Twi. There under a cocoa tree was the largest mushroom I had ever seen. The crown, fluted like a fancy parasol, was about a foot in diameter. Kwabena seemed overjoyed although I couldn't understand why. First he used his knife to cut a forked branch, then carefully cut through the mushroom's stalk which was as thick as my ankle. Handing me the rifle, he mounted the huge fungus on his stick and hoisted it to his shoulder. Of course he wanted his picture taken.
We returned to the village in a triumphal procession, Kwabena striding proudly with his find. As we neared his house the children joined us. One ran ahead to tell Ama. As we entered the compound she came forward and accepted it from him, smiling broadly. Young Kwaku informed me that this species of mushroom was prized for its good flavor and its medicinal qualities. One this large was extremely rare. Our soup would be flavored with a portion of it this evening.
It was amazing to see the change in Kwabena. He seemed as happy and proud as the boy with the antelope. Everyone in the village had to come see the mushroom and congratulate him. And Ama was soon seen returning with a shoulder of antelope received in trade for half of the mushroom.
That evening around the fire Kwabena recounted the tale of his hunt for one and all and Kwaku translated for me. I did not dispute the many differences from the trip I had experienced. It was enough that my friend had no shame now, and that we would have red meat in our pot tomorrow.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
HE, SHE, IT and THEY
HE loved SHE, SHE loved HE;
Both were happy as can be.
IT was a love so very grand;
HE offered SHE a wedding band.
Then THEY began to speak -
IT was over in a week.
HE and SHE are now apart,
Each one guarding an injured heart.
THEY, it seems, are satisfied:
THEY succeeded at what THEY tried.
Jeff Lassen, July 1969
Commentary: As I start to orate my way through the many poems Jeff has left with me, this one really hit the spot. I say 'orate' because in correspondence with Jeff I mentioned how well it read and he replied how "all poetry is meant to be read aloud". I totally agree. If you can't read it aloud without tripping over the rhyme and meter then is it really a poem?
I like this poem's simple message. It is succinct and yet very prescient. It has humour yet, as all good humour has, there is a tragic element casually clothed in the wit of the thing. If you deconstruct this ten line gem you can glean a deeper understanding of human relationships in general and male-female ones in particular.
Read it aloud with a twinkle in your eye and a smile on your face, then let it sink in and sit around in your head for a while. This is truly a case of there being more to this than meets the eye.
Perry Gamsby 2009
Both were happy as can be.
IT was a love so very grand;
HE offered SHE a wedding band.
Then THEY began to speak -
IT was over in a week.
HE and SHE are now apart,
Each one guarding an injured heart.
THEY, it seems, are satisfied:
THEY succeeded at what THEY tried.
Jeff Lassen, July 1969
Commentary: As I start to orate my way through the many poems Jeff has left with me, this one really hit the spot. I say 'orate' because in correspondence with Jeff I mentioned how well it read and he replied how "all poetry is meant to be read aloud". I totally agree. If you can't read it aloud without tripping over the rhyme and meter then is it really a poem?
I like this poem's simple message. It is succinct and yet very prescient. It has humour yet, as all good humour has, there is a tragic element casually clothed in the wit of the thing. If you deconstruct this ten line gem you can glean a deeper understanding of human relationships in general and male-female ones in particular.
Read it aloud with a twinkle in your eye and a smile on your face, then let it sink in and sit around in your head for a while. This is truly a case of there being more to this than meets the eye.
Perry Gamsby 2009
I Will Be The One
I first published this in my online newsletter "Philippine Dreams" in 2005. It was very well received by my readers and gave a hint to the writerly skill of this bearded expat living in Cebu. It shows a very clear appreciation of Filipino culture and the often paradoxical relationship of these fine people with those foreigners who choose to call the Philippines, 'home'.
Perry Gamsby 2009
I Will Be the One
2005 by Jeff Lassen
I had never been happier in my life! Living a comfortable life on a pension which would have had me in poverty back home; sunshine, usually; balmy ocean breezes; the beach; friendly people; beautiful young women everywhere: retirement in the Philippines was my idea of paradise!
I had rented a little house on the beach on the outskirts of a small town near Ormoc, Leyte. It was an idyllic setting! Palms were all around and the water was almost at my door. Peaceful in the extreme. What more could I want?
Well, someone to take care of me and the house. I let it be known to my friend in town that I would like to hire a helper.
The next morning I awakened to a gentle tapping. When I had managed to throw on a pair of shorts and opened the gate, there was a delightful young woman looking shyly at her toes.
“Good morning, Sir! I am Angelisa. Uncle says I will be the one to take care of you.”
I invited her in to conduct an interview. She wouldn’t perch anywhere, just wandered around the kitchen area opening cupboards, getting the lay of the place. I kept asking her to come sit so we could talk but she seemed to not understand at all. Soon she presented me with a cup of tea and some crackers - all she had been able to find in my poorly stocked kitchen.
She stood shyly by until I finally convinced her to sit down.
“I do need a helper, Angelisa,” I said.
“I will be the one!” she replied.
It seemed that the interview was over! Short of being very rude to her, I had found my helper.
We did manage to communicate a little: set her salary; discovered who Uncle was - a neighbor and acquaintance of mine already. We had a small disagreement about where she should sleep. She had started to unpack her few things in my bedroom. It took some time to convince her that she was to have her own room. After a little insecurity and pouting, she seemed to finally get the idea that I truly wanted a house helper - a maid.
That first day she took care of everything! I hardly had to ask and the house was cleaned. The meals were prepared. The laundry was done. She was pleasant but unobtrusive, most of the time. In the evening she sat and we tried to talk a little.
Her English wasn’t as bad as it seemed, once she got past the shyness of speaking it with a foreigner. She said that she had graduated from high school but had not worked since. There were no jobs locally and the family didn’t have the money to send her to Manila or overseas for employment. She was a good girl. She respected her Uncle who raised her after her father died.
Shortly after I retired to my bed I heard the door open and saw a shadow slip into my room.
“No, Angelisa!” I said. “Go to sleep in your room. Please!”
The next morning I awoke to the sounds of a conversation at my gate. Even though I didn’t understand the Bisayan words, I could tell from the tone that it was an argument. Although it wasn’t actually loud, it did awaken me.
Slipping on my shorts, I went out to see. Angelisa was peering through the little trap-door in the gate. She struck a stubborn pose like a security guard. Nobody was going to come in, nobody was to have access to me, without her approval. I did not want to be protected like this!
“Angelisa, who is there?”
She glanced around, startled at my presence, then looked like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Oh! Sir! Just some girl who wants to be your helper,” she answered.
From outside I heard a pleasant voice, in reasonable English, refute that. “I certainly do not want to be anybody’s helper.”
“Let her come in, Angelisa. Let’s find out what this is about.”
Through my gate walked a truly beautiful young woman! The brazenness she had shown while arguing with Angelisa was now replaced by shyness. I said hello. She briefly touched my hand in greeting, all the time admiring her toes.
“I am Chuchi. Uncle says that you need to make friends, and learn Bisayan. I will be the one to be your guide and tutor.”
We went inside to discuss my lack of desire for a guide and tutor. She was a charming person. Her English was very good. I enjoyed talking with her. Her desired wage was quite reasonable: she wanted nothing except a place to sleep and her meals. She just would not understand that there was no job available.
That afternoon she brought her things, and was settled in my other spare bedroom. If I wound up hiring any more help, I would have to build a nipa hut in the yard to live in.
There was a marked change in Angelisa. She became still more demure and shy, but even more helpful. She deferred to Chuchi, who happened also to be a distant cousin. For her part, Chuchi always treated Angelisa with respect, although she maintained a certain detachment.
I didn’t do very well with learning Bisayan. I did meet quite a few more local people with Chuchi as my guide and translator. I enjoyed her company. Soon she was a friend.
One night as I was going to bed, my door opened. Chuchi entered, shyly looking at her toes.
“Chuchi, what are you doing here?”
“Uncle says that you are lonely. I will be the one to be your girlfriend.” She smiled shyly. “I will make you happy, and not alone anymore.”
“But I don’t want a girlfriend, Chuchi,” I said. “And if I did, I would choose her myself.”
“Okay! You choose me then!”
She was in my arms. I suddenly realized that I had been lonely. She moved her things into my room the next morning.
Chuchi pleased me in every way. I was wildly happy, ecstatic! A beautiful young woman wanted to be with me!
Angelisa became completely self-effacing. As she went about her tasks with quiet efficiency you hardly knew she was there. From time to time a shy smile might have shown, but I could never be sure.
The next couple of weeks are a blur. How did we ever begin talking about marriage? I felt myself being moved along by events. Since I had come here everything had been taken care of for me, but I thought I had made all the choices myself.
“Jason,” Chuchi said one morning, “I have to go visit my grandmother to help me plan the wedding.”
“Okay, honey-ko.”
“I will try to come home tonight, but you know the mountain is far and the jeepney takes so long.”
“Aw! I miss you already!”
That night Chuchi had not returned when I went to bed after drowning my loneliness in a few San Miguels.
I had a nightmare. Chuchi came home late, crawled into bed, and began to play.
“I will make you happier!”
Then she began to change into Angelisa, because in the dream Chuchi was standing in the door of our room shouting. I don’t know where the bolo came from. Now screaming. Soon there was blood everywhere.
Then I woke up. Covered in blood. Angelisa lay on the floor. Covered in blood. I heard the gate slamming shut.
First the barangay tanod showed up. Then Uncle. My friend. Neighbors. Then the Philippine National Police. I told the story so many times that night. Everyone seemed so understanding. Both my friend and Uncle helped with the authorities.
Chuchi was nowhere to be found. It was thought that she had run to the mountain. Angelisa’s body was taken away.
At last I was able to get cleaned up. I finally got back to sleep, with the help of some Tanduay.
The next day, a bit bleary-eyed, I awakened to a tapping on the gate. There stood an adorable young lady looking shyly down at her toes.
“Good morning, Sir! I am Cristina. Uncle says I will be the one to take care of you now!”
Perry Gamsby 2009
I Will Be the One
2005 by Jeff Lassen
I had never been happier in my life! Living a comfortable life on a pension which would have had me in poverty back home; sunshine, usually; balmy ocean breezes; the beach; friendly people; beautiful young women everywhere: retirement in the Philippines was my idea of paradise!
I had rented a little house on the beach on the outskirts of a small town near Ormoc, Leyte. It was an idyllic setting! Palms were all around and the water was almost at my door. Peaceful in the extreme. What more could I want?
Well, someone to take care of me and the house. I let it be known to my friend in town that I would like to hire a helper.
The next morning I awakened to a gentle tapping. When I had managed to throw on a pair of shorts and opened the gate, there was a delightful young woman looking shyly at her toes.
“Good morning, Sir! I am Angelisa. Uncle says I will be the one to take care of you.”
I invited her in to conduct an interview. She wouldn’t perch anywhere, just wandered around the kitchen area opening cupboards, getting the lay of the place. I kept asking her to come sit so we could talk but she seemed to not understand at all. Soon she presented me with a cup of tea and some crackers - all she had been able to find in my poorly stocked kitchen.
She stood shyly by until I finally convinced her to sit down.
“I do need a helper, Angelisa,” I said.
“I will be the one!” she replied.
It seemed that the interview was over! Short of being very rude to her, I had found my helper.
We did manage to communicate a little: set her salary; discovered who Uncle was - a neighbor and acquaintance of mine already. We had a small disagreement about where she should sleep. She had started to unpack her few things in my bedroom. It took some time to convince her that she was to have her own room. After a little insecurity and pouting, she seemed to finally get the idea that I truly wanted a house helper - a maid.
That first day she took care of everything! I hardly had to ask and the house was cleaned. The meals were prepared. The laundry was done. She was pleasant but unobtrusive, most of the time. In the evening she sat and we tried to talk a little.
Her English wasn’t as bad as it seemed, once she got past the shyness of speaking it with a foreigner. She said that she had graduated from high school but had not worked since. There were no jobs locally and the family didn’t have the money to send her to Manila or overseas for employment. She was a good girl. She respected her Uncle who raised her after her father died.
Shortly after I retired to my bed I heard the door open and saw a shadow slip into my room.
“No, Angelisa!” I said. “Go to sleep in your room. Please!”
The next morning I awoke to the sounds of a conversation at my gate. Even though I didn’t understand the Bisayan words, I could tell from the tone that it was an argument. Although it wasn’t actually loud, it did awaken me.
Slipping on my shorts, I went out to see. Angelisa was peering through the little trap-door in the gate. She struck a stubborn pose like a security guard. Nobody was going to come in, nobody was to have access to me, without her approval. I did not want to be protected like this!
“Angelisa, who is there?”
She glanced around, startled at my presence, then looked like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Oh! Sir! Just some girl who wants to be your helper,” she answered.
From outside I heard a pleasant voice, in reasonable English, refute that. “I certainly do not want to be anybody’s helper.”
“Let her come in, Angelisa. Let’s find out what this is about.”
Through my gate walked a truly beautiful young woman! The brazenness she had shown while arguing with Angelisa was now replaced by shyness. I said hello. She briefly touched my hand in greeting, all the time admiring her toes.
“I am Chuchi. Uncle says that you need to make friends, and learn Bisayan. I will be the one to be your guide and tutor.”
We went inside to discuss my lack of desire for a guide and tutor. She was a charming person. Her English was very good. I enjoyed talking with her. Her desired wage was quite reasonable: she wanted nothing except a place to sleep and her meals. She just would not understand that there was no job available.
That afternoon she brought her things, and was settled in my other spare bedroom. If I wound up hiring any more help, I would have to build a nipa hut in the yard to live in.
There was a marked change in Angelisa. She became still more demure and shy, but even more helpful. She deferred to Chuchi, who happened also to be a distant cousin. For her part, Chuchi always treated Angelisa with respect, although she maintained a certain detachment.
I didn’t do very well with learning Bisayan. I did meet quite a few more local people with Chuchi as my guide and translator. I enjoyed her company. Soon she was a friend.
One night as I was going to bed, my door opened. Chuchi entered, shyly looking at her toes.
“Chuchi, what are you doing here?”
“Uncle says that you are lonely. I will be the one to be your girlfriend.” She smiled shyly. “I will make you happy, and not alone anymore.”
“But I don’t want a girlfriend, Chuchi,” I said. “And if I did, I would choose her myself.”
“Okay! You choose me then!”
She was in my arms. I suddenly realized that I had been lonely. She moved her things into my room the next morning.
Chuchi pleased me in every way. I was wildly happy, ecstatic! A beautiful young woman wanted to be with me!
Angelisa became completely self-effacing. As she went about her tasks with quiet efficiency you hardly knew she was there. From time to time a shy smile might have shown, but I could never be sure.
The next couple of weeks are a blur. How did we ever begin talking about marriage? I felt myself being moved along by events. Since I had come here everything had been taken care of for me, but I thought I had made all the choices myself.
“Jason,” Chuchi said one morning, “I have to go visit my grandmother to help me plan the wedding.”
“Okay, honey-ko.”
“I will try to come home tonight, but you know the mountain is far and the jeepney takes so long.”
“Aw! I miss you already!”
That night Chuchi had not returned when I went to bed after drowning my loneliness in a few San Miguels.
I had a nightmare. Chuchi came home late, crawled into bed, and began to play.
“I will make you happier!”
Then she began to change into Angelisa, because in the dream Chuchi was standing in the door of our room shouting. I don’t know where the bolo came from. Now screaming. Soon there was blood everywhere.
Then I woke up. Covered in blood. Angelisa lay on the floor. Covered in blood. I heard the gate slamming shut.
First the barangay tanod showed up. Then Uncle. My friend. Neighbors. Then the Philippine National Police. I told the story so many times that night. Everyone seemed so understanding. Both my friend and Uncle helped with the authorities.
Chuchi was nowhere to be found. It was thought that she had run to the mountain. Angelisa’s body was taken away.
At last I was able to get cleaned up. I finally got back to sleep, with the help of some Tanduay.
The next day, a bit bleary-eyed, I awakened to a tapping on the gate. There stood an adorable young lady looking shyly down at her toes.
“Good morning, Sir! I am Cristina. Uncle says I will be the one to take care of you now!”
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