Expedition Leader: Negros Rainforest Conservation Project
Added to website: 04 July 2004
I fumble for the alarm in the predawn half-light, “Morning already…?”, my brain begins the slow process of waking up. “Hmmmm… re-supply day. Got to get moving”. Through a tide of sleepy fog I make my way to the hot water flask and prepare a brew. My day starts as thoughts of ‘things to do’ drop into my head one by one, standing out on the veranda contemplating the view over a cup of tea. I watch as the sun rises over the tree covered mountains and spills the first light of day out into the forest. Slowly twisting spirals of morning mist swirl up from the dark green canopy and catch the sun before disappearing in the warming air. It is up there with some of the finest of ways in which to spend your daily waking up moments, I have concluded. Of course, howling winds rattling the shutters and monsoon rain thundering on the tin roof are less serene but equally frequent crepuscular conditions. Both have their place in my affection, though they are not ranked equally by any means.
The other staff are up and about when I go to check the vols are still alive, waking them with as much bristling enthusiasm as I can muster. I use the brief pre-breakfast slot before the vols are about to make sure that everyone knows what they’re doing over the next two days, and that I have got any requests (for things from town or to be done there) straight and written down. Memory, sadly, is unreliable.
Walking briskly but carefully down the absurdly steep ‘road’ to the jeepney pick up point I am thinking of what I need to do in Bacolod today. A man with a plan stands a better chance of getting everything done quickly and efficiently than one without. The pay-back for such organisational zeal is extra beer, pizza and cinema time at the end of the day (as EL you have the bonus of returning to relative civilisation once a week - the silver lining of the cloud that is a day and a half of hectic re-supply madness). The 6am jeepney rolls up a little after 6.30 and does a huge U-turn in front of the old hospital, stirring up clouds of fine dust as it rattles and smokes past. The only thing you can rely on with jeepneys is that they will turn up eventually and, once on board, you will get to where you want to go, eventually. Almost as reliably there will be frequent stops so they can load up with anyone and anything that needs to go from A to B, before continuing the journey, bouncing crazily down the rutted and potholed mountain track towards town.
Three hours and two jeepney rides later I arrive in Bacolod. It’s time for serious caffeine and I know just the place. Happily Le Cafe Net is a coffee serving internet café located opposite the bank. Extremely handy. After checking the email account for instructions and information I head over the road to the bank. I have become an expert at negotiating my way through the traffic on the busy main street and don’t even flinch as I stand in the middle of the road and a smoke belching lorry roars past two feet behind me. A gap, a bold dash, and I’m there. The shotgun-toting security guard greets me with a smile and hands me my ticket. “46”, declares the simple handwritten cardboard square, its corners rounded and creased by many sweaty palms. Could be a long wait.
It’s the start of expedition and time for the bank transfer again already. An hour after I first walked in, I am outside again and hailing a passing jeepney to take me up then road to Metro Bank. I get the cash paid in without a hitch, as always.
Lunch is seldom a leisurely affair and rarely happens at the customary time of day, but provides a good opportunity to revise the plan cross some things off ‘The List’ and work out my next move. Double espresso kicks in with a warm buzz and I am ready for Lopues. Bewildering at first, this is the Department Store for the locals. If it’s not there, it’s probably not worth looking anywhere else. I grab a large trolley and begin weaving my way down through the labyrinthine aisles, overstuffed with a million curious delights. Shopping for ten requires a game plan, a routine that you follow in order to avoid spending hours lost in the maze. It also requires two trolleys, so it’s a game of two halves, as they say. The system rarely fails me, unless they are out of something or (as has occasionally happened, they inexplicably move something to a different aisle). It is traditional to buy the cheapest brands of everything, which normally leaves enough cash left over to select from the plethora of available products a couple of the more intriguing and unusual foodstuffs. Some, however, are best avoided. If I was here for ten years I might never try all the varieties of snack food available here. Some you win, some you lose. Such is life.
It regularly amuses the checkout girls to see this white man buying enough food to feed an army, along with various household items, stationary, hardware, etc… It perplexes them that I insist on dividing my purchases, in a seemingly arbitrary way, so that I end up with four or five individual receipts, which I carefully fold into one of my wallets. All the while I am watching the subtotal on the till with the eye of a hawk and calculating under my breath, making sure I stay within the budget. Then, with several large boxes and bags of miscellaneous supplies, I take a taxi to the office of our project partner, NFEFI.
I usually take a little time when I’m here to chat with the staff and any loitering Trustees to keep them updated on what we’re doing and how the project is going. In turn, they keep me informed about relevant events to attend or take part in, meetings with environmental organisations, project developments, etc… It’s an opportunity to discuss any issues that have cropped up or remain unresolved. Anything that can’t be dealt with then and there and requires further discussion will ordinarily be put to rights over a couple of beers once the work is done. After all, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy. In my experience some of the most profound and visionary ideas are conceived in dimly lit bars late in the evening after a few jars. Whether the brilliance (or even the substance) of these ideas endures in the memory until the following morning is, I suppose, another matter.
The hardware store is my next port of call - a vast B&Q style affair. Rather inexplicably, like so many places in the Philippines, there seem to be more staff than customers and after a couple of visits you quickly acquire your own personal shopping assistant, who will insist on carrying everything for you. Being a practical sort of chap I enjoy my time here, so much the better if I have a bona fide mission. This week I’m in luck: we’ve moved site and need a great many bits and pieces. Wood, steel pipe, wire, paint, a saw, screwdrivers, mains cable, smoke alarms, duct tape… the list goes on. Other EL’s may have focused on educational posters, soft furnishings, a healthy and varied diet… I have made some bookshelves and bought proper cups for tea (to mention but two of my myriad achievements). Anyway, buggered if I’m carrying all this so I arrange to pick it up the following morning with the NFEFI truck.
A few more stops to make before I rest. Radio store, Post Office, computer shop… Easy. Now it’s time for that beer. Bilco’s provides an internet service, has a pool table, sells beer and plays reasonable music, all in a suitably relaxed ‘I’m not really working’ kind of atmosphere. The perfect setting for trawling through my weekly accounts before sending them off to London tomorrow morning. Now the accounts are not complicated (once you get the systems sussed), and are definitely made easier by sobriety. So the trick is to do them fast. I actually derive a strange feeling of satisfaction in balancing everything up at he end of the week. Before I know it they’re all done, all the numbers are agreeing with one another, I’ve had two bottles of Red Horse and need something to eat. Soon.
It’s a game I enjoy, choosing a place to eat. One method I have recently developed involves riding a jeepney and getting off at a random stop and going to the nearest appealing restaurant. I began by being more systematic, thinking I’d try them all (not a million years), starting with my predecessors recommendations, but I tired of this. I have my favourite places, and it’s nice to become a regular, but if you explore you always find new gems.
So that-s the re-supply, but being EL is really about more than that. In many ways it’s what you make it. You have the chance to influence the project, the way it runs and the things it does, how and when it does them… and that’s a really nice part of it. Sure, there are a million things that you are required to do, but it’s all straightforward and sensible stuff and you soon get into the swing of it. Yes, there are times when I have got a little stressed out, felt like wrenching clumps of hair from my head and cried out in utter exasperation “Give me strength!”. But that’s just life, isn’t it? Every day is different and you never know what’s going to crop up around the corner.
Dealing with the local people is one of the most educational and rewarding aspects of the job. The interactions you have on a daily basis, whether with your local staff (cooks, guides and mountain leaders), project partner staff or just the folks in the shops and bars you frequent that always want to chat to you, are what makes the experience of being an EL on a project like this a unique privelige. It is a rare opportunity to get under the skin of a place and its people, to see the other side and to gain an understanding of a culture and society different from the one I know. In many ways it has soothed the itchy feet I’ve had since I returned from India and Nepal eight years ago with a thirst to see the world. But then, has it…? Actually, no: it’s just given me a new kind of itch and a new kind of thirst.
