Romance in a nation of extremes

The Philippines is a country of extremes. You have the ultra-rich living in walled compounds, while the poor survive in the filth of shanty towns. The country has the beauty of white sand beaches, but also the toxic rivers and open sewage of Manila.

As a clueless American guy just out of college, women in the Philippnes represented the same set of extremes to me. They were either the prostitutes of the red light districts that I didn't want to have anything to do with (see left), or they were the ultra-conservative Catholic University girls who didn't want to have anything to do with me.

So imagine my surprise when the cutest girl at a college welcoming party invited me to her house one night, telling me her parents wouldn’t be home. In the U.S, this would have been a clear sign that there was going to be some romance. I should have been delighted. But this was the Philippines, and as usual, I had no idea what was going on.

-- to see how this turned out (think airball not dunk) click on this link to see a sample chapter from Dunked in Manila

Tip Off

I dug in my bag for my hat. A couple local college students were scheduled to meet me upon arrival at Manila airport. To be certain they’d recognize me, I had faxed ahead that I would be wearing a baseball cap from my hometown Chicago Bulls. Hat on head, brim bent to a sporty angle, I charged out the doors and into my new life.

It began with a blast of hot, humid air and a scene from Beatlemania news footage. Outside the baggage area, a waving, shouting crowd pushed against every angle of a sagging barrier, seemingly about to burst right on top of me. I felt like I was the last Balikbayan box on a small carousel. I had to fight the urge to flee. Entire sections of the crowd erupted screaming, pointing and shoving each time they saw a relation emerge from the doors. My calm began to erode as I scanned the crowd for my college student hosts.

Suddenly, to my left, I heard cries of "Hey Joe! Hey Joe! Americano! Oy! Ssssssssst." When I turned, the group became frantic, one man climbing the barrier, trying to get to me first. As a security guard yanked the first man back, I noticed the taxi sign in his hand, and understood my new popularity.

I hesitated behind the barriers a moment longer, dreading my departure from the protected area. Already, a group of the taxi drivers had triangulated my exit point, and were jostling for position. With my head down and suitcase forward, I fought my way through the taxi mob, through the scrums of extended families, and out to the street. Where for the first time in my life, I saw horizontal rain. And no welcoming committee.

for more of chapter one, click here

The Politics of Pickup in Manila

I was surprised to discover basketball was the national sport of the Philippines. It seemed like every telephone pole, every palm tree had a basketball backboard attached. Games were everywhere. As a clueless foreigner, it was my entry into their culture. How could I join?

While standing at the edge of a basketball court watching the game in progress, I pondered the politics of pickup in Manila. Did I need to bring my own team to a pickup game? Did I need a formal invite, a recommendation, a reference? Was it an exclusive neighborhood only event? A league? Did I have to win on another court before I qualified to play on this one? At a loss for what to do, I just stood there trying to look tall, hoping someone would see me and throw me the ball.

To see how this early effort turned out, read: http://www.geocities.com/billfink2004/PoliticsofPickupinManila.html