Friday 26th March

Subic is flush with posters of politicians. The presidential election is on May 10th. Rachel says the result’s likely to be fixed. She reckons during the last campaign, one candidate attracted 4 million people to a single raleigh but only managed 1 million votes. But it hasn’t stopped every tubby round-faced Philippino from printing up a poster complete with their face and their surname in big letters through the middle. Ed Piano was my favourite. But Ian preferred James ‘Bong’ Gordon, who’s running for re-election as mayor for an area just up the road from here alongside Anne Gordon (who – from the photos – could be his wife or his daughter), who’s trying to keep her seat in Congress. On sheer numbers alone, Anne is definitely winning. He picture is looking at me from virtually every corner of Subic. Jay Khonghun is another vociferous campaigner. He’s mayor of this district and judging from the mountains of campaign material on walls, basketball hoops, jeepneys and sidecars, he’s keen to have another stab. Subtlety apparently isn’t seen as a virtue in this year’s run for the poles. All of which made for a colourful journey into the city earlier today.

By the time we got back, I still hadn’t found a hat. After changing $30, I toured the local area to find a couple for 130 pesos, then a few more for 150. I decided to keep trying, but the third shop was selling for 250 and the forth 350. There was no time to return to the first place, so I had to do without. It gave me a chance to sneak off into the centre of our town during the afternoon with Mandy and Ian. There we found a busy market full of clothes, rice and meat that had caught the heat. We wondered through an empty fish where two puppies wrestled each other with their mother looking on. A skinny woman with few teeth and little English came over to say hello as we watched some fishermen coming into shore. Life seemed painless but joyless. We were a passing interest for the afternoon. Back in the clothes section, I took to bartering some of the stallholders for a baseball cap. Initially getting the price down was easy but as it became clear that I was actually prepared to buy something, the prices started going back up. I finally bought a hat for 100 pesos, down from 150 and then a more resolute 120. I’d successfully saved myself about 60p.


This evening was the children’s graduation. Most of the kids were wearing expensive looking clothes. The girls especially wouldn’t have looked out of place on a night out in Britain. The ceremony took place in the square outside the school where we’d watched the practices yesterday. A large banner had been put up across the front of the school to create a staging area. Chrissie told us the event would last for around three-and-a-half hours but that bunking off mid-way through would be acceptable. By turning up an hour later than the advertised start (apparently 4pm in the Philippines actually means 5pm), I assumed we’d find a seat back and side from which we could slip out of part-way through. Instead we were invited to bypass the mass of parents congregating at the back to take up several reserved rows right at the front. The seats had ‘J Khonghum’ in large letters across the back. For once my protests didn’t work. We had to sit in them.

Twenty minutes into the ceremony, it became clear why we’d been seated so prominently. My name was called out. I was asked up to the stage to help present the awards.

As underwhelmed as the children must have been, the handful of us who’d been chosen made it to the front and found ourselves shaking hands with a succession of 6 year olds and their equally small parents and minders. Most of the adults seemed unable to look as far up as my face (which was no bad thing as I doubt Id have been able to look them in the eye), preferring instead to stare at a space somewhere just above my belly button. I tried bending down to speak to the kids but most of them didn’t seem to get the point of shaking hands, let alone talking to the strange white man on the stage. And anyway, what do you say to a small child who speaks a different language to you and has just received an award for being ‘most flexible’ pupil? I gave up and made faces at my sister, who was shaking violently with laughter as she videoed my failings. ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ played on constant repeat over the loudspeaker.


Four hours later, we’d all had a go up front. Elgar’s Prom finisher had played more times than I could count, punctuated by a couple of power cuts and several dances from the children. Mandy and Ian had been attacked by a swarm of bees as they gave out more rosettes and certificates. All kinds of bugs began taking to the stage as the sunlight disappeared, bouncing around people’s heads as the ceremony continued. The children gradually lost interest, despite the introduction of a handyman with a stepladder, who wandered on change the lightbulbs. Soon the kids from the home surrounded us. They wanted to pose for pictures or borrow our cameras to take their own shots. The two teenage girls in our party – Becky and Saskia – came in for particular attention as three well dressed teenage boys asked whether they fancied a chat on Facebook sometime.

Most of the parents stayed right until the end, although even they had started drifting off by the time the teachers had started presenting themselves with attendance records for the last year. The final award went to the compare, who announced it then shook hand with all of us wearing a broad grin across his face. It had been a long 4 hours 20 minutes but one that’ll be difficult to forget. And definitely worthwhile.