I remember thinking what a stark contrast: just yesterday I was in an internally displaced persons (IDP) camp and today I am at a resort where a small bottle of water costs more than 30 pesos. What exactly does that mean? Well while we were in a farming community, it was shared with us that the average farmer makes a small income of 150 pesos a day, which is around $3.50. Amazing and sad. Even more disturbing was our visit in the evening an IDP camp. So like taking a tour bus the way someone would if they were visiting the lavish homes of the movie stars in LA, we drove through their community. During our ride to the camp we given information about the community, the government construction of these camps and even the numerous challenges community members face when living in such close proximity to one another. The vehicles tinted window’s obstructed people’s views from outside the van. Many of the makeshift homes front yards had been converted in to stores selling everything from bread to tools. We saw children playing in the street being kids and a group of teens practicing a dance routine, being teens. Then we were told the unfortunate reality, that these communities have high incidents of crime, substance and physical abuse and sexual assault. After we were told why we could not leave the vehicle. Never had the thought crossed my mind that if people saw us, a group of women with notepads and pens, looking different than Filipinos, they might assume we were there to provide some kind of relief. Who wants to give false hope to a community that has lost so much and continues to struggle? We drove home in the darkness; most of us were silent. I assume we were lost in their thoughts. I kept thinking about this community and how many family members were killed or had disappeared after the typhoon, how many had lost a parent, a sibling or perhaps all of their family.
