Not Only A Refugee (book) by Eleanor Stewart

http://notonlyarefugee.blogspot.com/

This book would never have been written if I had remained in the UN volunteers' house in Puerto Princesa on Palawan Island. It was two levels with a nice porch upstairs, hot showers, air conditioning and Filipina maids. At first, I was so busy teaching English that I didn't think about where I was living. Then, as I became familiar with the camp, I wanted to spend more time there. I had to go back and forth as a passenger on local motorbike transport. Also, I noticed that the British volunteers did live inside the camp. One largish house made of woven bamboo with a nipa leaf roof was being used by a BVO. It was near the classrooms and I was determined to move into it after she left. I moved into it quietly because UNVs had never lived inside the camp. (Benefactors had to keep their distance.) What a difference! At last, I could be a real part of the life of the camp. It didn't have a shower, just a faucet with cold water. It most definitely was not air conditioned. A small fan was all I had to help me sleep, but it wasn't about amenities; it was about being where I was supposed to be.

"It's high roof makes it look cool, but actually, it's one of the hottest houses in the camp. I've been in refugee houses near the ocean which are much cooler. The kitchen is only a counter with a gas hot plate and a few tins of food, but the bedroom has one of the most comfortable beds in the world. Split bamboo, when raised on a platform and covered with a foam rubber mattress has the right amount of "give" to support and yet not fight one's back. . . .During the time that I lived in my house, I learned to do without a refrigerator and to know how long any food could keep in the heat. (Eggs, coconuts and butter kept the longest.) I learned. . . to go to sleep and wake up to the sounds of Buddhists ringing a gong and chanting at the nearby pagoda, people practicing English, the loudspeaker playing "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" as wake-up music in the morning and classical Vietnamese music at curfew. I learned to suffer the afternoon heat and love the sound of tropical rain on the nipa-leaf roof. My small yellow and white cat and I lived there alone, but not lonely. When my door was open, students and friends would walk in. When it was closed, they would not. The night was always alive, soft and natural, I could see the sky through the tiny holes in the roof, although it kept out the rain well enough. My house did not close life out, but let it flow around me."

That was where NOT ONLY A REFUGEE was born.




Written by Eleanor Grogg Stewart

Source: http://notonlyarefugee.blogspot.com/