It wasn't that easy.
Every port that could hold an airplane did. All the airlines had flights at the same time unloading. We were the only white. I felt like a newborn baby coming from the airplane, after being prepped for birth, launched into a whole new world.
I felt the heat envelope me like a thick hug. It wasn't as bad as I thought, but it was definitely warmer than Detroit, Michigan. We were ushered through tunnels and lines. It was 12 p.m. Manila's time. We hadn't slept for over thirteen hours. We somehow found the right line, showed our passport, the whole time afraid that they would turn us away because we didn't have an extended visa. Not even a second glance. A nod, and the passport was back in my hand. Did they even stamp it? I didn't notice- I just wanted to get out of the throng of people. I searched for a familiar face, Hannah and I were both silent. One from anxiety, the other from exhaustion.
Down this corridor, up those stairs, over to the luggage area. We grabbed our bags and followed a stream of people through a thinning crowd. Yelled at by a security guard, we turned around, we had nearly skipped our THIRD check. Glad I still had the right papers from the plane.
Here we were stopped.
A best friend is a wonderful thing because you can argue and be irritated with each other and somehow find comfort in that familiarity. I have to admit though, the tenseness of the situation did not produce much of a bonding.
We didn't see our native missionary friends, Pastor Nelson and Sister Ellaine, and we had no contact number. The night was damp and sticky, I looked across the street and believed myself to be in some sort of natural disaster movie. There was a small two-story building with people filling every possible space. Some were pushed against the windows holding signs, all seemed to be shouting at the passengers coming out of the building. There was no Sister Ellaine. A dread filled me as I looked around, making awkward eye contact with strangers. We were standing in the middle of the platform with our suitcases, being bumped on either side. I couldn't keep the movie Taken from entering my mind and every character became suspicious. We were standing for about ten minutes with no indication of what to do, and no sign of our friends. The crowds were not dissipating and the guards and fences kept people from entering to pick up their loved ones. We had no idea what was going on. So I did the only thing which seemed to make sense. I called my pastor. He definitely wasn't expecting a call from me, and I'm sure I must have sounded terrified. I had to ask him for a number, he gave me the only one they had on file which was from the '90s. Needless to say, it didn't work.
Thank the Lord that at that moment Sister Ellaine touched my arm, took my suitcase and had us follow her. I cannot express how thankful I was to see her. I wasn't sure what I would have done next.
"They wouldn't let me out, only five at a time were able to go. Finally I pointed to you and said you were American and I needed to get you. Somehow they let me go in front of so many others," she seemed frazzled and apologized that they hadn't been able to get to us. "It has never been this busy before."
Pastor Nelson and their daughter Paula were waiting in the air-conditioned car. As we drove through the streets I had so many questions. Part of me just wanted to sit back and stare at everything, but I can't just sit still when I'm with new friends. Never before had I seen cars, trucks, bikes, pedestrians, motorcycles, and tricycles all driving together - not obeying traffic signs! Honking was a friendly use, for the majority of the time, and the maze of actors made me want to retract further into the car.
"Do you want McDonalds? Jolly Bee's?" Couldn't eat.
The colors and advertisements on every building, covering every inch was so much. I can only compare my experience of culture shock with that of my two-month old nephew's scowl when too many faces come in to kiss him. Yet it was all so fascinating. Finally I stopped asking questions and allowed the experience to soak in.
About two hours later we were on a bed, on the fourth floor of the building, writing in our journals and yawning. Not many words had passed between Hannah and myself. We hit the pillows hoping for a good night's rest.
Too bad there's such a thing as jet-lag.
No comments:
Post a Comment