Memories of a Philippines Peace Corps volunteer Don Beaudreault
Memories of a Peace Corps volunteer (Jolo, 1969-70)
1st part of a series
By Rev. Don Beaudreault
SARASOTA, Florida -- I felt that I was the most fortunate one of all those who were in my U.S. Peace Corps group (# 31, 32, or 33 - I can’t remember). I felt fortunate because I was assigned to a beautiful place. In addition, I had a chance to teach in an inter-religious setting - at a Catholic institution run by Oblate Fathers called Notre Dame College where most of the students were Moslem. And I lived with one of Jolo’s finest families, the family Suarez, the owners of La Jota Hotel, in the very heart of Jolo, a couple houses from the beautiful cathedral.
I was 24 years old and had never been more than 600 miles away from my home town of Washington, D.C., so this was, indeed, a great adventure for me. Having had a couple months training in Hilo, Hawaii, in Tagalog, Cross-Cultural Studies, and Teaching English as a Second Language, our group went on to Notre Dame College in Cotabato City where we had one more month’s training. Unfortunately, I contracted a very bad case of amoebic dysentery there - something which plagued me throughout my time as a Peace Corp Volunteer (PCV).
Despite the Tagalog training, I rarely used this knowledge because the major language of the Joloanos was Taosug. Fortunately, in addition to speaking Taosug and Tagalog, the Suarezes spoke Chavacano - a form of Spanish that I, with five years of formal training in Spanish, could somewhat understand. Naturally, most people also spoke English. Still, I often never understand what people were saying to me when they were not speaking English!
I remember the city and the people with great fondness, although I also recall on the very first day I arrived, and during the welcoming party for me at the college, I heard gunshots. I was to hear many gunshots during my time in Jolo, and even witnessed the aftermath of the murder of three men (a teacher and his two students). I must have been in a daze at the time, because after hearing the shots from my vantage point at La Jota, I ran into the streets with my camera and started taking photos of the men who had been shot. Two were dead, and one was almost dead. I remember talking to the latter, and saying something like, “Can I take your picture?” which was obviously my shocked self talking - rather than my sense of charity. It was also very foolish for me to be in the streets at all - since the gunman was still on the loose and I with my white face and reddish hair really could have been an easy target among all those who looked so different from me! I still have those photos - which are part of the slide show I used to give to whatever person wanted to learn about my experience as a PCV.
Living with the Suarezes meant living with seven children, the youngest of whom, Michael, was in his terrible twos. Being one of two children, I found it both intriguing and difficult to have so much “family” - which meant not just “Lolo” - the grandfather (Judge Suarez) who was 89 at the time, but also Lola - the grandmother, Josie (their daughter who ran the hotel), her various siblings, and numerous in-laws and friends.
I do remember how wonderful a Christmas it was in 1969 when there were so many people at the festivities. I also remember the food - and not just at Christmastime, but at all the parties. I loved the fresh fish and fruits that were so distinctly Joloano - except for Durian! I still remember with great fondness all the mangoes, papayas - and lanzones! Perhaps that is why I had dysentery! This was the first time I ate squid - something that was to become very popular in the fancy restaurants in the US but was not in 1969! However, I refused two things: any part of the fish head (most especially the eyes); and what I thought was chocolate pudding - but turned out to be liver in a chocolate sauce. But how I loved Josie’s sizzling steaks! I have to say, that I did not “suffer” the lot of some of my Peace Corps colleagues who lived in sparse situations! Still, the room I lived in at the hotel was not one of the eight or so air-conditioned ones! So, all in all, I considered myself a fortunate fellow!
Truly, La Jota Hotel was a hub of activity. The locals used it as a meeting place - and the tourists from all over the world stayed there, including some famous Filipinos and Americans. I remember having cocktails on the hotel’s balcony overlooking the street with Minnie Osmena, the famous beauty queen who was the daughter of Vice President of the Philippines. I met the son of the Senator Peter Dominic of Colorado and his girlfriend. I entertained the son of Cliff Barrows, who was the American evangelist Billy Graham’s right-hand man. I met well-known anthropologists and scholars and government people who had come to Jolo because of its historic and cultural interest - everyone who was anyone in those days stayed at La Jota.
I also had a wonderful afternoon with the old Moslem man who had showed General Douglas MacArthur around the Philippines during World War II!
Indeed, the hotel was a beautiful place - what with all the antiques that Josie had collected from all over the world (she had been a world traveler, indeed). I remember the ancient Chinese pottery, the Moro knives called “bolos,” the lovely cloth hangings known as “Pis” and the numerous brass pieces - as well as all that incredible jewelry Josie possessed: Sulu pearls, especially!
Although my official “job” as a PCV was to teach English as a Second Language and direct a college choir (I was able to obtain a new piano for the college through US Government funds), I also was a tour guide for all the many people who visited Jolo. So I got to see much of the island that way - and to constantly revel in the beautiful beaches, lush vegetation, majestic mountains.
I still have a photo (slide) of me and about a dozen of my students on top of Mount Tumantangis - what I was told meant “The Crying Mountain” because the rain would come from behind the mountain and then land in Jolo Town. I realized that it was kind of a dangerous thing to go up the mountain - because of what my students called “the bandits” - still, they had guns, with which they said they would protect me if we were attacked. The photo shows me in the center of the group - the white guy with the reddish hair (and a very thin physique in those days). There I am smiling and looking straight out at the camera, not knowing that for a joke (supposedly), one of my students had his rifle pointed at my head!!!!!!
I think some of these students went on to be part of the so-called “rebels” of Jolo. I especially remember Amboy - “American Boy” (perhaps because his hair had a reddish tint to it?).
When much of Jolo Town was destroyed by the Philippine military in the mid 1970’s I saw a photo of Notre Dame College on the front page of the “San Francisco Chronicle Newspaper” - and with a story about Amboy as one of the “Moslem insurgents” - that was the newspaper reporter’s term for him.
In the summer of 1970 I served as the Choral Director for the actors who appeared in one of the early productions of the Philippine Cultural Center - “Man of La Mancha.” It was then that I met Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos. What I remember of that experience was that she was much taller than he - even with his “platform heels”!
(Rev. Don Beaudreault taught English and Music at the Notre Dame College of Jolo from 1969 to 1970, as a Peace Corps Volunteer. He is now a unitarian minister in Sarasota, Florida).
