Another chapter in the Case of the Naïve Foreigner

The following is the short version - believe it or not - of my latest chapter in my stupid naive foreigner story - this case is a car-purchase.

My friend Dave told me that my 20 year old Toyota Forerunner (which I named Pula) that I bought a year ago would not make it long and once it went, it would stay “went.”  He worried that I would get stuck somewhere in my exploration of Palawan, and said that Pula (‘red’ in Tagalog) just wasn’t reliable.  I think Pula was outraged because she made a popping noise and then just stopped soon after that in the driveway.  I took trikes for several days before my friend Edgar, a mechanic came over – and fixed Pula with the simple tightening of the battery cables.  Pula idles hard and shakes her screws loose often – I know from that description that it seems like we belong together, but I’m not a mechanic and thought I’d start looking for a car.

Folks at work told me I could get a new car for about 1.2M and that I could finance it.  1.2M is about $30K US…and I didn’t want to pay that much.  But….I should have  asked around more instead of shopping as I would at home for a 2^nd hand car…online. 
 (#1 naivetee:  Thinking that things would be similar since these were both good online car ‘dealerships’). 

 I saw a good deal and messaged the guy – with the last name of Marcos – did I really want to buy a car from a guy named Marcos I thought?   Haha – if only the name Marcos was as bad as this escapade would get!

He said he would meet me the next day, November 21st at 2pm.  I walked down the street and stood waiting in the sun for over an hour, texting him. Where was he?  I returned home at 3:45, stripped off my sweaty clothes and texted him to forget it.  Next thing I knew I heard “tao, po” announcing his presence and I went to the door to see Marcos standing there.  

I should have stuck by my guns, but texted Dave, who was going to check the car out – and he said to come on over.  The set up was weird when we arrived to the car – there was a couple standing by the car and another two men in the car.  The couple agreed to drive with me to Dave’s in Mangingisda – 40 minutes away.  This was a big car – a black Fortuner and it seemed to run smoothly and powerfully – best of all the A/C was great (Pula lacked any A/C oomph).  We got to Dave’s and he had a computer scanner, hooked it up and said he couldn’t find anything bad on it.  Tried out several things and talked with the couple, who were so nice - their story was that they were from Bataraza and that they had lost 20M when the husband had tried to be elected as mayor.  They lost everything and moved up here to Puerto.  Now they were selling this car.  I remarked that I had been lied to here and they said that this transaction would show me that there were honest Filipinos.  The husband said that only his wife and daughter had driven the car and that it had only been used around town. 

We drove back and I noticed that the yellow malfunction light had come on and there was a loud rattle in the dashboard as well.  I told them I couldn’t accept the car with the malfunction light, even though they swore the engine was fine - so they agreed to fix it. I assumed they were the parents of the young man Marcos. 

The next day the original Marcos texted to see if I wanted to proceed.  I should have at least screamed, “Don’t push me!”  but of course didn’t – I always have had a problem setting boundaries, and I fell back on my default of ‘whatever the other guy wants.’  It was listed for 740K and I  countered with 700K – but recalled that I didn’t have 700K in my bank account here.  Three days later they texted me with their real names and I found that Marcos had nothing to do with the car except that he listed it for them - Mr and Mrs. "A" are the owners.

(#2 naivete:  WHY do you think they did that Debra!?  Because it is the custom?  NO! To HIDE their names for heaven’s sake!)   

They agreed to 500K now and 200K as soon as I could get it – I looked like an honest (read that as naive, extremely gullible and dumb) foreigner I’m sure. I frantically skyped my friend Liz to wire me $6,000 from the states - that has its own story about the limits to wiring money and the hoops one has to go through.

Mr. “A” texts that  they will bring the car to me – and they eventually do – but then say as they are about to give it to me that the A/C is not working well and they will take it to the Toyota dealer to fix that and the yellow light.   WHAT?  Why didn’t you just keep it then?    Within a couple hours he texts that Toyota needs 2 days to fix the A/C and that he will also check the brakes.  A week after we first met, he says he has picked up the car and that, “thanks god” everything, including the light, is fine.

We meet at the mall and complete the transaction and they depart to their lawyer to draw up the Deed.  

(#3 naivete:  are you kidding?   I gave them over $10,000 as a down payment with nothing more than their word?) 

However, they didn’t put in the Deed that they needed to fix the light. Me? I’m in my default mode, remember – plus, I don’t want to look like the ugly American.

Another glitch: a week after the test drive, I receive an email from Marcos – the lister:

Good Evening po maam. Ask Lang ? You have already paid the car ? Because I have a percent in that car . The owner said you did not fully paid the car. email me if you buy that car at the price . fully paid or deposit only ? Because i need the Money . i have to travel to Malaysia on december 5.

Good grief, now I'm feeling used – I send a nasty reply and tell him I have no problem taking this to court if I am screwed with – and I also copy the owner.

I ask Mr/Mrs A. to go to transfer the title and register the car to me and Mr. A meets me at the Land Transportation Office (LTO), but, oops – the car hadn’t been cleared with the Highway Patrol.  My friend Jane had said, “why are you running all around doing this?  They should deliver everything to you in working order.”  Umm…because, as my husband used to whistle from the musical “Oklahoma,”  I’m Just a Girl Who Can’t Say No.  Jeez Louise.

A little worrisome to me were the many obviously Muslim men we passed in the street near the LTO who were exceedingly deferential to this man.  We drive 30 minutes to Tiniguiban to the Highway Patrol and I meet the new head of the Provincial Police – who had on very shiny shoes and was very dapper.  He seemed to know the owner and I was introduced to several officers.  At the end of the fairly thorough inspection (for engine ID numbers and such), the owner tells me to pay 2200 pesos to the highway patrol inspector and he would finish the filing of the papers (of course later I understand that the seller should have paid for that).  With the head of the provincial police standing right in front of me, why would I (the naïve foreigner) think that was a problem?  The guy would file everything and return the papers to me, right?  Wrong.

By this time I had googled this seller’s name and had a heart palpitation – yes, he had challenged the mayor in the election – and their two camps had killed several people…each claiming it was the other’s fault.  Shit oh Shit.  Now we are Beyond the Naïve Foreigner.

My friend Edgar grew up in Cotobato in Mindanao and was very worried now that he knew I was buying from Muslims.  I chastised him for being racially biased (naïve again), but now think that we act how we are raised – and Christians and Muslims are raised in a war zone in Mindanao, and are enemies in most of the Philippines. 

So now I’m worried – and advise my landlord, friend Jane to have the property guard be on the lookout – but not only that, tucked in the back of the glove compartment I uncrumple a receipt for the previous 3 months rental of the car to a construction company!  Hmm…only his daughter and wife drove the car????        So much for the honest Filipino.

The yellow light is still on and it’s now December 3^rd – we both deliver the car to Toyota and, now that the registration is in my name (but not finalized with a signature from LTO), Mr. A instructs them to call us both to say what the problem is.  But, I don’t hear anything, and Toyota (where his niece is the one we are dealing with) calls him and gives him the car on December 5^th.   He tells me that the papers are at LTO and that there is a buyer if I don’t want the car.  My response is that I do not want the car – that every day a new issue pops up and I want the 500K back.

#4 – How naïve can you be?  Of COURSE they already spent the 500K I paid them 

(on their first van that they are renting to a mining company).  They will not refund my money and want the other 200K to buy a 2nd van.  Nor will they give me the car.  I told them I would pay them the 200K when the car is fixed and not before. 

All the seller gives me is a photocopy of the title – the chief of LTO supposedly was out on vacation and the title is not signed, which it must be to be valid.  According to seller, LTO has the deed and paperwork.  As I found out later – he has everything and has had it the entire time!  When I visit LTO with someone from Palawan Pawnshop where I work, LTO tells me that they do not have the papers but the seller does – so now I have no papers, no car and no money.  What a mess.

On December 4^th he texts me, “I have already the car and I just finished driving...well in good as far as I’ve observed”    But, he picked up the car because he intended to keep it.

On the 5^th we agree to meet at 4pm and I ask Edgar to accompany me since he knows mechanics and is fluent in Tagalog (there is a myth that everyone in the Philippines speaks English - which is as true as I speak fluent Tagalog) .  But when we arrive at 4pm, no one is there – a 4:15 text says that he has taken his family to the market!  

I ask to speak to the mechanic and his niece says that is not allowed.  I tell her that I am the legal owner of the car – not her uncle and that forgive me for saying, but she has a conflict of interest – and I will not leave until I speak to the mechanic.  

The mechanic is a girl!  I loved that part – she tells me that the brakes are not safe and need fixing and that I should be very careful purchasing this car (stupid, stupid, stupid Debra!).  She also says that the reason there is no history on the car is that it was erased – and you have to do that on purpose (honesty shining through again) - when the seller took out the transmission to repair a problem with the reverse….say what????   We are far beyond naivetee at this point and submerged in lies.

Mr. A and I text and agree to meet at Toyota the following day.  He and his wife and I talk and work things out – until I ask for the keys – a heated argument ensues…and I mean heated – when he refuses to give me the keys.  We agree that the car will remain at Toyota and neither of us will take it (I call twice during the time to check that it is still there).  I storm off and vow to myself not to deal with him alone again. 

Mr. A finally places an order at Toyota for the yellow light sensor with a partial payment of the 12K price, but intervening Typhoon Ruby delays that part – and when it arrives, it is the wrong part.  When Toyota calls Manila, they say that they will have to order the part from Japan and that it will take 3 months.  Really????  

At this point he texts and asks what I want to do.  I tell him that I have instructed the mechanic to do the other work while we wait for the part.  He responds, “We are ready to return your money on Monday.”   I say – great and we make a date for 3pm.  

But, by this point I know I am way out of my league and I ask my friend Angie, wife of city counselor Matt, for help; she says Matt can go with me and to also get a lawyer – the more witnesses the better.

As another hilarious twist, she says that she thinks this is her sister Melanie’s old car and that they drove it back and forth to San Vicente – so it is not a city car.  This in fact turns out to be that car.  Not sure I can take more of these oddities.  But, on Sunday, Angie’s mother dies and things fall through the cracks a bit.

On Monday I enlist the help of my friend who is the lawyer for PPS, we write a Deed of sale back to the original sellers and he will meet me at Toyota to meet with them at 3pm.    

But, Mr. A texts to say only his wife is coming:  “Good morning!  My wife and my eldest daughter will see you at Toyoa this afternoon.  We would like to say Sorry for the lapses and unavoidable circumstances we have had..we hope and pray that you can see them and solve the things peacefully. Tnx n Godbless!”  

He also texts: “The Orig title of the black Car was handed to my wife by the one who processed the transfer so you may have it ths afternoon at Toyota Center..tnx tnx n Fyi”       Direct lie versus LTO... I am sooooo sick of people lying to me. 
  

And, as soon as she shows up, she says they do not have the money.  My attorney friend knows her daughter, so a connection is made - he asks when they will pay me – January 6^th she says, after they are paid 1million for construction work.  And, there is at least some progress – they will “allow” me to use the car.  So, at least I have something.  She keeps the papers but shows me a signature on the title – and says that the chief signed it.  I say that is strange because I was at LTO that very afternoon and they told me that it had not cleared.  In any case, I have the car, and drop her at home and leave, vowing never to deal with them again and to rely on the attorney.  It is now December 15th.

On Christmas morning I eat brunch at Aziza Hotel and leave the car there for 2 nights while I go with friends to Sabang.  Upon return, the car would not start - the battery cables having been disconnected so that the battery was dead.  You can only access the hood release from the inside and need a key – and it is in a small, guarded hotel lot.  The back left tire also was flat and there were scratches on the right side.  Too much coincidence for me.  I fixed the battery and used the car for another week.

This text greeted me on the 5^th:  “Blessed Morning and Happy New Year po!  We would like to ask for an apology that we cannot return your 500k instead we are offering you to have discount of the Car for you to fix whatever you want and possible…maybe if you have time ths afternun we better se each other at Atty D's law office for better solution Tnx n more power  "A" family.”

I did not know that he had already met with MY attorney – so weird.  And my attorney did not tell me outright either…even weirder.  I told the attorney that I would give them 100K more and that would be all – the seller agreed and I dropped off the money to the attorney's office – on my way to check in at Adventist for my surgery.

WHAT a FIASCO.  I will NEVER trust anyone here again.  Giving them all the benefit of the doubt, there is simply a different definition of honesty here – and many times the ends justify the means. More than angry, I am just so disappointed with people here and really wonder how this world will ever survive.

So – I am now slightly worried not only that they might scratch my very distinctive black car when they see it – but also that compadres of the people who were killed in the mayoral race will have an ax to grind.  I’m thinking of painting something on the car to let them know it has changed hands:  THIS IS DEBRA’S CAR NOW – SHE BOUGHT IT IN JANUARY – PLEASE LEAVE US ALONE.

So, I am now the not-so-proud owner of a 2006 (not 2007 as they listed it) Toyota Fortuner.

Hay naku!

Third Time is the Charm?

I’ve been hospitalized in Puerto Princesa three times in four years and am hoping not to see the inside of the ‘basic’ (choosing a euphemism here rather than something slanderous) O.R. there again … although I have to admit that it has improved dramatically in four years.  However, they still practice some rudimentary procedures and everything is no-frills – like the 5-foot tall industrial canisters of oxygen that are wheeled into a room (by a large Filipino) for a patient who needs oxygen, or the need to bring in your own eating utensils and towel – and someone to help you during your time in the hospital.  Note that this is the high class hospital – Adventist – not the CoOp or the Provincial Hospital.

This is the only hospital qualified by the Peace Corps, where I nearly died with blood clots in 2012 after a fall in Thailand (where I also contracted dysentery thankfully - otherwise I would have been dead before they would agree to admit me – as it was I asked them for 2 days to also check my leg.  After that operation, I passed a clot and was evacuated to Manila for another 9 days in hospital before being sent home).  That time as I was rolled into the O.R. I remembered that no one but the Peace Corps even knew I was being operated on – some big tears ran down the side of my face while I lay flat on my back feeling pretty darned alone and thinking of my daughters and loved ones at home.  And feeling worse when I looked up at the peeling paint on the ceiling and the look of non-sterile operating facilities – maybe it just looked dingy.

When I chose to return to Palawan on my own, I vowed not to enter Adventist again. And oh – did I ever say that I was not welcomed back to the Peace Corps; told not to come even to the send-off for my batch, and never even received any sort of document or recognition that I’d ever served?  Rather peeved at my lifelong dream of serving.  Like a few of my dreams, that one didn’t quite pan out.  But, I digress.  Along with some of my dreams, many of my “never” statements have failed me….including never to check into Adventist again. 

As with the dysfunctional dysentery admission, October 12^th 2013 (Ashley’s birthday) saw me writhing in pain from a gall bladder blocked with boulders.  I am usually quite flippant and cheery at hospitals, but as the hours progressed, I morphed into my version of Mr. Hyde – alternately pleading, threatening and moaning.  Luckily, a new doctor had arrived recently – our first laparoscopic surgeon – and was even on call at the hospital that day.  There is no way that I could ever have made it to Manila and am very thankful that Dr Ronnie Dan Salazar delivered me from evil that day.

Scroll forward 14 months to a December Skype call with my ‘sister’ Liz – telling her about a weird thing in my belly – no pain but a bulge.  She immediately diagnosed it as a hernia (she had two boys and I had two girls – can I blame my ignorance on that?)….and I of course immediately googled it and diagnosed it specifically as an incisional hernia – caused by tearing of the abdominal wall from the gall bladder incisions.  I immediately (well, after Christmas and the New Year), called my doctor - Dr. Posas, whose nurse said – well, you are #52 today – can it wait until tomorrow?  So, I made an appointment for 10am the following day – got there and waited 2 hours – the explanation was, as people kept cutting in line, that these people got their tests back and needed to find out what to do next.  Jeez.  Finally got in and the doc didn’t say anything about it being caused by the incision (as diagnosed by Dr. Pritchard), but sent me upstairs to get a sonogram.  Walked upstairs to a closed, locked door.  Finally found a nurse who laughed and said – oh the doctor left for the day – he is at another clinic – can you drive there?  Sure.  She told me the street name and said that Ultra Med was just across from the Provincial hospital. 

About 15 minutes and 2 wrong turns later (Puerto just put up street signs on the major streets last year), I parked and got out to canvass the area.  I still hadn’t found the place, which turned out to be about 2 minutes away from my doctor’s office.  I stopped first at a pharmacy, who told me to ask the OB/gyn office across the street, but it wasn’t open, so I walked up and down Malvar Street.  Finally, down a side street I thought I spied it.  Not much of a sign, but a few older gentlemen sitting around talking in the alley.  One was the radiologist. 

We walked into a general purpose room where several people were working on typewriters, or with vials, and I pulled down my pants and got up on a table and waited for the cold goop to be squirted on my belly.  He didn’t disappoint me – no warning, just cold.  He told me that there was ‘no evidence’ of a gall bladder – I said that was a good thing and told him it had been removed.  He then told me I had a fatty liver and asked me if I had diabetes.  No – we are looking for a hernia.  Nope – nothing there.  I said, “Look closer” and so he did – and found a “small, floating” protrusion.  I was very confused – at times I thought he was telling me something, but it turns out that he was calling out to one of the typists across the room and was dictating the report to her as he examined me.  Luckily I am immune to privacy issues anymore and it was just comical that people were walking in and out of the office with me like a car with its hood raised on a mechanic’s rack.  By the time I wiped off the goop, they had handed me the typed report and the film.  No need for the lauded Asian Patience at Ultra Med (once you found it that is). 

Back to my doctor’s office (I now skipped to the head of the list, having returned with my tests and wondering what my next step was), where I quickly learned that the next step was surgery and an appointment at Adventist to be examined by the surgeon.  I drove 5 minutes down the road to Adventist and my now favorite Palawan surgeon, Doc Ronnie; lifted my blouse for him to look the bulge and he said –“oh yeah – incisional hernia.”  He took full credit for it, saying that it happens, even with laparoscopic surgery – kind of like keloids – which we tangentially discussed for a couple minutes, before agreeing to check me in and do the surgery the following day.

Then I remembered that I wanted to support (emotionally) one of the managers at PPS, by attending a morning meeting – so I asked the admissions director if I could check in not later that night, but the following.  No problem - she took care of all the paperwork and I paid the down payment of P2,000 ($40 US), went home and had a couple of pieces of pizza for dinner.  The morning presentation was great and I got a call just before I was leaving that was quite garbled – “….sorry no rooms available for your dates.”  I tried to remember where I had reserved rooms since my vacation wasn’t planned until April – then realized it was the Hospital!   She promised that she would call me back later….which she did, to say there still were no rooms and to call her back at around 8pm.  Wala pa. (still nothing)  I have become very “bahala na” (meaning roughly, it’s up to god…or whoever is in charge of the universe) for an American – certainly a far cry from the person who tried so hard to be perfect for several decades - so, I enjoyed an evening with Happy (my 4 month old dachshund puppy) and decided to check in on Friday evening instead.

But, after several pleasant and calm chats with admissions nothing came up for Friday either – I’d asked the admissions folks if they had notified the doctor and they said they had, but…..  I finally called the surgeon and he was waiting for me to check in – well, I’d love to – but there are no rooms.  We agreed to wait to do the surgery on Monday morning, so I would check in on Sunday night.  Settled in for a nice sleep and easy weekend…. I was awakened at 11:15pm – the hospital was calling to tell me that there was a room and to come then.   Told her it was set for Sunday and I would see her then.  After a nice Saturday and Sunday, I called (you should always triple-sec I mean triple-check in the Philippines ... Hilariously on Sunday afternoon, the same poor woman told me that there were no rooms.  I told her to talk to Dr. Salazar (“which one – Doctora or Doctor?” – his oncologist wife has joined him here on Palawan and they make quite the pair – a 21^st century team!).  I responded “Doc Ronnie”…..and I texted him as well.  Within an hour she called me back at 3pm very cheerily to inform me that a room was available and to come check in at 4pm. I packed up Happy’s stuff and carted him to my friend Angie’s, where I explained his care to her son Luke (although I knew Angie’s yaya would probably do most of the caring). 

On Sundays at Adventist you have to check in via the Emergency Room.  There was quite a bit of howling when I arrived, although I never figured out what the girl’s problem was;  I also later found out a FB friend and her husband were there…funny.  So I waited.  With all the room mix-up, I didn’t have current papers.  Luckily, Doc Ronnie arrived and got everything straightened out.  We got me all fixed up with the plastic ID band on the left wrist, and for $20US/night, I settled in to my suite – complete with an extra cot for my kasama (a relative or friend who stays with you in the room to take care of you).  AND an LCD television!  One of the best deals in Puerto if you can meet the rental qualifications.   Around midnight they came in and hooked me up to an IV (only 3 sticks to the vein…not too bruised).  Being my independent, American self, I’d packed a washcloth and towel and utensils, but hadn’t thought that a kasama was necessary, so hadn’t asked anyone…actually hadn’t really told my friends that I was even doing this. 

Prior to the surgery, my surgeon said that Filipinos were wimps after surgery, but Europeans and Americans were amazing, leaving just hours after the surgery – sigh – of COURSE I took that as a challenge!  Afterwards, he did say that the hernia was larger than he thought, so I felt justified in staying one more night, but competitively checked myself out the next day, and drove myself first to get Happy from Angie and then drove myself home (but did call and ask my friend Jane if she could open the gates for me – I was pretty owie by this point and hopped up on painkillers and other things).  Thankfully Jane also got Happy and his crate into the house and kissed me goodnight! 

Scoring perhaps a 7 out of 10 for overall non-wimp performance, but I thought at least an 8.5 for technique.

Yesterday made 2 weeks post op and Doc Ronnie agreed to take out the drain that had been in me for 2 weeks, complete with 18 inches of tubing (major eeew).  Finally feeling more human than plastic fantastic, although can’t lift much for another month.

For those of you curious on costs (I have no medical insurance):  For the procedure, which took between 1-2 hours, the surgeon charged about $400 US for the operation and follow up visits; my regular doctor who visited me twice charged about $50.  The damned drain and tubing was $40 and the medications about $10 (7 days of antibiotics, 2 types of painkillers and 30 days vitamins), with the room charge of $20/day.  There were detailed charges for the IVs and O.R. rental, but the total charge was $1,400 for everything.  Pretty incredible.   

Thankful once again to those who cared for me in all the ways they do.

As long as this Humpty Dumpty can continue to be put back together again, all is fine (although I’m hoping the 3^rd time is the charm!).   

The Legacy of Hands - Sabah, Malaysia, Borneo - May, 2014

My mother always seemed old to me; our house was quiet and she and my father hardly talked with each other - a proposition difficult to begin with since he worked nights at Beech's Market on Rosemead, stocking the shelves. and she was around me during the daylight hours.  The most excitement I recall as a grade schooler was taking my dad "lunch" - driving the back roads late at night...it seemed like such an adventure at the time.

Neither of my parents were risk takers or active adventure seekers - I know I was a mystery to them.  My mother seemed to fit the character of many mothers of the '50's and probably wrote in her personal Diary of a Mad Housewife. We never went hiking or swimming or camping; although they took me to swim lessons at the plunge. The most active I remember our small family was around holiday times when we got together with my mother's large family - the women would cook dinner and the men would wait, watching television.  As soon as the dinner finished, the men would go bowling and the women would clean up.  Not my idea of bliss.  The liveliest we ever got, our family of three, was playing Yahtzee, which my dad loved.  Scrabble was also big with my mom and me and we spent time companionably, although we rarely talked about ideas as I did with my "other mom" - Liz's mom, Eileen.  I suppose that's what happens.

My mother seemed to have few interests (and my dad fewer), but she liked puzzles and gardening. I remember giving my mom a woodburning art set and my dad a wine tasting class for Christmas when I was in my 20's - neither used either of the gifts.  My best friend, Liz, told me to stop trying to make them into people I wanted and accept them as they were.  As I now hear the odd things my own daughters think of me, I wonder who my mother really was - trapped by the times, the societal restrictions, the marriage and motherhood bonds, subsuming her wants and needs for approval of others? With a daughter who wanted her to be more - more what, I don't know.  My mother never shared her thoughts or feelings with me or anyone else as far as I know.  Some are fortunate to have that knowledge of their mothers; I did not.

One thing I do remember vividly (and the reason for the woodburning gift) was my mother's artistic ability - especially to draw (for someone like me who draws stick figures, this is miraculous).  I remember when I was little, happening upon a cluster of pencil sketches my mother had done in her younger years, along with a personal journal which I shouldn't have read (but did), learning about things like a painful and failed pregnancy before they adopted me.  I only discovered that my mother had talent  in the 6th grade when we were studying the Greek gods - she never claimed anything for herself.  My report was on Athena, and I wanted a picture - my mother drew one for me - a beautiful picture of the goddess. She showed me other sketches she had done - studies of men and women's bodies - and of hands.

I remember being enthralled by those hands and only wish I could find the sketches again. The attention to detail and the love of drawing showed me a woman I never knew. Other than that time, I never saw my mother draw and I now wonder why.  I suspect that many of us regret not knowing our mothers more as human beings rather than carrying forward the baggage from childhood. Our values and experiences were so different, and I couldn't have been an easy child (or adult!) for her with my boundless energy and demands, but my memories are still there of her trying to please me.  And, she obviously left a legacy - in Borneo, I too, was attentive to the detail in hands and feet (albeit not the human variety).

In all their colorful glory:

The speckled back foot of the monitor lizard

The bright orange feet of the dwarf Kingfisher

And the strange 'Gumby' feet 

of the Anhinga or Oriental Darter

My favorite bear - the beautiful sun bear.
In this picture, looking like I ski - what a pickle!

Sun bear nails are so long that they look prissy

They eat termites and fruit - their long nails claw the wood for the grub
And their long tongues slurp up every morsel

But it was the primates who fascinated me.

Starting with the lesser monkeys:

Long tailed Macaque

Looks like my latest manicure!

I had no idea I would love the Proboscis monkeys as much as I did - they were a treat to watch for the several hours we spent at the sanctuary in Sandakan.  Their bodies fascinated me - from their cleanliness and beautiful color to the power of their thighs, hands and feet.

Enormous hands, well, and nose

Enormous hands and feet belie the wives' tale of determining ratio and length

The male leader looked pugnacious, about to throw a right hook

Showing his masculinity and claiming his territory

The females are more petite and seem to show more emotion

The most expressive hands I saw were those of the orang utan.  In the following pictures, it looks like this 'man of the forest' is communicating something - almost like sign-language, but with the elegance of a Balinese dancer.

And the amazingly beautiful reason for hands - to connect with others.  This mother swung into the Sepilok feeding area and the baby was hardly noticeable - it was as though they were one body. The entire time the two were at the feeding station - perhaps 45 minutes - the baby's hand never left the mother's body.  

Piggy-back arrival at the feeding area

Entwined Hands

Eating a banana, but not letting go

Still attached (the  l o n g arms help!)

Tasty fingers

Diving into the whole bunch

Just won't let go - no matter what the position!

Swinging out again into the forest

Babies of the silver leaf monkeys are born bright orange and are easy to spot.  While this baby seemed a bit more adventurous than the orang utan infant, the long tails of the langur monkeys allowed the connection to lengthen - connecting tail to tail, but never far apart.

One of my favorite pics

It seemed that these orangs used their (very large and long) hands for the same things that we do:

Eating a succulent mango

Scratching an itch

Trying to figure out how to open an umbrella

Trying to fix those spokes

Hanging on for dear life!