My environs are depressing, so I quickly get to my task. I am here at the request of a dear friend of mine who I will call Francis. He was born in Olongapo and his mother turned him over to an orphanage's care. He stayed with the orphanage until the age of seven when he was adopted by an American family. A week before I left for Asia, Francis and I sat over two many glasses of wine. He asked me to try to find his birth-mother and I promised I would try my best. So I'm here with a copy of his birth certificate, the name of his birth mother, and a message should I find her.
I start by visiting the orphanage. I meet with Merle, the woman who runs the place. She's an elderly woman, small even by Filipino standards. She's slow-moving and strong willed with an expansive and precise memory and a penchant for rambling stories. She remembers Francis readily. She recalls him as a husky child who loved playing soccer and eating doughnuts. She tells me that after Sunday services, he would sneak between two church receptions to sample the goods. Although they were Protestant, he was convinced the Catholic doughnuts were better. I sit with her for an hour before I bring up my task. She frowns.
"I'm sorry, but I can't give you any information. I have to respect privacy. If Francis were here, maybe I could help him look for her," she tells me. Her wish that Francis had come himself will be a theme throughout our discussion. She repeatedly asks me why he hasn't contacted her and I can only give half-assed excuses. I know that his experience at the orphanage wasn't all positive, but that's not my place to say. How do you explain to Grandma why her "grandson" isn't calling?
"I already have her name. I have a copy of the birth certificate," I tell her.
Over the course of another hour we go back and forth in a slow game of verbal chess involving small talk and stories. I am able to extract a few details. As we expected, Francis's mother "worked in the clubs" in Olongapo. When she got pregnant she approached the orphanage. This was her first child (she doesn't know if any followed afteward). After Francis was born, the mother was never heard from again. She would be 55 today - Merle doesn't know if she's still alive. I thank Merle for her time and leave a gift of some money and school supplies.
I'm stumped but I'm not out of the game. When I told a friend back home about my "quest", he said, "If anyone can do it you will. You're like the Filipino Nancy Drew!"
Nancy Drunanan?
Nancy Druhaylungsud!
I put on a pleated plaid skirt and sensible shoes and head over to the Olongapo City Hall. I start by trying to see if there is a death certificate. The woman who works the desk is a stone wall with a pleasant smile. I state my case ans she won't budge. She tells me that I'm not a family member, and the information isn't public. Okay. How can I find out if it's there? She's a civil servant in a third world bureaucracy, afterall.
"Miss, is there a special fee that I can pay to find out if her name is there?"
"No."
"Maybe 1000 pesos?" ($20)
Silence.
"Maybe 1500 pesos?"
"No."
I've hit my Waterloo, and it's a chubby fair-skinned woman named Carmen. I have some other ideas, but I decide to stop. I realize, especially through my conversations with Merle, that this is not my quest. I had seized this opportunity partly because I care about Francis, but also because its something tangible, something clear and something useful at a time in my life when I'm missing all of these. When I left the U.S. many of my friends said - I hope you find what you are looking for. Well I don't exactly know what I'm looking for. Francis's mother was a great substitute for the wandering, introspection, and well, the work I need to do that is really, really hard.
I pack up my bag and take a jeepney heading north.
Mrs. Merle
