When I landed in the Philippines in April 2014 to begin my assignment as an Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeper, I anticipated conflict resolution work, community dialogues, and security briefings. I had been assigned to Pikit Municipality in North Cotabato, Mindanao, a region known more for the Moro (Muslim) fight for autonomy and self-rule. But no one had prepared me for the cultural shock I was about to experience, not in the context of conflict, but in the context of identity.
Our office was right in
the heart of Pikit, close to the main market and the municipal offices. We were
living in the community, surrounded by friendly locals, small kiosks, and tagalog
dialects. As a black man in a mostly Filipino community, I stood out like a
billboard in a rice field. Children would wave, strangers would stare, others
would ask for a photo, girls would ask if I had a girlfriend, and curiosity
followed me everywhere.
One morning, I walked to
a nearby kiosk to buy airtime for my phone. I handed over the money and my
phone to the shopkeeper, a seemingly ordinary interaction. But by afternoon, I
started receiving unfamiliar text messages: "Hi handsome. You look so
good. I love you. Can I see you again?" The sender was unknown, the tone
romantic, and honestly, it caught me off guard. I was confused. Only my
workmates had my phone number, I thought. Is this a scam?
In my confusion, I asked Bobby, our ever-resourceful caretaker, if he recognised the number, wondering if it could be one of my workmates. With a knowing smile, he asked, “Did you go to
the kiosk today?” When I said yes, he nodded and said, “Ah, that must be my
brother-in-law.”
I laughed. “Your
brother-in-law? The one who works at the kiosk?”
“Yes, he’s gay. He saw
you and said he likes the new international staff. That’s you.”
I am straight,
coming from Uganda where views on homosexuality are deeply conservative and prohibited,
I was taken aback. I didn’t know how to react, not with anger, but with genuine
surprise. That was my first real encounter with a gay person in the Philippines.
As I spent more time in
the Philippines, I noticed that the LGBTQ community was present in everyday
life, often expressive. In Pikit, it is not as visible as in cities like Davao,
Manila, or Cebu. For someone coming from Uganda, it was a culture shock that
slowly turned into a lesson.
I remember travelling to
a dental clinic in nearby Midsayap, suffering from a terrible toothache. To my
surprise, the dentist attending to me was gay. I found myself uncomfortable, not
because he was unprofessional, but because I didn’t know how to process this
new experience I was in. The experience with the shopkeeper who had started making advances, and now had to deal with a gay Doctor. But thankfully, the
procedure went well. The Doctor was very professional, and I left the clinic
very impressed.
Later, while on a break in
Cebu City during the 2014 World Cup, I was walking to an Irish Pub one evening when
a stunning “woman” ran up to me, smiling warmly. Her voice was deep. She had a noticeable Adam’s apple (we call it a gearbox in my hometown), and I quickly realised she was transgender. She asked if I needed company or drugs. I
politely declined. It was a strange, uncomfortable moment, but also another
reminder that I was in a place where norms were quite different.
Inside the bar, a
captivating dancer caught my eye. Her dance moves were mesmerising. But the
real shock came when she exited the stage and walked past the women’s bathroom straight
into the men’s bathroom. That got me curious, and as my eyes wandered, I saw above the women’s restroom door a sign that read: “Women and girls only. Homosexuals and lesbians are not allowed.” In that moment, I realised just how
fluid, yet complicated, gender and identity could be through the lens of my
culture and upbringing. The line between gender and appearance blurred before
my eyes.
Even my colleagues at
work surprised me. During a trip to Davao City, some colleagues had to share
hotel rooms due to limited available rooms. A female colleague offered to share her room
with one of our male staff. I was surprised. I silently wondered if they were
in a relationship. But like always, I just mind my business. Weeks later, I
casually asked her about it. She laughed and said, “You mean you didn’t know
he’s gay?” I was stunned again. I had worked with him for months and had no idea.
Looking back, I realised I had never paid attention. I simply focused on work.
I was too busy minding my own business to notice other people's personal lives.
But of course, my experience in the
Philippines wasn’t only about LGBTQ+. It was also deeply rooted in community,
tradition, and human connection. I had the privilege of engaging with indigenous
tribes, learning about their dances, rituals, family structures, and livelihoods.
Their ceremonies were colourful and meaningful. Their hospitality was unmatched.
One unforgettable encounter was with a
local sheikh who had two daughters. We struck up a casual conversation after
a community event.
He asked, “Where are you from?”
“Uganda,” I replied.
“And your name?”
“Ouma.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Omar?”
I said, “No, not Omar. Ouma.”
He asked, “Are you Muslim?”
“I am a Christian,” I replied.
With a twinkle in his
eye, he leaned closer and said, “If you convert to Islam, I’ll give you two of
my daughters to marry.” And just like that, he gestured to his daughters, beautiful,
shy, and smiling. I didn’t take the offer, of course, but we both laughed. It
was a moment of mutual curiosity and respect that said so much about the warmth
and openness of the people I was living among.
As peacekeepers, we were
encouraged to engage beyond work. To talk with people about everything and sometimes
nothing. And I loved that. From stories at the local market to conversations
under mango trees, I discovered that cultural learning isn’t always formal.
Sometimes it’s in the jokes, the daily routines, the unexpected proposals, or
the text messages from kiosk owners.
In the end, my time in
the Philippines was far more than a professional deployment. I went to Mindanao
to contribute to peace, but the Philippines gave me something equally valuable:
perspective.
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