Rosa Marie Angcoy

Inday is a beautiful girl of fourteen who I have been helping with clothing, food, and school expenses. Everyone in Bontoc calls her Inday, but in Libas where she was born she is known by the name of Laila, the name her father gave her. He died of cancer in December of 2007. Laila's mother, Rose Marie Angcoy, had had polio as a child and she was barely able to walk. There were eight children in the family, and when her husband died, Rose Marie had to give up five of the children for adoption. Rose Marie could barely make ends meet washing clothes by hand, and the home they made for themselves in Libas was poor by the standards that exist in Libas.

Last Saturday I went to Sogod with Laila to buy rice and canned goods for her mother and the three remaining children. We bought Milo so that the children could have something sweet.

I traveled with Eking by motorcycle (I misspelled his name as Aking in the last entry), and when I arrived in Libas I remember thinking how much it reminded me of a small town in America during the 1950's. Children were swmming and playing in the Libas river. Teen age boys were playing basketball on the town basketball court. Girls in long grey checkered skirts were making their way home, and yes two asked about their long lost friend Elliot.

Eking took me accross the river where he climbed to the top of a fifty foot coconut tree and liberated five coconuts. Then we took them to Manoy's house (Manoy is a term used for older man just like Inday means young girl). He cut them open and I had buko juice. I was welcomed by one of the family members by the greeting that I have heard several times, "Welcome home." I was beginning to think that this was an idylic place, and in some respects it is. But then I heard that Rose Marie was sick.
We hurriedly gathered my things and made it to her house. Most homes in Libas are simple and adequate, but the house where Rose Marie and her three children lived seemed more like a storage shed. And several women were outside talking among themselves. Rose Marie lay on the platform where the family members slept. She appeared barely conscious. I could see that her breathing was very rapid and shallow. I was not sure what to do, but then asked if there was a doctor that could come.

No, there are no doctors in Libas. Nor are there any nurses. A midwife comes from time to time. The nearest hospital is in Sogod which takes over an hour by bus. The bus I believe comes once a day. It is a rickety trip down the dirt and rock road that leads to Libas. We finally decided to buy medicine at a store nearby. The owner suggested some antibiotics and medicines for Rose Marie's cough. We were about to leave, but I asked to stay. I asked Eking if he would help translate for me. A good many people in Libas know English only as well as I know Visayan. Rose Marie had by this time sat up, and I didn't need to have anyone translate when she said Ubo. It means cough. I told her that I hoped she would feel better when she took the medicine.

Most people who saw Rose Marie probably never looked beyond the fact that she was poor and that she was crippled by polio. Laila once told me that she was unable to complete more than a couple of years of school because of her illness. Some of the women there said she had gotten sick from over working herself at washing the clothes there.

She was beautiful in a very different way with sharp angular features. She must have been a good mother because her two eldest daughters I could see were wonderfully responsible. To me she had a striking appearance. I think I will always remember her face.

She died the next day.