'Virginia, Do You Sew?'
- By Pat Curry -

"Take some sheets."

It was one of several pieces of good advice I received for my first trip overseas. I was headed for Maragondon, Cavite, in the Philippines to cover the 16th annual Jimmy Carter Work Project for Habitat World magazine. While more than 14,000 volunteers would gather from around the world to build 293 houses there, I was a volunteer reporting staff of one.

I dug through the linen closet and pulled out an old set with the trim ripped off. Nothing fancy, but they would do in a pinch if the accommodations weren't quite up to American standards. As it turned out, our hotel was amply equipped, but before the end of the trip, they would turn out to be one of the most important things in my suitcase.

I hoped that this year I would find home partners willing to show us their current housing situation. Past experience taught me that the home partners are reluctant to do so, preferring instead to show off their new homes.

At the construction site, we saw the houses the families had longed for. By my rough estimation, the entire house - a single, concrete-block room with a sink, countertop, two partitioned areas for sleeping and a separate "comfort" room with a toilet - was about the size of my living room. And most of the families had several children. I couldn't imagine how this constituted decent housing.

Yet time and again, as I interviewed home partners, they broke into smiles when my interpreter asked how they felt about buying a Habitat house.

"Blessings from God," they would say in the few English words they knew. The houses would not fall down during a typhoon, and they all had running water, indoor toilets, septic tanks and electricity.

Virginia and Renato Ramos were the home partners of the first house being built in the community, and you could hardly pass their construction site without seeing their beaming faces. The house leader, a longtime friend of mine, said Virginia had invited her to see her current housing situation. I asked for an introduction.

More than a head shorter than myself, Virginia was, as my friend promised, "a fireplug of energy." She was happy to have me visit her home in the nearby town, and to bring a photographer. We arranged a time for later in the week.

Whenever I passed their house on the construction site, I would stop and chat. During the week I learned Virginia and Renato worked in the rice paddies and had six children. For their back-breaking labor, their monthly income was about 1,000 pesos, or roughly US$26. When I asked her if there was anything special she would like to do after she moved into her new house, she said, "I would like to save up to buy curtains."

Until their Habitat house was complete, Renato and Virginia Ramos and their six children (pictured here with four of their children and a nephew) lived in this one-room shack with no running water. The entire family slept here, on a bare wooden platform.

   
The time finally came to visit their house. Their one-room shack was divided into three sections - a sleeping area shared by all eight members of the family, a small sitting area jammed with school books, and a tiny kitchen. There was no sanitation, no plumbing, and a bare string of light bulbs overhead for light. Virginia squatted on the floor to wash dishes in a bucket and did much of her cooking outside. Both the roof and walls had sizable holes. The windows had no screens, much less glass. In storms, they were completely vulnerable. In short, it was a typical house in Maragondon.

Yet as I walked in, it was obvious that she had planned for our arrival. The linoleum and the bare concrete were clean. For the cramped size and so many people, nothing was out of place. Virginia offered us sodas and snacks, but we declined, knowing they were anxious to get back to work. As we left, she looked at me.

"Now you see," she said with pride in her eyes, "why I love my new house. My house is beautiful."

As the week drew to a close, the time came to dedicate their new home. That morning, I had an idea.

"Virginia," I asked, "do you sew"?

"Yes, some," she said.

"I brought some material with me," I said. (After seeing the bare wooden platform they slept on, I thought the concept of sheets might not translate.) "If you think you can use it, I'll leave it with you to make curtains."

She was thrilled. I gathered the sheets and tucked in a towel from home and treats for the children. I put 700 pesos (about US$17), and a picture of my family Virginia had asked for, in an envelope with a note to buy something beautiful for her new house. I smiled as I imagined her surprise to find what for them was a large sum of money, and how it would bless her family.

At the dedication, I put the bag in the corner of one of the sleeping areas. I caught Virginia's eye and hugged her. I showed her the bag.

Moments later, she approached me and pressed a plastic bag into my hand. Inside was a Philippines T-shirt, a change purse with a few pesos for my daughters, and a fan. On the spines of the fan she had written, "To our dear volunteer. Thank you very much. The Ramos Family. We love you."

And there was a note. "Dear Pat," she wrote. "We will never forget you, your memory will always warm my heart. A week of togetherness means a lifetime for us. God bless and more power. We love you very much."

I turned to my friend, the house leader. We both had tears in our eyes. To my astonishment, she held a similar bag.

I suddenly remembered the story of Jesus in the temple at Jerusalem. I felt like one of the Pharisees who made a show of dropping gold coins in the offering while a widow quietly gave two pennies, all she had.

My gift, which I had thought so generous just a moment before, seemed shabby and cheap now.

They were things I would never miss, and could easily replace. But for a woman who earns less than a dollar a day, her gift to me might literally have taken food out of her own mouth.

Later, Virginia asked me if I had seen Gregg, the photographer. She had another bag in her hand. It would not surprise me if she had gifts for every volunteer who worked on her house.

A few days after I got home, I was changing the sheets on my daughter's bed. As I pulled linens from the closet, something caught my eye - the pillowcase I had left behind from the set I took on the trip.

At first, I considered throwing it out. After all, the sheets were gone. But then I decided to keep it. It serves as a reminder of Virginia's great generosity, and the gift I know I can never repay.


Pat Curry is a writer based in Athens, Ga. She volunteered her professional services to Habitat World during the JCWP in the Philippines.


Reprinted from Habitat World Magazine, August/September, 1999.
This article may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
©1999 Habitat for Humanity International