On arriving at the outskirts of the city of Cebu (the capital of the island of Cebu) after a long bus trip, we got a taxi to the airport. The airport was on the opposite side of town. We thought the taxi would be quicker than the local bus – as it turned out, a completely unwarranted assumption. Even though it was early in the afternoon and on a week day, the traffic was bumper to bumper.
Our taxi driver seemed upbeat about the traffic. Like many Filipinos, he spoke English – and spoke it quite well.
When we asked him why the traffic was so heavy, he exclaimed incredulously:
‘You don’t know?’
We said we didn´t.
Voice oozing disbelief, he proceeded to enlighten the dumb tourists.
‘There’s a big religious festival in Cebu this weekend! People are arriving from all over the country, even overseas!’
I guessed that the taxi driver was a proud native of Cebu.
He was a man making the best of a bad lot.
No shortage of them in The Philippines, but this man had a cross to bear. Yolanda had ruined him, ruined his life, and yet he still managed to go on, driving his taxi into a land called Hope…..