Ink | Pen | Paper

Here's a rather sketchy story I wrote, while trying to come up with a quick way to explain why our country is suffering from a fate that seems to be pulling itself down (economically) all the time. I actually posted this in a thread, but this time around, I had more time to tweak/embellish some parts (since I wanted it to be more presentable in this blog! *chuckles*), so here it is:

"A-WIMBAWE"
by Rodsky

Once upon a time, somewhere in the lush, warm tropics, there was an island nation called "Wimbawe." Now, the Chief of Wimbawe was a wise, kind, old man, one who managed his people, and the island's resources and finances quite well. His people was a carefree tribe of folk, who lived simple lives, fishing by the beach, and hunting and gathering nature's bounty in the island's forests, and also planting crops on the valleys that nestled between the island's majestic mountains.

But, as time went on, the island's resources gradually became depleted. And, just like the island's natural reserves, the old Chief also slowly withered with age and eventually died.



His son, the new Chief, knew about the islands looming crisis, and thus he knew, that if he didn't act soon, his entire island, and all the good people would suffer and perish--the bountiful forest produce will run out, and the crops will then all be gone. Thus, he was resolved to find another way to generate income for the island and for its people.

So the next day after his father's funeral, he gathered all his people in the village square and said, "Everyone, listen to me...Etumbe and I will set sail for the the lands to the north, and invite the strange Whiteskins to visit our island. In exchange, we shall ask them for plantable crops, and goods for our village. We will call this act 'Tourism', and I believe this will save our island and our people!" Upon hearing this, the grim-faced people of Wimbawe rejoiced and the next day, off went the youngc hief and his aide to the big islands to the north, which belonged to the strange white-skinned tribes, who were very prosperous and rich, because of the abundance of land and great cities they established.

When the young Chief arrived in their ports, they visited the main city hall of the whiteskins, and invited them to come visit Wimbawe for rest and recreation and to enjoy the majestic sights offered by the tropical paradise, in exchange for much-needed goods and supplies. The whiteskins realized that this was a good opportunity for them to momentarily escape their cold, and boring business lives, and enjoy the warm tropical sun of Wimbawe, for a short vacation, and so they patted the chief on his back and told them they were coming soon for a visit.

So it was like this for several years. The whiteskins visited Wimbawe, and enjoyed their stay, and encouraged their fellow whiteskins to do the same, promising the restoration of youthful vigor and vitality brought about by the rejuvenating power of being exposed to the rawness of nature in the tropics. Thus, during the first few years of this new "Tourism" idea, the young Chief's was pleased with the results, because more and more Whiteskins visited and more and more goods came in.



But soon, after several years of this prosperous partnershop he noticed a slow gradual, decline in the visitors to the islands--there were fewer and fewer visitors each year. Thus once again, due to the dwindling number of visitors, there was a dwindling number of supplies and goods that came with each visit. The economic security of Wimbawe was once again threatened. The chief began to worry and wonder--what ishappening to my plan? What's going wrong?

So one day he went down the beach and asked one of the Whiteskins, who looked rather bored and about to board a boat to leave the island, "Sir, pardon me but, why are the newest batch of visitors not enjoying our island anymore?" The Whiteskin looked hard and weary at the chief and replied, "Your island is boring, we don't see anything different anymore...he then looked in the far horizon with a longing, wistful expression... "You know, when I first visited here years ago, there were no shopping malls lining those streets, there were no moviehouses and noisy bars in town, and there were no surfing and skimboarding competitions on these noisy beaches!...There was only the sun, the sand, and your majestic scenic views...and...sigh....your women were even topless! Now all of you look like...like...us (he pointed to a BADIDAS T-shirt of worn by the chief, and his Havanaisday Sandals)! You've....bec-become..co-consumers!!!!...so, what's exotic to see here? And to top everything off...everything is SO FRIGGIN EXPENSIVE HERE NOW! I can't even buy another round of beer! So heck, I'm leaving!"

The chief was stunned as he watched the whiteskin board the boat with the other tourists and scooted off the island back to the northlands. He pondered deeply at this problem. And began to realize a startling truth--for years when Wimbawe's economy thrived, his people began to be prosperous and started to adapt the lifestyle of the the Whiteskins...and since they lived better lives, they demanded more in terms of wages and payment from the Whiteskins, to the point that the standard of living of the entire island was elevated...gone were the natural beaches--all replaced by resorts and malls...soon Wimbawe looked pretty much like any city of the Whiteskins...

...so, he thought, in his best Wimbabian powers of analysis, there is only one solution then...

The very next day, like a stark raving madman, the Chief stood atop the lectern on the town square, and screamed at the top of his voice to all his people, "All of you! We need to act fast! Starting today, I want all of you to demolish all the malls and the shops! Let's destroy the resorts and the clubs! Women, take off your shirts and bras and let those boobies dangle in all their full native glory! Everyone, start building nipa huts and hootches! Let's goooo classic Wimbawe now people!!! WE NEED TO GET ALL THEM WHITIES BACK HERE....OR ELSE WE'LL ALL DIE!!!"

*insert closing credits and the song "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" here*

The story has no moral or anything like that. It's just my crude attempt at an analogy about how I feel there is a "vicious cycle" as regards to why my country, the Philippines seems to remain poor no matter how resourceful and hardworking we all are--we seem to be victims of "trying to look poor" so that in the eyes of investors, we look "attractive" as a place to invest (due to cheap labor). My analogy is a bit skewed, but nevermind...I still enjoyed writing that story

A-wimbawe A-wimbawe A-wimbawe A-wimbawe A-wimbawe A-wimbawe A-wimbawe...



-RODION