"Amerikano," said the neighborhood kids, pointing to my husband. An American or a foreigner is what the people of Siquijor use to refer to fair-skinned or light-eyed tourists that visit the island. It's not meant to be pejorative. That's what neighborhood kids called my husband from California during his first visit to Siquijor. "Hey, Joe!" some of the kids called out to him, a greeting often used toward American servicemen.

That was 1986 and Steve's first time in the Philippines, visiting the island of Siquijor. This was my first time coming home after I came to California. Six years prior, I arrived in Santa Clara a single woman.  In 1984, we got married. I thought Steve needed to meet my family and see where I came from. The Philippine President, Ferdinand Marcos had just been ousted from office. Steve was a little worried about his safety. So was I.

Going home to my island at that time was not easy. Arriving in the Manila International Airport was quite the ordeal. Jet-lagged, tired, sleepy from the long-haul trip, and sticky from the humidity, we longed for a shower and a bed. My cousin, Bedo, was supposed to meet us but he couldn't get past the barricade. We signaled for him to meet us at the domestic airport. We were relieved to finally be on the plane to Dumaguete City, a calmer place. Even better was finally arriving in Siquijor Island.  

Once on the island, Steve relaxed a little and even enjoyed the hospitable and friendly people, fresh local food, and San Miguel beer. I was a "balikbayan" — a Filipino returning to the Philippines. Balik means to return.  Bayan means country. And we were lovingly welcomed home.

We arrived in the port of Larena, one of the six towns of Siquijor. My family fussed about Steve. "What does he want to eat? Is he enjoying himself?" Most of our vacation days were spent at the beach. A few times, Steve played basketball with the teenage boys. "Hey, Michael Jordan," he called one of them. The boys cheered. Of course, they knew who the famous American professional basketball player was.

One day, we were at my grandparents' house in the mountains. Relatives from my Dad's side, aunts, uncles and cousins, gathered in front of the house for a photo. Steve was the center of attention. He had just met my grandma, Nanay Sila, the grand matriarch of the family. Tatay Juan, my grandpa had died years before. Their old two-story house was still standing, surrounded by coconut trees that my grandpa had planted long ago.  

My homecoming was a frenzied time of visiting relatives from both sides of my family, and graciously accepting many invitations to someone's home for lunch, afternoon snack or dinner. To make Steve comfortable, Mandie, my mom's sister arranged for us to stay for a couple of days at Casa de La Playa resort in Larena.

En route to Manila, to catch the plane back to San Francisco, Aunt Paz my Dad's sister, arranged an overnight stay at Santa Monica beach resort in Dumaguete. Steve still remembers the security guard with a shot gun. 

My husband enjoyed going home with me to Siquijor. He loved the mountains where my grandmother lived. But the "frenetic activity" that is normal for me, not so much. "Filipinos love to party," he said. Steve's next trip to Siquijor in December 2001 was with our son, Ryan, and me. It was a rite of passage. An important addition to my life needs to visit Siquijor. Frenetic activities are included.

~ Nida Spalding