The Woman with the Yellow Ribbon

It was a bright morning in 2006 when I boarded a Cebu Pacific flight from Davao to Cebu City. It was only my second trip outside Davao since I arrived in the Philippines a year earlier for an international development assignment. My destination was Dumaguete City where a workshop at Silliman University awaited. The prospect of reconnecting with fellow development workers some of whom I had not seen in months filled me with genuine excitement.

The flight itself felt special. The crew greeted us with warm smiles and soon we were soaring above Mindanao’s lush hills and winding rivers. From my window seat I watched long stretches of white sand and caught sight of Bohol’s Chocolate Hills in the distance. In that quiet moment I felt completely present.

When I landed in Cebu, I chose a scenic countryside bus ride to Dumaguete rather than a boat. The journey was long, so I drifted in and out of sleep until a gentle tap on my shoulder stirred me. A soft voice then asked “Hey you look new here. What is your name and where are you from?” I turned to see a woman with a vibrant yellow ribbon in her hair and a face lit with a youthful energy. Her presence felt disarming, and I felt a flutter of curiosity.

I introduced myself and said I was from Kenya. She paused then asked innocently “Is Kenya near Chicago” I laughed quietly and replied, “Not quite much further south.” She chuckled, her eyes dancing. She then offered to show me around Dumaguete once we arrived.

By evening we hopped onto a tricycle and rode through town to Silliman University. She dropped me off at the campus gate with a cheerful wave and a promise to meet again the next night. I had not expected to make a friend so quickly let alone one so eccentric and kind.

The following day the conference began in earnest. Reuniting with colleagues from Manila, Leyte and Iligan felt like coming home to a community of kindred spirits. We exchanged stories shared meals and laughed over the challenges of working so far from home.

True to her word my new friend called me at six in the evening. She was waiting by the gate in a sleek dark Range Rover with her driver Rodgers (not his real name) behind the wheel. As we drove to her home just outside of town, she regaled me with anecdotes, some hilarious, others steeped in local lore. Her house was large and immaculate filled with loving barks from the dogs she called her “children.” After her husband passed and her own children settled abroad, these dogs had become her family.

That evening she poured me cold orange juice, a small deeply appreciated gesture after days of tropical heat. She recounted tales of her youth with a mischievous sparkle. When she invited me out again for what she called ladies night, I surprised myself by saying yes.

When Wednesday arrived, I slipped away from my team’s outing to keep my promise. She arrived promptly and we headed to a coastal club bathed in soft lights and mellow music. She ordered white wine, and I chose a soda. Each time she stepped away to freshen up her perfume lingered a little longer in the air. Then over the thrum of music she asked quietly “Do you like me?” My heart skipped, and I searched her face for a clue was this playful or serious

Before I could answer she added “On Saturday I would like you to meet my son then we can plan our marriage.” My breath caught on my throat; a stunning silence fell over me as confusion and disbelief warred with curiosity. I did not know what to say my mind raced between politeness and astonishment. Choosing silence felt safest so I let the moment drift away. We danced a little more and then she dropped me back at campus.

On departure day I discovered my phone was gone. I could not call anyone least of all her. As the plane climbed above the clouds at Cebu City, I looked down at the twinkling islands below. Dumaguete had given me more than professional growth it gifted me an unexpected story a brief but vivid human connection and a glimpse into the complexity of culture friendship and solitude in a foreign land.

Even now that trip returns to me in flashes the warm breeze on the Boulevard the laughter of colleagues the strange comfort of her home filled with dogs and the bittersweet realization that I might never see her again.

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