A story behind the story

You won't see this anecdote in my upcoming story for the Mercury News about the Vietnamese refugees who are here in the Philippines. Be warned: it's a toilet story.

Last night, I went to visit a Vietnamese man who escaped Vietnam and ended up in the Philippines in 1989. For a variety of reasons, he hasn't been able to qualify for resettlement as a refugee in the United States. He desperately wants to join his sisters and mother in San Jose. Now, there's a special humanitarian program that was pushed through by legislators such as Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren that will bring over most of the 2,000 remaining Vietnamese asylum seekers. Because Phuoc Nguyen married a Filipino woman, he won't be able to qualify for the program.

Phuoc, his Filipino wife, Anita Acol, and their two young children live in a suburb outside of metro Manila. It takes me nearly an hour and a half, mostly sitting in traffic, to get to their house. It's a cramped two bedroom home with no running water. We get to talking about the house and his two kids, who are sleeping upstairs. He mentions a leaky roof. I ask to use their restroom. He takes me upstairs, shows me a bedroom with the sleeping children. I don't see a bathroom anywhere, but spot a door at one end, so I point to it and he nods. He turns on a light. It's their balcony.

No toilet, but there's a small hole in the balcony floor. There's a garden hose in it. "I knew they were poor, but this is really bad," I think, undoing my belt. I'm ready to pull down my pants and squat over the hole. I look at the hole again with suspicion. It's not big enough if you have to do #2. Just then, the door swings open. "Do you need help?" he asks. I'm afraid I'll insult him or hurt his feelings. "Um...this is where you pee?" He waves his hands wildly and shakes his head. "No, no!'' He apologizes profusely. The neighbors downstairs would be as relieved as I am if they only knew.