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Kate Murphy

Kate Murphy in Davos, Philippines – 20-27 February 2009

As I sit down to write about my mission to Davao, Philippines, millions of adjectives race through my head, nothing. Flicking through the pages of my thesaurus I realise the impossible situation which I find myself in. My experience in Davao was indescribable; no words can explain it to a citizen of modern day Ireland, where even during the current economic downturn we are still cushioned by high standards of living.

The tranquil blue waters and the fruitful rainforests offer us our first sight of the Philippines – a strikingly beautiful country where just a few miles inland the impressive forests slip away to the dense urban sprawl, where the small rusty shacks that line the runway are inhabited by large families.

On the first morning we were greeted by an incredible array of hopeful and friendly faces of patients and their families as they waited to be screened. The screening process was a blur of colour, noise and bubbles. On the floor we were circled by children chatting in Tagalog, and tugging as they tried to grab the bubble gun off each other while staring in amazement as they floated upwards.

Surrounded by children colouring busily, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned to face the angelic brown eyes of a nine year old girl, gingerly holding out a plastic cup filled with ice cream. Proudly in her broken English she declared that she had gotten the ice cream for me. The little girl had travelled to screening with her little sister who had a cleft lip. The love and care she showed her younger sister was astonishing. The plastic cup of ice cream was the most fulfilling and rewarding gift I have ever received.

Surgery week started and everything was hectic, between travelling around the city escorted by police to various schools and centres, and running in and out of pre and post-op we were kept busy. We were physically exhausted but the heart warming smiles of the children provided immense incentive to keep going.

In the post-op ward, although the children were sleepy and sore there was an incredible atmosphere. I cannot explain the surreal experience of sitting in the post-op ward, with a 21 year old girl, Maria, and holding her hand as she smiled euphorically for the first time – no longer an outcast, no longer different – she had received the life changing surgery on her cleft lip. We both smiled for a photograph. The picture captures her victorious smile, but can never be compared to the emotions which surged through us both.

Another older boy who had once worn a bandana around his mouth to hide his cleft lip sat triumphantly with no need to be ashamed or hide. Happy tears streamed down the cheeks of young mothers and an overwhelming sense of emotion ran through the room.

The time I spent in the Philippines changed my life. I learned a lifetime’s worth of lessons in ten days. I fell in love with the country. I fell in love with the people. And most of all, I fell in love with the powerful work of Operation Smile.