My most recent memory of the tabo was visiting my Lolo and Lola's (meaning grandfather and grandmother in Filipino, respectively) farm in one of the provincial areas. About 12 years ago, they still did not have hot water running through their bathroom pipes. Since the Philippines is an assortment of tropical islands, there wasn't really much of a need for hot water anyway only to accommodate a luxury for American me. Back then, I remember complaining about no hot water to the Colonel. I mean really? How could one not take a shower without it? Overhearing our conversation, my Lola pulled out her biggest pot, filled it with water and put it on the stove. Minutes later, she took the same pot now steaming from the boiling water, walked it over to their bathroom and told me I could shower now. My naive, spoiled self glanced strangely back and forth at my grandmother and the pot that she put in the shower stall. "What am I supposed to do with that, Lola?", I asked, trying not to sound as respectful as my frustrated, impatient self could muster. "You use the tabo, apo(grandchild in Filipino). You look in the pot, I put a tabo there so you can have the hot water." As I looked into the pot I saw what looked like a gallon sized cup with a handle that I wasn't sure I knew what to do with. But when I looked back at my Lola she had such a big smile plastered on her face because she felt that she accommodated her American grandchild, that I knew I had to at least give it a shot. With no hot water and barely any water pressure from the faucet (they didn't have a shower head either) what would normally take 15 minutes in the shower took me a good 45 -50 minutes at my grandparents' provincial home. During that time, I hated every moment of it in so many different ways: a part of me hated that I had to go through something I wasn't used to but another part of me felt such guilt for hating the experience and wishing painfully for the luxuries of my home in the United States. Oddly enough, none of it felt humbling until I returned home.
So over the weekend, our home ran out of hot water. Instinctively, I thought, "Oh great. Tabo time." Like my Lola, I found the biggest pot I could find, filled it with water and put it on the stove. Pretty Pants asked curiously what I was doing and I went on to explain my experience in the Philippines and how that experience really came into play now. He looked at me with both curiousity and amusement. As I put the pot and a makeshift tabo (7-11 Big Gulp cup) for my husband, he laughed, "So you want me to use the tabo, huh?" "Well we don't have any hot water, what are you going to do?" Up for the experience he gave it a shot. And, like me hated it. For the next few hours we waited patiently in the hopes that the hot water would miraculously turn back on, but it never did. It was a Sunday so there wasn't anyone we could find to check out our water heater. My husband, although he was trying to be a good sport about the whole tabo experience remarked at how he still didn't feel clean afterwards and wondered how we were going to use the tabo with the girls? We ended up checking into a hotel that night.
As you can see maybe we aren't the family that's cut out for roughing it. But looking back, having the experience of no hot water or running water in the Philippines was truly a humbling experience and reminded me of the many things we consider necessities in the United States are mere luxuries for those in countries that have less and that reminder overall is priceless.
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