Strangers in one’s own native land

My two sisters who are with me here in Canada recently went back to the Philippines in a hurry. My eldest sister died. It was very difficult for our family. There was that immense difficult feeling of loss and helplessness coupled with that sense of guilt- that we were not with her when she departed from this world. Still, we felt that our other sister living there needed us in this time of bereavement. I was not able to go with my two sisters because of some health problems.
They were full of stories to tell when they came back after three weeks. They met relatives they had not seen for a long time. “Nahihiya ako, wala akong pasalubong, one of my sisters said. It was a hurried preparation; she was not able to shop for gifts. Well, our relatives did not mind it, they told her.
They also met old friends many of whom they could not recognize anymore. They have changed. They look very old. Hard life, very hot weather and pollution seem to have affected them physically, a sister of mine opined.
But they are the same warm friends who welcomed old pals home and offered the hospitality of their homes and the compassionate condolence for the loss of our sister.
“I am ashamed to admit it but I could not stand the weather. It was extremely hot.” One sister told me. “I was perspiring from head to feet. Even the air from the electric fan was warm.”
The y traveled most of the time from one part of Manila to another in a cab, The fare was quite reasonable when you compute in dollars, except that sometimes the driver took you in long winded streets which made the trip longer. “I do not know how the driver sensed that we were from abroad. We took care not to speak in English, but when we got off and paid him, he asked; “wala bang dollar?
“The traffic in the city was always heavy no matter what time of the day. The way the drivers managed their cabs or jeepers was quite scary. I think sometimes the distance from one car to another is less than a hand’s length but during those three weeks, I did not see an accident. Sometimes cars on opposite directions drove on the same lane. Before they get very close one would honk, the other would stop and give way. And there I was inside one of the cabs thinking it was my last day on earth.”
“When the funeral was over, my sister who lives in the Philippines took us shopping. She was complaining how expensive things are. I computed everything we bought in dollars and I found them quite reasonable. One can eat in a food court for eighty pesos which is about two dollars. You will get a piece of chicken and some rice. In better places for eating, one can get a good meal for about ten dollars. Fruits and vegetables are quite cheap. Lansones cost one hundred twenty pesos a kilo, the equivalent of three dollars. At Chinatown in Toronto, a pound of lansones is four dollars and ninety nine cents. A kilo is approximately ten dollars. And mangoes! Beautiful big sweet smelling ripe mangoes! They tasted differently from the ones bought here. They cost about a third of what one pays here.
And yet, my sister who lives in the Philippines finds those prices exorbitant, prohibitive. Why?
A great many Filipino workers hardly earn a hundred pesos a day. Would you use your one day’s earnings to buy a kilo of lansones? Or would you eat in the food court for eighty pesos?
Poor families in the urban areas of the Philippines all work, including children of ten plus age, to make both ends meet. You stand at the corner of a street waiting for a cab and a child would approach you offering to get one for you. You go to a market to shop without a basket and a child would sell you a plastic bag. You will find families on the sidewalk helping one another selling banana cue. One peels the bananas, another puts them on a stick and the mother or father minds the big pan where the snack is fried.
Is it any wonder that people even those with college or university degrees cross the oceans for a better way of life? They take menial jobs which are quite below their training and education to be able to earn money to be sent home to their families.
We who have been away from our country of origin sometimes have forgotten how many of us lived in the Philippines. WE became strangers who get reminded once we set foot back in our native land how we once lived there – how frugal we were, how we accepted the weather with its flooding in the rainy season and the scorching heat in the summer. We would recall how we did not mind the swarm of houseflies and mosquitoes that are now bothering us.
But with all of those niceties in life that we obtained through hard work in this land we now call our second home, when we sit down and reminisce how hard life is for the poor in the Philippines, we also get flashbacks with a sense of loss about the camaraderie we shared with friends and the generosity of members of our family who always thought of one another. :Sino pa ang hindi kumakain?” We would ask when we came late for a meal,. We always left some for those who had not eaten, no matter how meager the food was.
The stranger through these reminders has come home.*****