It’s 12:45 PM, and I just finished a quick lunch of Siopao and Siomai while watching the French version of the leaders’ debate. I could hardly concentrate; the ceiling fan and another one pointed at me barely made a dent in the midday heat. The nearby thermometer registers 38 degrees Celsius (about 100.4°F). So, the debate on the smart TV in the dining area had to take a backseat to the comfort of the air-conditioned bedroom.
I found myself imagining how people living in poverty in the concrete “jungles” of Manila manage to survive the April heat, which often reaches 40 degrees Celsius. “Easy,” says my wife, “all the malls are air-conditioned.” However, tomorrow is Good Friday, and the malls will be closed. This is one of the very few times this happens here. Still, those in poverty seem to cope far more easily than the rest of us. It seems that hardship has a way of toughening people up.
In this article, I sat down to interview nine individuals who work in this gated community, which is home to about 115 families. The village employs some, while others regularly provide services to individual households, such as drivers or vendors selling popular items like “ taho” ( soft bean curd). Each village has unique arrangements with outside service providers, including restrictions like preventing tricycles from entering. Massage services and water delivery are staples in this community, but requests need to be confirmed with security each time they are engaged. To enhance security, construction workers wear long-sleeved red shirts, while gardeners and street sweepers don long-sleeved green shirts.
The nine individuals I interviewed were selected based on access and availability rather than choice. For example, the “taho” vendor has been selling this beloved snack for years, but I couldn’t secure an interview with him because he has to service two other nearby villages during limited morning hours. When he started years ago, he carried his taho in a manual, shoulder-held bamboo carrier (“aksiwan”); today, he uses a motorized quad and is doing quite well, thank you! I hope to feature him in part II next year.
I have included 5 in this article.
- “ Mag- hahasa” – travelling sharpener
- Village Sweeper
- Recycler ( “Kariton-Man” )
- Tricycle Driver
- House Maid ( Kasambahay )
“MAG- HAHASA,” -Rufino Alcantara- 73 yrs. Old.
I see this man on his converted bike about four times a week, circling the village and calling out, “Hasa! Hasa!” When he gets a call, he puts his bike on a stand, switches the bike chain, and pedals a grinding stone just in front of the seat. He sharpens knives, garden scissors, axes, and anything else that needs honing. He mentions that he used to work in construction, but in his older years, he needed to find a way to support himself and his wife. He has three grown children and a grandchild. On a good day, he earns no more than ₱500 (C$12) at ₱50 per item for sharpening.
He has been doing this work for 50 years, but the volume of business has significantly decreased. There are many days when he rides his bike back to his nearby town with little or nothing to show for his efforts.
I had to explain to him that when business was thriving, the standard kitchen cutting tool was a “gulok” (a carbon steel knife) that was suitable for stone grinding. However, today’s ultra-expensive German knives, like Henckels and Wüsthof, would be damaged by a grinding stone. Like many in his generation, he continues to practice his trade, but now finds himself with fewer customers.
THE VILLAGE SWEEP -Camilo “Mik-Mik” San Nicolas, 41 years old.
Mik-Mik, along with another hire, is responsible for keeping the village clean by removing leaves, tree trimmings, and other debris outside each household’s jurisdiction. He ensures that the children’s playground and the covered sports facility are well-maintained. Together with the city’s tree trimming services, they make sure that overgrown trees are trimmed away from power lines and are cut high enough to avoid posing a driving hazard. They also ensure that vacant lots are free of overgrown grass and garbage.
Occasionally, I call on Mik-Mik and his colleague to help move heavy objects in and out of the house. On their off day (Sunday), they are available for extra work for households that need assistance with landscaping or gardening.
Mik-Mik works five days a week, with a half-day on Saturday. His 8-hour workday earns him ₱15,000 per month, and he receives morning and afternoon breaks. He supports his wife and two teenage children and lives in a very crowded area along the service road leading to the village. Originally from Cebu, he moved to Manila with a sixth-grade education and took on whatever work was available. He has been serving this community for the past 15 years.
THE RECYCLER, THE “KARITON MAN” -Emmanuel Ramirez Bazero, 61 years old
The man-about-town is a well-known fixture because he pushes a pushcart and comes around twice a week. Occasionally, he bikes around the village to see what might be available for the next day’s trip. He services two other nearby hamlets and has been doing so for the last 40 years.
He does this 7 days a week, either collecting or selling the recyclables in a recycling depot a few kilometres from the village. There is an unwritten code of conduct that he adheres to when he goes around. He tells me that the garbage collectors, run by the city, also have a claim to recyclables, such as cardboard, plastics, metals, and discarded appliances. He picks on certain streets at random, leaving some of the pickings to the garbage collectors. Also, he is picking on days when it’s an off day for the city collectors.
Originally from Mindoro, he is one of 11 siblings and one of the five surviving members. He has three kids and five grandchildren in a rented dwelling with his wife. On a good week, he says he makes ₱3K (C$75 ), but the nature of his job does not lend to a predictable and steady income. He says he doesn’t see retirement in his future and claims that he gets sick when he’s not working.
TRICYCLE DRIVER -Jolly Perenlo Fancisco, 46 years
Jolly is a single transgender person, and I caught up with him during an evening shift that runs from 5 PM to midnight. At that time, he was babysitting a 5-year-old boy who was curled up in a small corner of his tricycle. Jolly told me that the boy is his nephew, and he babysits for his sister, who works during the evening.
He waits for passengers in one corner of a gas station. His tricycle is a traditional model, featuring a passenger carriage mounted on one side. Typically, this type of vehicle accommodates more than just two people. It’s common to see up to five passengers: three inside the carriage and two seated behind the driver. Some configurations can add two more seats at the back of the carriage.
During the interview, three regular passengers waited patiently until I finished. They were accustomed to taking Jolly’s tricycle after getting off a jeepney, heading to the inner part of this busy community of informal settlers, often referred to as “squatters.” They are also used to sharing the ride with the boy that Jolly is babysitting.
Passengers pay ₱13 each, while Jolly charges ₱50 for an exclusive ride. He reports that he nets about ₱350 (approximately C$8.56) each night after covering expenses for gas and the boundary fee (the rental cost paid to the tricycle owner), which is ₱180.
Originally from Bacolod, Jolly shares a small apartment in the squatters’ area located off the service road near Alabang-Zapote Road in Muntinlupa City. He has been doing this job for 20 years.
HOUSE MAID / DOMESTIC HELPER ( “KASAMBAHAY” ) Rubirosa Vigilla -57 years
The most ubiquitous village service provider is the “Kasambahay.” This was true when I was growing up, as it is today, in any municipality in the GMA, and throughout the country.
When I take my early morning walk, I see them sweeping the front of their households. Standing at the far end of a street, it’s like a symphony of sweepers as far as the eye can see, all with the standard “walis tinting” ( a broom made from the midribs of the coconut palm ) and all with the same half-bent posture. ( But there is a noticeable difference between them; they all have a cell phone and are happily chatting the morning away )
The drivers are currently out polishing the cars. This is why you won’t see any dirty cars in the Philippines; even if there are no hired drivers or public car washes, the housemaid’s early morning task is to wash the car. This is the first chore they undertake in preparation for the boss’s trip or the children’s school day.
Most households have two domestic helpers, and if there is a young child, a third babysitter is usually present. Some homes may even have a fourth helper who acts as a cook. The number of cars parked in a carport—typically four in this village—pretty much determines the number of housemaids needed. Women significantly outnumber houseboys.
The starting salary for a domestic helper in this village is ₱7,000 (C$170) per month, which includes board and lodging. In non-gated communities, starting wages are around ₱6,000 and even less in poorer areas. While government regulations dictate employment terms, actual agreements are often between the employer and the employee. I see many of them walking dogs late at night.
Ruby is our only helper. She stays with us for the three months we are in the village. Ruby exemplifies poverty in a way that is only fully understood once you learn about her life history. Originally from Pangasinan, she is one of four siblings. Tragically, all her brothers and one sister died in their teens from complications related to illnesses that had never received any medical attention.
Sadly, this pattern seems to repeat itself, echoing the circumstances of her siblings’ deaths. One of her grandchildren, a 15-year-old boy, died of complications from appendicitis because there wasn’t any doctor available or money to get him to the hospital on time. The high school he attended raised ₱900 in spare change to give him a chance at life while his family begged politicians for help. Ruby expressed that if it weren’t for an upcoming election, they likely wouldn’t have even had the funds for his funeral, as he eventually succumbed to his illness. Ruby was in our employ while all of this was happening.
I refrained from asking her about her remaining seven children and numerous grandchildren, fearing I might hear more tragic stories.
Ruby shared that her mother gave her up to an aunt when she was a young girl, shortly after she completed grade 4 (though she eventually finished grade 6). As a young woman, she began working as a dishwasher in a carinderia, earning ₱50 per day. Later, she took on laundry and ironing jobs, making ₱500 per day (typically for more than an eight-hour workday). She started as a domestic helper at ₱4,000 per month, including board and lodging.
Currently, she lives in government housing on the 7th floor with her youngest child, who is now a teenager in grade 9. Ruby mentioned that being on the top floor allows her to sell “kakanin” (snacks) to neighbours who are too lazy to go down (the bustling complex has no elevator). To support herself and her youngest child when she isn’t working as a domestic helper, she borrows money from a loan shark to prepare meals like pancit, sopas, and champorado (noodles, macaroni soup, and chocolate pudding).
With us, she earns ₱2,000 each week (often advanced) along with various extras. When she left our employment, she received several items to help boost her snack business, including a used fridge, a TV, pots, plates, glasses, and various cooking utensils. The neighbourhood came out in force to see the haul, as if she had won the lottery; even her ex showed up, hoping to benefit from her good fortune. It felt reminiscent of a Filipino TV show, “Sugod Bahay.”
Reflecting on the people I interviewed, numerous editorials highlight the struggles many face in trying to make ends meet. A common theme is the lack of educational opportunities beyond elementary school.
Despite heroic efforts that were unheard of during my childhood, such as PhilHealth, the Maharlika Fund, and PPP infrastructure projects, our government still seems to be treading water, barely keeping afloat. Dynastic politics, ongoing corruption (worth 1.6 trillion pesos in 2024), an economy dominated by oligarchs, and educational standards trailing behind those of our progressive ASEAN neighbours hinder our progress, especially considering our rapidly growing population of 114 million. We are culturally flawed and a piddling bit player in a forward-looking world today.
Meanwhile, back in Mississauga, I hear people complain about the high cost of hospital parking, seemingly forgetting that each time we pay for parking, we receive thousands of dollars worth of free healthcare services. After getting to know the people discussed in this article, such grievances feel hollow. Isn’t it high time that we count our blessings?*****
