Our goal that day was to distribute 60 BISDAK coupons; and the plan was to begin at Iran and end at Mangga Dos.
The sun was up. But not wanting to be tricked, we armed ourselves with umbrellas. I wore yellow slippers; Ramil wore blue. Inside my bag was a jumble of eyeglasses, ball pens, notebooks, coupons, candies, USB, etc.
As we hit the road, I warned Ramil to keep his bleeding heart in check. We’re targeting 150 beneficiaries only, I said.
We went to Bongtud (popularly known now as Iran) and began at the same exact spot where we (Atty. Lumactod and Titser Mae) had left off a week ago. I took charge of writing the names and issuing the coupons while Ramil, the interviewing: Are you a member of 4 Ps? How many children do you have? What’s your work? Where do you get your food?
From Iran we went to Boulevard. Surprisingly, the community there was quite “well-off” compared to Iran, with some having tv and washing machine. Only a few coupons were distributed. When we reached Sapa, Ramil saw that some houses were leaning and half done. And because they are my neighbors, I've already pre-identified them.
It began to rain as we proceeded to Kasaw-kasaw, a community in Duma-duma that thrives on the waterfront of Tago River. Some houses have torn blankets as walls, others have nipa shingles with holes. It was a vision of poverty at its starkest!
Then we proceeded to the inner sanctum of Citrus Dos where most men and children were naked from the waist up, with skin made darker by years of fishing and weaving nipa under the harsh sun. As we waded through muddy waters, I told Ramil that we might get alipunga. His rebuke came quick: "Saba Romel, wa gani alipungaha iton carabao na permi galatak nan lapok."
"Kay may sapatos san mga yapating naman," I retorted.
Because some houses stand right smack in the river, we had to negotiate an unsteady and uneven foot bridge no wider than a child’s stretched thumb and middle finger. Things got a bit unwieldy because I had to maintain my balance while pressing the umbrella handle between my jaw and shoulder and writing the names in my notebook and making sure it doesn’t get wet from heavy rains. We prodded on until a foot bridge broke and I fell, leaving a scratch on my left leg. Ramil and I just laughed it off, blaming each other for being overweight. Since then, Ramil told me to keep myself at bay and leave it to him to get the names.
Then following a foot trail that overflowed with rain water, we headed for Soong and Mangga Dos. By this time, our umbrellas were already disfigured as many times they had caught either a clothesline or a branch. Though we’re both cynophobic, Ramil agreed to walk ahead of me, stopping dead on his track every time a dog barked its presence.
I remember visiting the same community 30 years ago when a typhoon hit Tago and as Seniors at Purisima School we distributed bundles of joy along with the SPC nuns. The community has grown, alright, but so do misery and poverty.
Every way we looked, poverty stared at us and never blinked.
But a situation like this doesn’t lack irony. We were in what could be the poorest section of Tago when a motorcycle arrived to deliver a purified water to one of the nipa shacks. As Ramil was busy interviewing potential beneficiaries, I did my own with the children. They may be poor, but they had names like Heathcliff, Jefferson, and Cauliflower. A baby sleeping on a makeshift hammock was named Obama while another child playing on the bamboo floor with a broken toy was named Shrek. I could only hope the parents got the spelling of the last one correctly, otherwise they’re better off naming their child Scream.
We went home past lunch time. Ramil was dripping wet but he seemed not to mind as he was always smiling. I bathed soon as I reached home, had lunch, and hit the bed. When I woke up I felt mild body pains everywhere. As I felt an onset of fever, I took Bioflu, then ate some Christmas leftovers from the fridge, and went to Emily where we had another good laugh about our circumnavigating Tago in half-a-day.
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