BENCHWARMER

Rain in the eyes of a garbage picker
Ramon Dacawi

Plus or minus, what the weather brings depends on who and where you are. Farmers must have sang as they planted in the recent spate of rains. Metro-Manilans, on the other hand, cursed having to wade through the street flooding spawned by trash choking drainage canals. For Rhoda Boquiren, a 35-year old garbage picker in Baguio City, the upside is that she won't have to fetch water for a while.

Despite that -- and what it does to her sayoteplant -- the rainy season just weighs heavily on her family of seven huddled in a shanty at Purok 8 of Sto. Rosario Barangay. "Basa at di na pwedeng pakinabangan ang mga karton na itinatapon ng mga store sa Session Rd.," she rues. "Halos wala na rin akong maipun na pwedeng ibenta dahil dumami na ang kumukuha ng basura."

The city's on-going waste segregation thrust should have made her work easier. She no longer has to open every trash bag for glass and plastic bottles and other recyclables. The downside is everybody nowadays seems to be into sorting or collecting what has already been segregated. "Kung minsan nga pati na 'yong aleng nagtatrabaho sa may EPZA naghihintay na rin ng nahiwalay na na pwedeng pagkakitaan," she explains.

"Kagaya namin, marami rin daw silang mga anak na pakainin." Rhoda and Benjamin, her 42-year old husband, have five mouths to feed:_Rejie, 14 and out of school; Sharmaine, 13 and in grade 6, Sunshine, 10 and in the fifth grade; Benzon, 8 and in grade 2, and Benjamin Jr., 4.

Rhoda herself came from a big family she hasn't seen for years. The ninth of 12 children of a coconut farm worker in Catubig, Samar, she was barely 12 when she left home for Manila. "Akala ko kasi noon, maganda ang buhay sa Maynila," she says. As she didn't have a boat ticket, the girl lay cuddled in the arms of a neighbor on the deck of the ship. She ended up as a domestic for a family in Bicutan, Rizal.

After two years, she asked her elder sister Celia, who lived nearby, to take her into her own household. At 17, she moved to a printing press in Malabon. "Sabi ko sa may-ari ng imprenta, h'wag na lang akong bayaran," she says. "Bigyan na lang ako ng tulugan at pagkain at suportahan sa pag-aaral."

But she was given more work than study hours. She quit both at the end of her second year in high school. Needing a fresh start, she came up to Baguio and found work, again as domestic, house cleaner, laundry girl and whatever. When the July 16, 1990 killer earthquake struck, she took refuge in an evacuation tent near the city slaughterhouse.

That's how she met Benjamin, then a volunteer in the relief and rescue operations. Benjamin then had resigned his job in the mines to recover from work-related injuries, and also wounds inflicted in a stabbing incident. The second of 10 kids who lost their dad at an early age, he was father to the younger siblings.

With his miner's background, he volunteered for rescue operations. "Kahit masakitin, kasama s'ya ng mga minerong nagligtas sa asawa yata ng isang senador na nakulong sa gumuhong Nevada Hotel," Rhoda remembers. She was referring to Sonia Roco, wife of then Senator Raul Roco, who was attending a conference when the temblor hit.

When on a job hunt these days, Rhoda brings along her husband's credential. It's a bronze plaque, its sheen dulled and stained by time. Yet the inscription remains clear: Humanitarian Award. Presented by Benguet Corp. on Sept 28 that year, it says. It was signed by Alfonso Yuchengco, chairman of the board, and Dennis Belmonte, president of the mining firm.

"In recognition of service above and beyond the call of duty in rescue of victims of the July 16, 1990 earthquake," the citation reads. Nowadays, Benjamin is on job call. Still, Rhoda says, his old injuries prevent full time work when his construction foreman needs additional hand for a project that lasts months.

He has time but no material to improve their shanty. The patchwork of GI sheets, canvas and scrap the couple had built with support from a nun. It stands on a lot owned by somebody else. It bears no number.

Without piping, the kids help fetch water during the dry season. With no electric connection, much less any appliance, they go to a neighbor's house to watch TV. The upside, Rhoda notes, is that her kids can walk to class at the nearby Roxas Elementary School. Their teachers sometimes shoulder the miscellaneous fees, and costs of notebooks and pencil. She and Benjamin had more than once attempted to go beyond just getting by.

The biggest chance came years back with a P5,000 livelihood loan from the city social welfare office. With the biggest sum they ever had, the couple opened up a micro-mini store "Maganda ang umpisa," Rhoda narrates. "Hanggang umutang ang mga suki. Nagagalit kung singilin. Mabuti na lang nabayaran namin ang kapital."

Having done it before, she now thinks of door-to-door vending of vegetables and fish. It's more practical, she says, as it doesn't develop familiarity that breeds attempt at credit. "Walang uutang dahil hindi kayo magkakilala ng bumibili." Thing is she has no one to turn to for starting capital. She had long exhausted the goodwill of people who had helped her before. She admits she has become a familiar figure among city officials, charity workers and establishment owners she had frequented for recyclables.

"Nahihiya na rin akong magpatulong ulit sa kanila," she says. "Mahirap talagang maka-angat kung isang kahig, isang tuka." She doesn't cough now as often before the rains, when her hands would whip up dust while rummaging through trash bags. "Asma raw ito, sabi ng doktor," she says.

Rhoda retrieves her husband's plaque from a table. Her round, wet and bewildered eyes study the award for the nth time. She then slips it back into a bag, rises and starts walking home. The upside, she says, is that the sayote patch beside the family abode grows shoots and tendrils faster in the rain.(e-mail: rdacawi@yahoo.com for comments).