The Philippine Online Chronicles

In one of the makeshift tent houses in Ulingan, a charred wooden statue of Jesus Christ stands in a grimy corner—the Lord’s hands and arms are "amputated" as if disabling the Savior from offering comfort and hope. The statue was one of the scrap woods gathered by a scavenger in the dump site and destined to be turned into good charcoal in the fires of Ulingan. But the scavenger thought better of it and left it in his house. Thus was Jesus saved from the furnace.

Hope and comfort are probably scarce among the people of Ulingan but they are not entirely missing. There are many people in Ulingan—most especially the children—who find comfort and hope in the little things they find in the dumpsite or in the charcoal furnace.

A little girl named Jessa collects charred nails from the burnt wood in Ulingan. These blackened nails mean little to most of us, but to Jessa these little nails can save her and her family from the pangs of hunger. The nails sell at P8 a kilo—enough to buy a loaf of bread and alleviate their hunger.

Jessa is one of the child workers in Ulingan. The eldest in a brood of five, she is counted upon by her family to help alleviate the meager income. Her father and mother both work in the dump site and the charcoal furnace, or wherever they can find work to earn a little money. Sometimes her mother goes to the market to ask for junked vegetables.

Jessa’s family came from the island of Leyte. They escaped the rural poverty and insurgency warfare in their remote village in order to find better living conditions in Tondo, Manila. As it happened, their living conditions did not get any better in Tondo. It is not the paradise they thought it would be. Nevertheless, here they can live in peace and survive poverty, what with all the garbage they can find and sell, and all the wood that they can burn—even if these pose a significant hazard to their health.

Like many children in Ulingan, Jessa and her siblings never went to school, even though there is a free school near Ulingan. Jessa’s family decided that school and poverty do not mix. Also, at eleven years of age Jessa is deemed too old to study. Now, instead of listening to a teacher’s lecture, Jessa diligently scours the charcoal pits with her small magnet to attract the little nails that may lie within the charcoal debris. She collects the nails in a grimy sack.

In another area of Ulingan, I see a little girl of eight with a withered doll she picked up in the dump site. The doll—a plastic Bisque imitation-- is naked and grimy, one-eyed and one-armed.  Nevertheless, it is still a doll and the deprived girl is hugging it tightly. It may be the only toy that she has ever had and one can see in her eyes the happiness the doll gives to her.

To the scavenger children of Ulingan and Pier 18 (the nearby dump site), a discarded doll, a junked toy, even if already damaged and dirty --are perhaps some of the most treasured finds in the garbage site. These toys—though they may have once made a home in the upscale villages of Manila-- could still find a home in the heart of a slum child.

Older children, however, no longer need toys. Aged twelve to fourteen, these kids have other more important things to find in the dumpsite than old discarded toys. A plastic bottle, a scrap of metal, an electrical wire, can all be converted to cash at the nearby junkshops. In Ulingan, the boys can work as coal packers or stevedores, earning a few pesos that can buy food for the hungry stomach. The older girls meanwhile assist their mothers in packing charcoal.

Jason Narido, 12 years old, is one of the older child laborers in Ulingan. Orphaned at a young age, he lives a vagabond life, packing coal by day, and wandering by night looking for a place to sleep, which means any sidewalk corner or makeshift place with a roof. Jason had been to school once but since his father died of a mysterious illness some years ago, he decided to quit school in order to work.

Today, I find Jason doing his usual job of packing charcoal into sacks. For each sack that he fills, he earns four pesos. By lifting the coal with his bare hands and carefully putting it into sacks, Jason is able to fill up ten sacks from morning until noon, earning P40. But Jason has to share P10 with his friend Louie, who held the sacks while he filled them.

Jason is amused I took the time to interview him, although he seems hesitant to answer many of my questions, especially those about his family. Failing to elicit a response, I turn to Jason’s co-workers to know more about him. They tell me that Jason is not totally an orphan. His mother, it turned out, is still living, though he doesn't know her whereabouts. She abandoned him some years ago. Jason doesn't  like to speak much about his family:  when asked about them, he bluntly replies he is an orphan.

Presently, Jenny, a co-worker of Jason in Ulingan, asks me to help Jason. Although she is poor herself, she has a family nevertheless. She tells  me how Jason lives everyday. “Kawawa talaga yan kuya,” Jenny implores, “walang pamilya walang bahay, palaboy. Kung saan saan siya natutulog. Minsan nakulong pa dahil pinagbintangan na nagnakaw ng kalakal. Pero mabait yan kuya. Tulungan mo.” (Please take pity on him. He doesn’t have a family, no house to go home to. He just sleeps anywhere. One time he was even imprisoned because he was suspected of stealing scavenged materials. But he is a good boy. Please help him.)

The life-story of an Ulingan boy is not one for the soft-hearted. Apparently, Jason has an older sister in Parola, but since she got married and had children, she too abandoned Jason. Jason soon plunged into the world of squalor reserved for children without homes and without families.

I ask Jason if he would like to live with me. Honestly, I can just adopt him, sponsor his schooling and give him a chance to live a more normal life. He smiles but declines my offer. His world is the Ulingan, and despite the harsh conditions, this is what he truly calls home. Indeed, despite being poor and without a family, Jason survives in independence. An experienced and industrious laborer despite his youth, he can variously work as an errand boy, a stevedore, a coal packer, a trash scavenger and any job at all that can earn him money and assure he will have something to eat.

After the grueling work, Jason heads to the nearby carinderia (a local store that sells cooked food). This is the day’s highlight for Jason. With his earnings, he buys two scoops of fried rice for P14 and an ice-tubig (ice-cold water) for P2. He calls this meal "altanghap" which is short for almusal-tanghalian-hapunan (breakfast-lunch-supper combined into one). The next meal he will have will be tomorrow, if he will be lucky enough to find a charcoal owner to work for.  As I bid Jason goodbye, I wonder what will happen to him in the future. Surprisingly, I feel confident Jason can somehow manage to survive in the cruel world of Ulingan. He is such a strong and courageous boy.

In Ulingan, one can stay and gather enough stories that will break the hearts of men. But I do not go to Ulingan merely to tell tales of pathos, but rather to unravel the conundrum of abject poverty that is a stranger to most of us.

It is said that the eyes are the windows of our souls. And in the eyes of these children, the truth is starkly revealed.

(Ed's note:  This is a third of a series of articles by the author on the plight of residents in the Ulingan community at Smokey Mountain in Vitas, Tondo , Manila.  Click here to read Part 1 and Part 2 of the series.)

Photos by Dennis Villegas.  Some rights reserved