From Joshua Palma in Manila
Joshua writes: “In the 1990’s I joined the fellowship of Servants missionaries and Filipinos who had worked with Servants and started Lilok & Onesimo. Maybe it was in early 2000 when I was invited to be in the Servants Manila team for some local perspectives. Now I’m more of a retired co-journeyer. This article is a reflection from 2017 and has relevant ponderings for us today”
We were going back to Sakahan as a group of Barangay Holy Spirit neighbours after an enjoyable dip in a stream during our retreat. I was carrying 4 year old Sairuz straddled around my neck, holding on to my hair as we continued uphill. A team member joked I’d lose all my hair before we reach Sakahan.
I smiled remembering the hours we grappled at Servants Manila team meetings about when was the right time to admit a new team member? But it’s sad that half of the team are gone now. Gone are the long conversations on living together in one community. Sicknesses and other circumstances made it only partially realized.
But I’m quite hopeful.
This was our team’s first retreat for BarangayHoly Spiritneighbours. We had difficulty inviting them. The night before our travel, 6 people backed out. Then others had to be awakened and 4 more changed their minds at the 11th hour. There’s no big problem relating with the neighborhood. But being invited to something unfamiliar is scary. Only a few had the courage to join us.
One of them is Mani.
That morning, she came out from a small room made of tin and plywood. She was saying to herself, “I’m joining no matter what!” Looking tired, she was apologetic hearing me shout loudly, “we need to leave now else we’ll be caught in the traffic!”.Mani was obviously overworked, but her son Sairuz clearly looked well cared for. This was my first time noticing them. I didn’t remember meeting them before.
When we were in the van, I asked everybody if they brought their retreat contribution. Everybody, except one, gleefully said yes. Mani just looked sadly down on the van’s floor. Sairuz was clutching a plastic bag of cheap crackers and staring innocently at me. It was my turn to look away at the road ahead, rebuked at how powerplay hid itself in a question so pointed.
At the retreat, Mani was the most impacted, probably had the most baggage. Even at the intro, she asked God, “Why let me be motherless so early and be allowed these hardships?”. Her openness however, earned the respect of everybody. Her appreciation of the place and the retreat posted in FB, made their neighbours remorseful for not joining us.
In the community, Mani sells food and vends it around. Sairuz is either left in the care of cousins or alone by himself while Mani does the selling. She said Sairuz oftentimes goes to a corner in their room to either talk to himself or be quiet if he is either amused or doesn’t get what he wants. At the retreat, while I was talking, Sairuz became talkative too, mostly talking to himself. But I began noticing him when he started echoing me. It seemed playful at first. Then it felt like I was being affirmed by an angel of God!
In our trip homeward, I sat beside Sairuz in the van. Several times, he would look up at me and mumble vaguely. His face was so gentle, his eyes so innocent as he blinked them. When he finally rested his head on my lap and fell asleep, my thoughts went back to the stories two young sisters in the community told me – of being inappropriately touched in the neighbourhood. Of men in a prowling van kidnapping children. Their stories were in response to my question if they and their parents would join us going to the retreat, riding the Servants van. They were telling those stories while pulling my white hair lovingly.
Which reminds me of an experience I had with expat kids, the parent actually. A few years ago I was with these preschoolers and their parents, harvesting fruits. Catching one, I playfully asked one child if he would kiss me first before I give him the mango. Immediately, the dad confonted me not jokingly, “Why are you doing this, kuya? Do you want to win the love of my son?” It was bulls’ eye! I realized I haven’t asked why we Filipinos do this. And I couldn’t hide behind cultural excuses.
Cultural excuses. Are these why I have siad I just want to work in the Philippines when asked if I would work abroad? But of course it’s an irony, because I actually sometimes feel I am working abroad right here at home, being with Servants and foreigners. My colonial mentality is on the swing. I grew up playing with local kids, yet the few days I played with expat kids, are still highlighted in my mind.
But I’m still questioning how do I fit with foreigners. I sometimes feel I’m just hiding. How can I stop thinking my different ideas and ways are just tolerated because it is flexibility? Sometimes, the glaring difference is unveiled inside me through questions that are not really mine: “How could it be made certain that poor jobless Filipinos who want to join Servants, are not motivated by just the glamor? What message is sent when we pay the local host family P500 a day?” Maybe these are important questions, but with them drawing the divide silently inside me, I find myself on the other side of the world.
“Back to the real world!” Mani was saying when we were caught in the traffic halfway back to Barangay Holy Spirit.
Barangay Holy Spirit. Where many outsiders are scared to go to because of its notorious drug-related violence. How will the place be a bit different now for Mani, the other retreatants and our team?
Unlike Navotas, Catmon or Malabon, Holy Spirit doesn’t belong to the poorest among the poor in Manila. It is not a model picture book of a slum community. But it is a place where God can continue working despite my limitations and questions with the rest of the team and the neighborhood.
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