Marking territory

The day was bipolar. I did not know if it was going to rain or if it was going to be sunny. The sky was brewing darkness yet the atmosphere was steaming hot. I came to school at 7:30 a.m.; I was supposed to have my regular meetings for the MWF classes. Suddenly, my colleague and I were called for a special assignment. Being knowledgeable in interviewing people, we were asked to meet a politician.

So we left school at around 9:30 a.m. and headed to that rural area. We took a tricycle ride and breathed in the heavy smoke that it puffed. It took us 15 minutes to traverse the unpaved, sloping roads of the village.

When we arrived, we learned that a medical-dental mission was in progress. There were tents and a tarpaulin emblazoned with the name of the sponsoring politician.

People were everywhere. Most of them were wearing their everyday shorts and shirts paired with their everyday flip-flops. But the others were dressed in their Sunday clothes. You could tell because before they took their seat, they would first wipe the monobloc chair with their hands, then wipe their hands on the umbrella that they were holding, so that if they touched their clothes, these would not be soiled. And when they rose, they pulled the dress downward to smooth out the creases.

The program had started and we saw that the volunteer doctors were busy attending to their patients. We decided to stand at the corner of the basketball court. People would glance at us and turn their heads while walking, maybe because of our outfits. (We were in our school uniforms.) Still, we stayed there for about 10 minutes.

Soon our legs felt strained and we started to feel the grumbling of our empty stomachs. We had not yet eaten breakfast. We each had a small piece of chocolate and decided to find seats to at least lessen the pressure of gravity that was pulling us down.

There were a few seats available. We took two chairs near the basketball ring and the tarpaulin so we could shelter from getting-hotter Mr. Sunshine. While relaxing in our seats, we noticed a dog peeing on every motorcycle parked in the area. The sight made us laugh and we thought of taking a video of the dog.

I told my colleague that the dog was marking his territory. She laughed again; she was thinking that even though it peed on each motorcycle, the dog still could not drive it.

As we were enjoying the scene, I noticed that my colleague seemed to be having nerve twitches. I asked her what the matter was. She did not mean to appear chismosa, gossipy, but she directed my attention to a woman who had just had a tooth pulled and who was now talking to an ally of the politician we were waiting for.

The ally handed the woman a P500 bill after their conversation. My colleague told me that she felt irritated every time she saw people begging for money from politicians.

To ease her irritation, we decided to find another place to sit in. Now the bipolar weather had veered to the other extreme—from being overcast, the sky was now shining bright. And the heat was scorching. We endured the heat of the sun for almost one and a half hours.

We decided to go out and look for a store so we could buy food and nourish ourselves. But before we could even find a store, we heard that the politician we were waiting for was coming. So we decided to wait.

The person who had arranged our interview appointment with the politician approached and told us to wait until the latter’s business was finished. So we waited for another 30 minutes under Mr. Sunshine, the tents being already full of people excited to shake hands with the so-called champion of the masses.

When the politician concluded his task in the event, our contact person called us and said we could start with the interview. We then entered a hall. But before we could begin to interview him, other people approached the politician. We did not intend to, but we overheard their conversation.

A thin woman in her 30s and carrying a small plastic bag told the politician that her family had no money to buy lunch for that day. A man in a loose blue shirt said the son of his nephew was having some problems. Another one told the politician that his neighbor was suffering because of some health issues. All of them were telling their stories in the melodramatic tone you would observe in a teleserye. Once again, I saw my colleague behaving as though ants were biting her in different parts of her body, and signaling that she wanted to leave the vicinity.

But work is work. We needed to stay there.

Eventually we were able to accomplish our task. Later, we came to the realization that sometimes we could not blame some politicians for squandering public funds. Take the situation that we had just witnessed. It seemed that people were raising even the smallest problems of their neighbors to the politician.

I am not saying that the politician we interviewed is corrupt. Actually, there is neither record nor hearsay about that angle. What I am trying to say is that the funds that politicians are spending are also being given to some people who cannot or will not make their own living and are instead leaving their problems to be solved by other people.

Also, I have realized that I can compare these people to the dog that peed on the parked motorcycles. These people marked the politician as if he were a cash register that they could run to for every personal need. It seemed like they saw their votes as a guarantee for the milk from the cows in times of need.

The day was indeed bipolar, and some Filipinos are just the same.

Brian D. Villaverde, 23, is an instructor at Southern Luzon State University.