You could not hide your stare away. You could not help seeing and noticing them from the corners of your eyes even when you try. With their open hands asking for alms, they are everywhere – at stairwells, doorways of opened or closed windows of buildings. They are out on roads and alleys, and they are even alongside stopped transport like jeeps, buses, tricycles or any other transport means. Their hands are always outstretched for measly peso, food and water. They are either the marginalized, the impoverished poor of the poorest in crowded urban cities. You do not know specifically from which part of the country they come, why they do what they do, and what situations brought them to their lowliest of work stations. Many sport dilapidated clothing; others are around with very young, tag-along and pitiful-looking children equally fitted in tattered clothes and bare, dirty or wound-filled and blistered feet. Many of them look malnourished and disheveled. You could not tell outright who is really disfranchised and who is part of a ring that uses and enslaves them for self- gains. They are there for sure, the poorest of our society’s backbones. Perhaps some of them are trafficked souls – battered and living in constant fear for their lives. Perhaps, some of them are our family abandoned sisters and brothers. Maybe they are our mentally ill. What do you do when approached by an outright “pulubi” wandering in your midst?
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Backbones: “Pulubi” / Alms-seekers
70 …
You could not hide your stare away. You could not help seeing and noticing them from the corners of your eyes even when you try. With their open hands asking for alms, they are everywhere – at stairwells, doorways of opened or closed windows of buildings. They are out on roads and alleys, and they are even alongside stopped transport like jeeps, buses, tricycles or any other transport means. Their hands are always outstretched for measly peso, food and water. They are either the marginalized, the impoverished poor of the poorest in crowded urban cities. You do not know specifically from which part of the country they come, why they do what they do, and what situations brought them to their lowliest of work stations. Many sport dilapidated clothing; others are around with very young, tag-along and pitiful-looking children equally fitted in tattered clothes and bare, dirty or wound-filled and blistered feet. Many of them look malnourished and disheveled. You could not tell outright who is really disfranchised and who is part of a ring that uses and enslaves them for self- gains. They are there for sure, the poorest of our society’s backbones. Perhaps some of them are trafficked souls – battered and living in constant fear for their lives. Perhaps, some of them are our family abandoned sisters and brothers. Maybe they are our mentally ill. What do you do when approached by an outright “pulubi” wandering in your midst?
You could not hide your stare away. You could not help seeing and noticing them from the corners of your eyes even when you try. With their open hands asking for alms, they are everywhere – at stairwells, doorways of opened or closed windows of buildings. They are out on roads and alleys, and they are even alongside stopped transport like jeeps, buses, tricycles or any other transport means. Their hands are always outstretched for measly peso, food and water. They are either the marginalized, the impoverished poor of the poorest in crowded urban cities. You do not know specifically from which part of the country they come, why they do what they do, and what situations brought them to their lowliest of work stations. Many sport dilapidated clothing; others are around with very young, tag-along and pitiful-looking children equally fitted in tattered clothes and bare, dirty or wound-filled and blistered feet. Many of them look malnourished and disheveled. You could not tell outright who is really disfranchised and who is part of a ring that uses and enslaves them for self- gains. They are there for sure, the poorest of our society’s backbones. Perhaps some of them are trafficked souls – battered and living in constant fear for their lives. Perhaps, some of them are our family abandoned sisters and brothers. Maybe they are our mentally ill. What do you do when approached by an outright “pulubi” wandering in your midst?
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