This morning a thin arm hit me with surprising force. The other hand’s fist opened and some silver coins sparkled. The boy said something I couldn’t understand and he wanted money. I turned away and continued walking into the morning heat, checking my phone and wallet were still in my pockets.
Philippines used to be poor. Philippines is still poor, but the amount of poor has been decreasing. Skyscrapers pop up around Metro Manila, housing companies that take care of support services for oversees companies. HR and IT-support 24/7. A young man checking in at work at 7 p.m. in Manila to serve customers on the East Coast in US, where morning is breaking at 7 a.m. Providing IT-support all night and to the other side of the globe, through satellites, with a perfect American accent (sorry Martina).
After the shift he goes out with his friends and party. The foreign companies pay twice the pay that domestic companies do. A team performing well will be rewarded. The best teams get two free days in a row. The best of the best are free on the week-ends.
Listening to stories of people in our age in Philippines remind us of grandfathers and passed times. The cold winters, the lack of food, the scarcity. Here a diet of only rice and no toilets. Only after the father getting a better job, dried fish would be served for dinner. The lack of medicine and no access to doctors ever present, with infections leading to complications for life.
And people are pouring into Manila packing up in the streets and constipating the traffic. Manila is living at the verge of bursting.
I look back. The boy is gone, mixed with the commuters under the overpass.