BOMBAY IS NUTS
I could just hear their thoughts.. “Is this Bombay nuts!” (bombay, a term they call the Indians here)… “What the f**k is he doing here, does he want to get himself killed!” We had to walk fast, through small hidden doors, dark shady wooden houses and narrow streets to get into this slum village, also known as the ‘Shooting Gallery’. The locals kept staring at us, wondering who is this weird bearded brown man with a camera in the most dangerous place in Cebu City.
I moved along without making any eye contact at first, worried mainly about my camera equipment and Aga (my white female companion), imagining that we will get ambushed by drug addicts, raped slum junkies or kidnapped by some tattooed gangster with a big machete, oh my imagination was going wild.
But we made it safely into this ‘holes’ with the help of local friends. Locals that were colleagues of Aga, a Polish volunteer, as she had been working here before with drug abusers who are HIV positive. ‘Working’ as in giving out clean needles to drug addicts, so they can take more drugs but preventing HIV from spreading. A project by a Philippines NGO hoping to help the epidemic of HIV here in Cebu City.
We reached one of the first ‘shooting gallery’ a small slum house, dark, small rooms, dirty, gloomy, stepping on narrow lanes and rubbished filled yards. Oh the stink! It was horrible… I stopped and looked into a small house, a local man standing in front of a fire he just made. Just with a towel on, he stood there like a statue looking at a pot. A pot where his dinner was being made.
It took my a second to just notice this, look into his home and see what he is up to…”Curiosity killed the cat”. Yeah yeah.. I know what you are thinking. But this cat isn’t going to be afraid of this half naked man standing in a towel. My first random thought.. I found him.. I’m here to get his story.
Aga waited outside while I stepped into his house.
MILKSHAKE SHABU
“So how long have you been a drug addict?”
“For about 10 years now sir, I started with simple drugs but now I shoot up with this drugs daily. It’s called nubain or locals here call it milkshake shabu. But you have to mixed it up a little to have the ‘high’ effect.”
“How do you afford to buy this drugs daily?”
“I rent my house out to other drug addicts here, we call this places a ‘shooting gallery’. I rent it at 5 pesos per addict. I get 20 addicts per day here. They can buy this drugs from me at 130 pesos too.”
“Do you have kids?”
“I do, I have two daughters, they go to school and I can’t afford the school fees now. It’s hard to get a stable job here too. And since my wife passed away I have to take care of them.”
“I’m sorry, I know life can be hard at times but it doesn’t help if you keep taking drugs.”
“I know, I regret it now, I want to change for my daughters, I planned to have a better life but last week I found out I’m HIV positive.”
5 pesos a day, that’s $0.10 cent per addict, with 20 addicts renting his space, he makes $2.20 per day. A minimum wage in a slum here in Philippines? All I could think about at that moment was my minimum wage when I first started working in a cafe during college. I think it was $3 per hour.
He told me a little more of what his life is all about today, he went on repeating a lot on how hard life is for him, how difficult is for him to make ends meet with his daughters, no mother and living with HIV. I was surprised that he was so honest about it. As most common folks would never disclose such information to strangers. What made him tell me every little secret?
I could relate to his honestly as when life hits you hard and brings you down to a level that no one can understand you, honesty becomes something too easy to do, to tell another about what’s your reality today. In hopes for someone out there to maybe, just maybe.. listen. Just listen.
“There is no changing this today, I am not here to provide him with a solution. All I can do is be here, stand with you and hear you out. With no judgement.” I thought to myself.
I was not sure if it was the dark smoke from the burning pot that was covering the house, or just standing in a home of this man who is so bluntly honest about his truth today, I had to move away. I had to hide away as tears were coming down from my eyes. I left and found a space for myself.
I came out from the corner after five minutes and met up with Aga.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.. “I’m fine”.. let’s go. I got what I needed. She knew exactly what happened.
THE SHOOTING GALLERY
A ‘Shooting Gallery’ in Cebu City is where the drug culture is accepted. The local town government allows it to go on as to control and inhabit the drug abusers in a slum. At the same time children, mothers and elderly live in this same environments together with local and visiting drug addicts.
According to some locals there, recently many of them have received final evacuation notice from the local authorities (Mayor’s office of Cebu City), since the elections are coming. They were paid 10,000 pesos ($220) to move out and find a new home. “Basically telling us to get out and be homeless.” Their homes would be destroyed so the Mayor and his contractor friends can build new buildings for those who can only afford to live there. This is a common thing here in the cities and villages in Philippines. The rich gets richer by abusing their powers, with corruption and the poor get abused. Leading them to be homeless.
Also their homes are dark small ‘holes’. They have no furniture, no proper dining area, no kitchen, no bedrooms but they do have pictures of Jesus Christ in their homes and small stools/benches for drug addicts to get high on. God still exist among them too, even drug addicts, as Christians in Philippines you can be anyone or do anything, they are always going to be doing it as religious folks. I noticed that it doesn’t matter what your personal believes are here in the slums, it doesn’t matter if you have killed someone, cheated a tourist, took drugs, slept with a minor, they are still believers. I cannot understand this, as what does it mean to them being Christians then.. being Catholics?
We went on walking pass a few more houses and met up with a group of women there. They had just come out from a small room, with big smiles and ‘calm’ tired eyes. I knew immediately they had just came out after shooting drugs. One of them was really friendly and was happy to see us.
Aga looked at me with this weird smile, knowing that I am going to get under her skin.
“Are you high now?”
“Yes! I am…” she said loudly with a big smile. Moving her hands slowly like a traditional dancer. She went on telling us how she comes here every other day to get ‘high’. Of course only when she has the money for it.
“How long does it last?”
“Ah this one is not so good, it’s not the original so it only last for an hour. If I take the other better one, it can last up to four or five hours. That’s what I want to chase for. You know.. chasing the smoke.” Still talking with a big cheeky smile and droopy eyes. She started mumbling a little and it got hard to really understand what she is trying to say. Just a lot ‘slang’ words of addicts and what it feels like being high. I guess she was in a different ‘world’ now and was trying hard to find the words to explain it to us.
She had this pleasant smile about her and spoke really well. Better than the other locals here, so I figured that she is not living among them. We walked out together to the exit of this slums and she shared her phone number. She was actually on her way for her night shirt, at a call centre. She told us with the same cheeky smile. A call centre? Is that what the folks are calling it today?
“Call me when you want to come back to get the real story of the ‘shooting gallery’. There is more happening here but you have be here little longer to get the truth. There is more than meets the eye.”
I left the place thinking.. Shall I come back again?
