Small Project 2: Mini Diliman Ethnographies

Ethnography exercise. Observe social interaction within a span of 30 to 45 min. by making detailed field notes. Write out a one page report divided into the following sections:

1. What I see
2. What I hear
3. What I infer
4. Interpretation

You may choose any of the following "fields" but you can also opt for other similar sites within UP campus but outside CMu:

1. Gym (CHK)
2. Student org tambayan
3. Cafeteria
4. University Health Service waiting room (lobby)

The places mentioned will not need any special permit. The exercise is primarily on obdervation and note taking. You may choose to take photos but this is not necessary. Deadline for posting the reports is on Sept. 4. 

In the Heart of Binondo: Treasure hunt for Toho Food Center

 Tuesday, 19 August 2014 

                “Liya, Basta, Hopia!” 

                I laughed as I closed the house door, my mother’s words seeing me out. She'd threatened to charge me for the gas I was spending to complete this school activity, unless I brought her back what she wanted. I figured the hopia was much less expensive than gasoline. I was headed to Binondo- a place I have always wanted to go to, but never found the perfect time or reason to. I’d been to President’s a couple of times before but every single time I was there, it was late night, and there was little to see and explore. I wanted to make sure today would be different. Heck, I was excited for the experience. I must sound absolutely petty.

I rode silently as we cruised Commonwealth at an unprecedented speed. I’m too terrified to tell my driver to slow down, so I reach into my backpack to fish out my iPod and earphones to replace 98.7’s drawl of songs like “Got to Believe in Magic”. I decided that my mood matched my outfit, and I hit shuffle on my “Wicked” playlist. I was dressed in my favorite “Defy Gravity” Tee, denim shorts and sneakers- a rarity for me because I hate it when they get untied. Somehow, I knew I was in for a long adventure when I was getting ready for today, and I wanted to get comfortable.

                I send a text message at 1:05 to the guy that first came into mind when I thought of Binondo. Kelbert was a full-blooded Chinese friend who I knew had grown up in the area. “Kelbert! I’m on my way!”, before I settle to watch other cars we zoomed past in the empty roads of Quezon City. It was a holiday after all. We were met surprisingly by very little traffic as we drove from to Quezon Avenue- only a short halt by the Araneta underpass because they were painting the structure’s insides white. There were so many of them working- 3 of them on top of underpass, a few more down below. There were also three more working on a different section of the underpass in hopes to expedite the process. We breezed through Quezon Ave until we neared the UST grounds. Our driver asks where we should stop and wait and I realize I hadn’t set a very definite meeting place with Kelbert. We parked right underneath the footbridge, and I sent another text Kelbert’s way to inform him of where we were. It was 1:25. It’s only then that I realize I hadn’t ever set foot on the UST campus, and the striking beauty of its structures from the outside catch my eye. I see that there are students, and I wonder first why they are around until I realize I’m not in Quezon City anymore. They shuffled at a pretty quick pace inside campus and it makes me wonder if we look the same way in UP when outsiders see us. I look at my phone to check the time. 1:30.

                I realize it’s the perfect opportunity to make use of my cellular data and check out some information about the Toho Food Center. I hit the Chrome app on my phone and search away. I find pretty interesting facts about Toho online, including the fact that one of their regular patrons was none other than Jose Rizal himself. The research finds me even more excited to get going, and a whole lot impatient that Kelbert isn’t there yet. But he had offered to show me around Binondo, and knowing how absolutely horrible I was with directions, I was thankful for the proffered company. It would be interesting too, I thought, to be shown around Binondo by someone who had grown up there.

                1:39, I receive a text message. “Malapit na. Sorry.” My excitement triples, if it was at all even possible. I’m tapping away on my cellphone without doing anything absolutely necessary- it was just my way of coping with my own impatience. It’s my driver who notices when Kelbert arrives and I practically leap up just to open the door.

                1:44. The pleasantries are over. We’re driving towards Binondo now, and Kelbert is giving my driver instructions about where to pass to avoid traffic. I realize what a Godsend he was- My driver had admitted that he wasn’t very familiar with Manila. There’s some traffic to be dealt with, and like Kelbert had previously warned, Jeepney Drivers in Manila are the worst. Like a welcome party, they prove to be so. Right as we turn a corner before that extremely Chinese archway, a jeepney cuts us, and then stops in the middle of the road to drop off a passenger. My driver honks the car horn and I clap my hands- a habit I got from my dad.

                The streets are Narrow, and the old buildings that always make me feel so adventurous in Manila are so close together they almost feel claustrophobic. The streets are the parking areas as well- there are cars parked on both sides of the road, as if it wasn’t already too narrow to begin with.

               

                We turn the corner of T. Pinpin- a different street name from what Kelbert had given me when I initially asked about Toho- and Kelbert immediately shows me the Toho signage. It isn’t anything grand- just one of those light-up signs that read The New Toho Food Center in Green. I realize soon after that there is a bigger orange sign above the establishment that wasn’t too visible from our previous vantage point. Both signs seem both beaten and worse for wear, but it was simply a sign of how old Toho truly was. For a second, Kelbert thinks there’s no electricity because it’s so dark. Kelbert warned me to lower my expectations because the place wasn’t so great when he was last there, though he admitted it had been quite a while since he had been there. I laughed, only because I’ve learned through experience that usually, the most worn down places have the best food.

                We ask to be dropped off right there, and I simply ask the driver to find a parking spot even if he’s incessantly complaining that it’s going to be difficult. I wasn’t going to let that damper my mood. Right then, I was focused on what I needed to do. Kelbert and I headed inside.

                There wasn’t a door to enter. Toho Food Center was just open and I took another look at the signage and saw that it had been open since 1888. I asked the waiter why it’s suddenly called “The New Toho Food Center” if it’s been around since 1888. Apparently, this wasn’t the original establishment- the old Toho Panciteria Antigua that Rizal had presumably eaten in had burned down in 1984 and had been rebuilt, when it had been renamed into the “New” Toho Food Center. It was painted purple, reminiscent of the color I’d requested to paint my bedroom. The paint, maybe from age and the fact that the food center was an open establishment, was weathered. It had large chunks of paint missing in certain sections near the high white ceiling. Kelbert had wanted to go up to the air-conditioned section of Toho but since we were the only customers, it wasn’t open.

                The same waiter I had asked about Toho sat us down, grabbed 2 menus and attempted to simply walk away. I saw his intent to leave, and quickly asked what he had to recommend. He seemed oddly surprised but quickly answered me with a million recommendations. I decided to get the first thing he had mentioned- the Pork Asado, and asked which Rice would go well with it. He recommended the Crab Fried Rice, and once Kelbert had made sure we both weren’t allergic to crab, we’d decided to get that too.

                While waiting for the food, Kelbert told me something extremely interesting. He’d told me that their family once owned a meat business and that before they shut down, they used to supply Toho. That was the reason he’d been very familiar with Toho in the first place. I asked him what he knew about Toho. He told me it was owned by the descendants of one of the founders of the place- the name had escaped him, but through further research, I hear his name was Tai Tang.

                The food arrived in 15 minutes. The Pork Asado was served first in what looked to me like a slightly smaller version of the usual Rodic’s Tapsilog fare, and was followed by a heaping serving of rice on a bowl that was around 5 inches in diameter. There was no grandiose presentation here, but I recall that it is quite rare to find Chinese restaurants that actually bother about presentation. Just a few days ago, our extended family had celebrated some special events in Spring Deer in Timog, and none of the servings were presented with much effort.

                The aroma, however, was incredibly mouthwatering. The aroma of the crab and the tangy sauce that came with the Pork Asado was enough to make Kelbert and I feel hungry, even if we’d admittedly had our fair share of lunch. The Pork Asado was so tender and thinly cut that it literally melted into your mouth and made you want to have more. And thank heavens, the Fried Rice was perfect- I’ve always loved Fried Rice, but hate it when the rice came out starchy and soft or too hard because it was overcooked. The rice was neither. The saltiness was a perfect contrast to the Asado’s sweetness, thanks to the tangy sauce that came with it. Kelbert and I, in the middle of conversations about school and about his growing up in Binondo, did not fail to pay our compliments towards Toho’s delicious food. Kelbert said he still loved eating food in Toho, even if his parents used to buy food from the place when he was younger. The taste, he said, never did change. It makes me wonder, considering that the restaurant is owned by descendants of one of the founders, if this is the food that Rizal, too, enjoyed. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised. So this was the good food that Binondo was famous for.

                There was a point that I was quite thankful that the air-conditioned area of Toho was closed. It allowed me to hear so many things, even beyond the conversations I had with Kelbert. I heard bicycles whiz by, and the familiar click-clack of the kalesas that passed the cement streets of Binondo. I love that sound- it is so distinctly Manila- I’d spent a good amount of time in Intramuros and it is the same sound on its cobbled streets that make the place seem like a page out of my history book. T. Pinpin, unlike much of Binondo that Kelbert and I agreed to traverse on foot after eating at Toho, was not a very busy street. Cars were parked in every square inch of that street, but there was barely any traffic.

                There came a point where both Kelbert and I only picked on our food- we were both extremely full, albeit satisfied with our meal. I’d relayed to him the second thing I needed to do that day- find my mother some good Hopia. Mom’s family knew the ins and outs of Binondo for some reason- my grandfather apparently loved to go there when they were children. Mom had specifically told me, before that hilarious reminder to buy her hopia before I left the house that she specifically wanted  hopia from Holand, Polland or Eng Bee Tin. I paid for our meal, and I’m surprised at the Php350 price tag on everything we had ordered. That much to feed two people and a take-home bag was definitely worth the money. I made a mental note to come back to Toho should I return to Binondo anytime in the future.

                Kelbert and I walked to the spot where our driver had parked. It was a short distance only from Toho, but it allowed Kelbert to notice the street sign. He was oddly surprised that it was now called T. Pinpin. He remembered that it used to be called Florentino Torres. I realized Toho would not be difficult to find in the street- it was the only restaurant in the row of furniture stores. The stores reminded me of what our current house contained when we had seen it before we moved in. The previous owner of our house had been Chinese, and well, she hadn’t been very sparing with the extremely ornate and intricate furniture. I always thought that all that furniture made a room glow orange, but I realized then that it was probably just because they seemed to have a liking for yellow light. Most of the Chinese furniture stores that we passed were lit that way.

                The skies had dimmed a huge amount by the time we got to the car again. We decided to go further into Binondo to find my mother’s hopia- Both Kelbert and I had decided we wanted to buy her Holand hopia, because the Eng Bee Tin was just too starchy and flaky. He’d made a comment that it was probably because Eng Bee Tin hopia was now being mass produced, so it tasted less fresh than the two other brands. I had to agree. I had always liked Holand hopia more.

                Both Kelbert and I stole a look at the car’s watch- it was 3:22 pm, and while we’d attempted to move much closer to Ongpin street, Binondo became much more difficult to navigate by car than it would have been on foot. There were endless one way street signs and we decided that we’d just find a parking spot and go around on foot. It sounds simple, but finding parking in Binondo was like finding a needle in the haystack. I wanted to go home and hug mom for allowing me to bring the driver with me. I wonder how much time we would have spent just looking for parking if I’d taken the drive alone. We take a look at the clock again- 3:28. And then we realize the oddest thing- the street lights are on at this hour? Our driver had made a comment how it was probably going to flood in Manila just looking at the storm clouds. The rain hadn’t poured just yet, but we knew it was imminent. For some odd reason, Kelbert and I didn’t feel like giving up on the hopia hunt despite the huge storm cloud that hung over us. It was so dark, if we hadn’t looked at the clock, I would actually think it was around 6 in the evening.

                The rain was starting to make its presence felt when we finally found a parking space. Kelbert and I, armed with our umbrellas would brave the storm that came. The rain pounded on the tin rooftops of the little shops we passed by, and the walk towards Ongpin which we had thought would be quite uneventful turned into an adventure in itself. We’d stopped for a while in one of the shops 2 blocks down from where we had come from when the rain started to become accompanied by a thunderstorm. I found it quite bizarre. It was clearly a tailoring shop- it had clothes and textiles on display, but it smelled quite odd- a little like the Efficascent oil that my gradeschool clinic would give me for a headache back in the day. Kelbert knew the owner- they used to have his school slacks made there, apparently. He also said that the tailoring shop, too, was a Chinese drugstore, hence the smell.

                We continued to walk through Binondo when the lightning and thunder stopped. The rain still kept pouring in dredges and Kelbert and I were both soaking wet. We passed a lot of different shops- hardware stores, food establishments, Chinese apothecaries and supermarkets. Every single shop had a different scent- one could smell of incense, and the next, of Chinese herbal medicine.  I remember wanting to stop at one place just because it was so warm and smelled of Chinese noodle soup which would be a huge comfort in the weather we were walking in, but I walked on.

                It became increasingly difficult for Kelbert and I to trek the streets of Binondo as wet as we were. The rain seemed to only get stronger, so once we hit Ongpin- the only street I was familiar with in Binondo- we stayed in one of the small supermarket type establishments to let the rain ease a bit. The place was warm and cozy, thankfully. Kelbert had told me that certain establishment sealed everything they had because they had a domesticated cat roaming inside. We met the adorable cat as we attempted to dry ourselves off. The shop smelled of the Chinese candies mom used to buy me when I was a child- the champoy, and the sweet and salty sampaloc, but it held so many odd ends. We saw cinnamon bark and Korean seaweed, even palm sugar, being sold at the store. I headed off to their little dark bathroom, spent some cuddle time with their domesticated cat, then soon after, braved the storm again. 

                The rain didn’t seem like it was going to let up anytime soon, and figuring we were dry enough to keep going, we took our umbrellas again and kept walking. We were near, Kelbert kept repeating, so we weren’t going to turn back now. Thankfully, the wind had significantly weakened and the heavens looked a lot brighter than it did earlier. We crossed the Filipino Chinese Friendship bridge which reeked of the polluted river but had a certain trace of the smell of fruit because of the assorted fruit stands in the area. Just one block down and we finally reached Holand. The store was nice and quaint and I hate that we probably dirtied their floors with our soaking wet shoes. We’d squeaked our way around the establishment as I purchased the hopia that mom had asked for. Kelbert had mentioned in the supermarket that many establishments were starting to sell mooncakes for the mooncake festival in September, so I decided to buy us one each. We ate it there while we rested for a bit before heading back.

                The store too, held many odd ends. Cans of fox’s candy that I was very fond of as a child were sold a shelf apart from some dietary coffee. The next shelf had tikoy, the next, empanada. I smiled. They just had to have it all.

                We trekked the same treacherous path we took earlier to return to the car. It seemed much calmer now. The rain had subsided a bit (it still wasn’t enough to warrant totally not using our umbrellas) and the puddles had receded. The little overhead roofs of the stores would keep us relatively dry from time to time. The paths smelled the same, except it reeked less of rain and moss. The rain was reduced to a pitter patter on the windshield when we returned to my car as we dried ourselves out. I look at the clock. 4:20. Rush hour. And Kelbert had some place to be.

                Recto was a nightmare to drive. I checked my phone and saw that it was apparently running at 0Kph. We’d turned at Morayta at 5:15. Almost an hour! Students crossed the streets with little caution, and I discovered why this street truly was U-belt. I’d never seen it so alive before. But then, I’d never really been to Morayta on a school day. Kelbert got off at the end of the street and we drove off to head home. Except we made a huge mistake. España after so much rain would always turn into a river. And well, we had nowhere to go. Thankful for a pretty high car, we made it through. I was exhausted at this point and wanted to nod off for a bit. It was the sight and sound of a bunch of students screaming as they crossed the flood waters of España, pulling up their skirts to cross the knee deep waters that was the last I remember before arriving home. It was 7:30.

                It’s funny how that treasure hunt worked so differently. Before we’d arrived at Toho and when Kelbert read through what I had to do, it seemed like such a simple task. But we’re controlled by uncontrollable circumstances. We just make the best out of them.

Reaction Paper to "What is Ethnography?"

          In all honesty, I am at a loss for what to say on the essay by Atkinson and Hammersley. It seems to me that so much has already been said and so much has been said on what has been said that it is nearly redundant to say something on what has been said on what has been said. But then I suppose that’s where the “reflexivity” part comes in, as defined in the reading – each person brings his or her own biases to the field. And so while it is true that many things have been said on what has been said on what has been said, nothing has been said yet with my specific set of biases. So, here we go.

I once had a discussion with a friend about the concept of absolute truth. Does absolute truth exist? She said yes. One hundred percent, absolute truth is there and can be verified by empirical methods. I told her that my view was a little less stringent than hers – I do believe in absolute truth, but that maybe the “empirical methods” aren’t that simple. Is it one person’s fault that their viewpoint alters the appearance of something, “distorting” the image? Which image from which viewpoint is the least distorted, and who is to say who is right? Is it fair to apply one set of standards for all people standing from different points of view and who see the object from different perspectives? What if someone stood behind a mountain and couldn’t see the object at all? I believe that there is an absolute truth – there is definitely a “right” view of the image. However, being that we are humans and have our limitations, there will be discrepancies, and at least for now, they are all correct. Absolute truth exists alongside temporary relative truths.

How does this relate to the field of ethnography? Much of the essay was concerned with discussing different methodological approaches to learning about another culture, and which one is the “best.” Positivism hailed quantitative data gathered from controlled environments, naturalism encouraged qualitative data from natural environments, and reflexivity emerged much later on to say that both are important plus the inclusion of a third factor: the acceptance that it is impossible for the researcher to make a purely objective study and the suggestion that the researcher include his or her own socio-cultural background as one of the variables of the study.

I feel that each approach is commendable in its own right and has its own value. Perhaps the question is not simply which one is the “best” but which one is most appropriate for each specific study, at least in terms of deciding between positivism and naturalism. Reflexivity, however, is a must. Similar to my conclusion in the discussion between my friend and me about absolute truth, I believe that while cultures undoubtedly have a “true” interpretation and a “true” way of understanding them, it is simply impossible given our circumstances to always reach that “true” way. Does that make our biased, “colored” interpretations any less true? No. Of course, it is imperative that we try our utmost best to study cultures “properly” but I think that there are simply too many cultures to study and for each, too perspectives to cover and every single one of them is valid, albeit on different levels of truth. How do you determine how distanced from the truth one interpretation is?

I suppose here lies the danger of too much reflexivity: We begin to think of every interpretation as the absolute truth, since each researcher is entitled to his or her own ideas. This is dangerous and can lead to much confusion. It is important that the distinction between absolute and what I have termed the “temporary relative truth” stays clear, and as long as it does, ethnography will stay a rewarding field with much to be learned in the exchanges of knowledge and culture.

The Treasure Hunt for Halal Chicken 

by: Anna Karenina M. Rosana

            I’ve always known Quiapo as the seat of its famous Quiapo church, the hub of the Black Nazarene, and the home for some cheap items. Growing up in Quezon City, my mom always tells me that Quiapo is not a good place to go to because of its notorious reputation, or if one wishes to visit the place, he must show a hundred percent vigilance so as not to be victims of snatchers, robbers, and other people with evil modus-operandi. As the years go by and as my eyes become enlightened on the beautiful diversity of culture and people, my interest in culture and love for adventure develops and grows. So last Thursday, August 20, 2014, during the holiday break, I decided to be a “tourist” in the city of Manila and braced Quiapo with sheer enthusiasm for learning, fun, and adventure.  

            I tagged my sister along to help and assist me during this 1-day field work in Quiapo. We both took 2 tablets of Ascorbate to avoid catching a flu (knowing we always seem to be sickly after coming from places like Quiapo or Divisoria), left our gadgets and phones at home and ate breakfast. We left home at 10:15, rode a Quiapo bound jeep; paid for 18 php per person. After 45 minutes, we arrived and got down at the Quiapo church. I remembered before going down the jeepney, I noticed a lot of people lining up outside the cathedral leading to a small alley. Since my sister and I were seated in front of the jeepney, I asked the driver what the line was for and he told me that the line would lead up to the place where the Black Nazarene was kept and that people were actual devotees of the religious figure. As we got down, we were immediately welcomed by the various vendors, all asking, “Anong hanap niyo, te?.” We happened to pass by the busy Plaza Miranda and saw different kinds of small merchandises and stalls; from candles, fruits, food, slippers, RTW’s, religious items, flowers, oils, magic potions, “pamparegla,” “pampagana,”  and many others. However, the purpose of visiting Quiapo were not about those mentioned but to learn more about the other people group co-existing peacefully with the Filipino Catholic religious community; the Muslim community.

              Figure 1. The Filipino-Muslim Arch with the Arabic words “Ahlan Wasahlan” meaning

                                                 “Welcome to  Muslim Town!”

           

            We passed through under the flyover bridge linking Quiapo proper and Muslim Town. Under the bridge, you would find more stalls and shops where one could buy lots of Philippine souvenir items made from local products such as abaca, wood and bamboo. I even saw bamboo buzzers being sold in some of the stalls I stopped by. At the doorstep of the Muslim town, an arch was built with words engraved in Arabic words: “Ahlan Wasahlan” meaning, “Welcome.”  Unlike Plaza Miranda, the place was less crowded and more quiet, but just like the Quiapo proper, the place was filled with lots of food establishments (mostly carinderia-like food stalls/restaurants), tiangge selling Muslim malongs, abayas and combongs (head gear) street vendors selling halal foods such as dried fish, onions, fruits, spices, furnitures, ceramics, and pirated DVD’s. Contrary to popular and negative stigma of the Quiapo area, I actually felt a bit “safer” inside the Muslim town than when I was in Plaza Miranda.

            The creation of the Muslim town could be traced from the supposedly small settlement of the Maranaos when they were driven out from Mindanao during Martial Law in the 70’s. From a small community, it continued to expand until it became the community that it is now. During our walk and observation in the community, I noticed that there were no beggars in the sidewalks but shops after shops. Most of the items being sold inside the Muslim town are nowhere to be found in other places of Quiapo. People are peaceful and the area was indeed more quiet than the streets nearby the Quiapo church.

          Figure 2. The quiet and less crowded streets in the Quiapo Muslim community.

            Everywhere I looked I saw lots of food stalls offering halal food. One sidewalk vendor was selling onions and dried fish which according to her were even imported all the way from Mindanao. I wasn’t sure though if he was telling the truth. I went on further inside the town to canvass for the prices of halal chicken.

            Herein, I began to ask some bystanders to help me in my quest. I approached a middle aged woman, who I assumed to be a saleslady in the bakery and asked, “Ate, saan po dito yung nagtitinda ng halal chicken.” In my ignorance, my sister tugged me and said, “Ate, halal is not a cuisine, hindi siya uri ng luto na parang menudo; halal means clean or walang halong baboy.” At first I did not believe my sister and I asked the lady I asked directions for to tell me what halal meant. She said the same thing and added that everywhere in the town, they are selling halal. I realized, I should do more research (other than the main directions) about my topic should there be next topics to be do field work with.

            In Arabic, the word halal means “permitted” or “lawful”. Islam followed certain dietary guidelines with regard to their food and according to Qu’ran, their holy book, they are not allowed to consume pork, blood from animals, or products/ingredients made from pork, birds of prey, carnivorous animals, alcohol, animals that were dead prior to slaughtering, or animals not slaughtered properly or not slaughtered in the name of Allah. This law means that animals who are slaughtered for human consumption must be killed in a respectable manner and blood must be drained properly.¹

            The Muslim community in Quiapo were filled with lots of halal eateries whose meal prices can range from 50 pesos to 250 pesos. An order of halal chicken (say breastpart or any chicken part) can range from 75 pesos - up. Halal chicken can be fried, roasted, or grilled. The friend chicken costs 75 pesos with a cup of rice and a whole roasted halal chicken ranges from 175 – 210 pesos. Some halal chicken dish has some turmeric yellow spice on top of it, which costs 65 pesos – up.

            Figure 3.Halal Roasted Chicken for Php 200/whole and Fried Chicken with yellow Turkmenish spice on top for Php75/order in Muslim Town in Quiapo, Manila.²            

            I noticed that in most (if not all) of the eateries we went to, they use golden pitchers that looked like kettles, with delicate ceramic designs and some with silver and golden plates. There were even food establishments offering different varieties of halal such as halal siomai and halal pizza.

            At first, my sister and I were actually taken aback from the eateries and we were not enticed to dine in; for one, it was too crowded and hot inside any of the restaurant; the heat outside was draining and exhausting both of us. We were so unsure by the sanitation of the eateries in the place that we decided to canvass on the price ranges of the halal chicken, have lunch elsewhere, and explore more within the Muslim town, Quiapo area beside the church, and visit Chinatown. Meantime, we stopped by a nearby Ministop to buy a bottle of energy drink and be refreshed by the air condition.

            We just decided to roam around the community some more. I began to notice some stalls selling pirated DVD’s and CD’s. I was enticed to ooze in because they were playing Maranao music, and shortly after that, a familiar song was played; Let it Go, OST from Disney’s Frozen. I found out that the vendors were all natives of Maranao and have been living in the community for many years already. I also noticed that people in the Muslim community were polite and accommodating; and despite of the extremely hot and very humid weather, the women were traditionally clothed and fully covered (only their sweaty faces were seen).

            We decided to have lunch in Binondo since the town was nearby and we haven’t gone through Chinatown yet. From Muslim town of Quiapo, we walked back to Plaza Miranda, passed through Paterno Street, and walked all the way straight to LRT Carriedo Station and even further. During the long and exhausting stroll, I couldn't help but blame the local and national government for the very poor maintenance of roads and streets, a handful constructions (on going and unfinished) on roads, traffic, closed roads, and undisciplined motorists.

            After a number of asking for directions, we have finally arrived in the arch of Manila Chinatown. 

                                               Figure 4. Manila Chinatown in Binondo, Manila (Sta. Cruz Area)

            Few minutes after, the rain began to pour. We had to walk for about 10-15 minutes more to brace inside the Chinatown where the delicious authentic Chinese food could be found. Back then, I have heard of the positive reviews on Wai Ying Fastfood’s dumplings. We asked a tricycle driver if we had to go further o find the restaurant and fortunately we were only few blocks away. When we arrived to the place where we decided to have lunch, the place was full and we had to wait for 20 minutes to have a seat. We had siomai, hakaw, milk tea, mami, and chicken mushroom rice for lunch and we brought a lot for take home. We paid 900php for the bill. We did splurge.

             

                                        Figure 5. Our Lunch at Wai Ying Fast Food, Binondo.

            I noticed a lot of differences between the 2 communities. The Chinatown is more business-like and developed with high commercial and residential buildings, as compared with the Muslim communities where establishments were either low-rise houses and some, shanties. On the contrary, the Quiapo Golden Mosque was exquisite even from the outside. On the other hand, the streets in Chinatown are much busier than the Muslim towns; there were more automobiles in the Chinatown as compared to Muslim town. There were no tiangge but Chinese hotels and big merchandising shops like Anson.

            Nevertheless, whether one would be in Muslim town or Chinatown, the presence of culture and traditions were so evident. The two cultures are also skilled in their own ways in terms of entrepreneurship and business.

            I could say that indeed there is more to Quiapo than the famous church and the Black Nazarene. Quiapo, in spite of its bad reputation on notorious pickpocketers, was actually a center of thriving businesses and home to diverse people groups with different beliefs; all managing to live at peace with one another.

           

Citations

1. Fayed, Saad. “Halal Food. What is Halal Food?” About.com http://mideastfood.about.com/od/middleeasternfood101/a/halalfoods.htm. Accessed August 23, 2014.

2.  Aminah. “Muslimah in Manila.” (2011). \http://muslimahinmanila.blogspot.com/2011/10/quiapo-and-chinatown-food-trips.html. Accessed August 24, 2014.

           

Treasure Hunt: Quiapo Church

The Task

            My assignment was to go to Quiapo Church and look for vendors selling pamparegla, or abortifacients, among the amulet stalls.  Specifically, I had to look for the cheapest price, and note medication details such as dosage.

Up until recently, I had never been to Quiapo Church, nor did I had any reason to go. And so I decided to take this particular task, if not for the scandalous fun of looking for illegal pills. I had a friend come with me for two reasons: my father didn’t want me to go to Quiapo by myself, and my friend wanted to make sure I didn’t actually buy what I was looking for.

            In order to get consistent answers from the vendors I was going to talk to, my story had to be somewhat believable. So I fixed my alibi and created a concise and flexible set of questions/alibis, as follows:

•     I don’t know how far along I am, or if my period is just delayed. But if I am pregnant, I don’t know how many months it’s been. What are my options?

•    How much does the medicine cost? How much of the medicine do I need? Could I get a discount?

•     I don’t have the money to buy the medicine now because I don’t know how much I needed. Can I get your number?

Disclaimer: For discretion's sake, I've chosen to withhold pictures of what I found during my trip. Especially the numbers of dealers, and information on how to administer the medicine. The things I found, after all, are illegal. 

The Church

            To get to Quiapo Church, my friend and I walked from Recto LRT station through Evangelista Street. Both sides of the street were crowded with all sorts of vendors. Fishball stands, motor parts, music and sports stores, old books, counterfeit certificates and ID’s. Jeeps and cars were paving their way through the one-way dirt (or just dirty) road. Everyone was selling something; the irony was that with all the variety, they were all selling the same things.

            Eventually, Evangelista Street widened up, and we saw at least three rows of religious vendors stationed across the side of the church. We arrived in time for the 11:00am Sunday mass, so the church was crowded. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the church.

            The church itself wasn’t intricately decorated, but it was conspicuously ornate. Although it retained the shape of a Spanish-era church, it had modern expansions such as a Cardinal Sin Building. It couldn’t accommodate everyone despite its size, so people had to rely on the speaker system and large screens broadcasting the ongoing mass. I could hear a classically trained woman singing the communion song.

            My friend and I continued walking into the Plaza Miranda, where the mid-day heat was amplified by dozens of candle vendors. They offered mass attendees with different colored candles, supposedly to bring luck to different aspects of your life. Other peddlers walked around the square, trying to sell us images of the Black Nazarene. Nearer Quezon Boulevard, tarot readers with crude cardboard signs sat under umbrellas. The occasional beggar tapped people on the shoulder to ask for change. There was only one policeman, and he didn’t seem too occupied.

            Those particular stalls were surrounded by vendors of herbal remedies, figurines of saints, and other religious and superstitious items. My friend and I knew immediately that those were the stalls we were looking for. After taking everything in for a minute, we walked up to our first stall.

The First Vendor

            The man handling this booth figured that we were looking for something, and so he asked out loud, “Ano pong hanap niyo ma’am?” I asked him if he sold pamparegla. “Ilang buwan na po ba?” he asked, with a solemn and hushed tone. Naturally, he assumed that I needed the medicine. I didn’t know, I said.

            “Meron po kaming gamot. Bigay ko din sayo yung dosage, tsaka listahan ng mga bawal kainin”. He handed me a rolled up piece of paper, with the printed information that he offered, as well as his cell phone number. I discovered that the medicine in question was called Cytotec. If you’re taking the medication, he said, you have to take it once every two hours with painkillers. You can’t have dinner. You can’t eat cold or sour food. You need to exercise in the morning. Ideally, you also shouldn’t bathe.

            I asked how much the medicine cost. P250 per tablet, but he offered them at P200 when I asked if he could give me something cheaper. I would need 22 tablets for the entire procedure. We then asked if we could see the medication, but the man said that he hides them because they’re illegal. But if we’re buying the meds, he would meet us at the Jollibee near the church.

            After he said this, I thanked him and told him that I couldn’t buy the medicine now because I didn’t have the money. He said to look for him again if when I was ready to buy them. He then took back the piece of paper he gave me as a precaution.

The Second Vendor

            I walked on my own to another row of remedy vendors. A young man asked what I was looking for, and I asked if he had any pamparegla. Like the previous vendor, he asked how far along I was. I gave him the same reply. He said that he had tablets, which he could give me for P200/pc. I asked if he could give them to me cheaper, and he lowered the price to P150.

Even though that was a lower price than the first vendor, I asked if he had anything cheaper still. “Depende kasi kung ilang buwan na kayo,” he said. If you’re already two months pregnant, you have to use the tablets. But if you’ve been carrying for about a month, or if you’re worried that you’re just delayed, then we have a natural remedy for that. He then picked up a twisted root from his stall, which he called a makabuhay. If I wanted to use this, I just had to boil it and drink it for a week, and it would cleanse my system. It’s meant for ulcers and diabetes, but it’ll also induce a miscarriage.

            “Magkano naman po ‘to?”, I asked. Only P20 for the root, and it’s all I need to cleanse my body. But you might still need the tablets if you’ve been pregnant for two to three months. I bought the makabuhay, and asked for the man’s number in case I wanted to get the pills. I asked if the pills were Cytotec, and he said they were. He dictated his number, which I save on my phone. He said that I need to confirm how long I’ve been pregnant, so he can tell me how many tablets I’ll need. I thanked him for the makabuhay and walked further away from the square.

The Third Vendor

            The last person I asked had a stall with at least three assistants. This woman in question was rather plump, and was wearing a noticeable amount of gold jewelry. I gave her my spiel, and she replied that she had the medicine, complete with the dosages. I’d need 14 tablets of Cytotec, taken every two hours. She offered me the complete dosage for P4,200 (P300/pc). When I asked for a lower price, she brought it down to P3,500 (P250/pc). After telling her that I didn’t have the budget, I asked for her number. She said to wait for her in KFC. And so my friend and I walked to KFC, feeling the illicitness of what we were doing for the first time that day.

            After waiting in KFC for less that 5mins, a man walked in and stood beside us. “Ito na po yung gamot niyo,” he whispered, as he tried to hand us a small paper bag. My friend and I panicked internally (a man was smuggling pills to us!), but we calmly explained that we were just asking for the woman’s number because we don’t have the money yet. The man told us to wait while he went back outside.

            We waited for five more minutes before the woman we talked to appeared outside the doors of KFC. She gestured for me to go outside. When I stepped out, she asked to make sure I wasn’t buying yet. I told her I didn’t bring the money. She then gave me a sheet of notebook paper with her number, and the dosage for the medication. She then walked away, trying to be discreet.

The Summary

            After asking three different vendors for pamparegla, I discovered that the average price for Cytotec tablets was P250/pc. The cheapest discounted rate was P150/pc. The cheapest remedy I found was the makabuhay root, which only cost P20. The vendors gave me inconsistent dosages, specifically in terms of the amount of medication I’d need. However, they were consistent about certain instructions, such as avoiding cold and sour food.

         What I found surprising was the willingness of the last two vendors to give me their contact information. It would’ve made sense if they wanted to be extra cautious with their dealings, but everything that occurred was treated more like an open secret. Now I have two numbers on my cell phone for abortion tablets, of all things.
          Even more surprising was the fact that the medicine was so easy to find. I initially thought that I would have a difficult time finding someone who had what I was looking for. In truth, the task was much easier than I thought. And In my honest opinion, the task was also easier than it should've been.