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.