The Economy, from a Cab Driver

Manila is littered with malls. I can count 9 so far, and I've visited three in as many days in the country. I went to Greenhills Mall yesterday to have my blackberry unlocked and to see what kinds of deals I could find.

I left the Greenhills Mall with an unlocked Blackberry and two sundresses, for which I paid $1000 pesos or $20 dollars. I caught a cab, and asked for a tour of Manila.

The driver started talking, as cab drivers usually do. He was upbeat and funny. He had three kids. The oldest, a girl, was twelve and just starting high school. The middle child, a boy, was 10 and in fifth grade. The youngest, another boy was a second grader this year. He was obviously proud of them.

He wouldn't get home until 4 in the morning. And he had been driving since 4 am. A 24 hour shift.

And he had figured out the math of earning a living as a cab driver. As long as he drove more than 450 kilos in a 24 hour period he'd come out on top. He'd have enough to feed his family for another day. And the "make it or break it" amount was?

$500 pesos.

As long as he earned more than $500 pesos/shift they'd be all right. I couldn't help but feel the irony of the fact that I had just spent that much on one sundress.

"When the kids go to college, I don't know what we'll do," he said.
But that's not true, he does know what he'll do. The taxi driver and his wife have a plan. His wife is studying to become a welder. And once she becomes a welder she is going to Australia to work.

"Welders make good money," he said. "Better than a taxi driver." Especially in Australia, I'm sure.

He had been a welder many years ago. He liked the money and the work, until the day he got electrocuted. His arms went completely numb, he said. He quit that day and never went back. The danger was too much, and he took up taxi driving because it was safer.

"All I have to do is drive a car," he said, laughing. "But the problem is, if I don't work even one day, we can't eat." He was still laughing.

Eventually, he told us, he plans to go back into welding and then to follow his wife to Australia.

"Who will look after your kids?" I asked.

"My mom," he said. "She lives very near to me."

I had actually just read this International Herald Tribune piece by Carlos Conde on the social consequences of migrant workers, or more accurately, of their absence, on Philippine families.

But when those are your only two choices...?

Bahala Na is a Philippine term I've recently learned. It means "Leave it to God."