This story will surely send those poor-bashing people gloating: “I told you so”.
My uncle bought a house and lot at Novaliches a decade ago. Back then, the area was OK, lots of empty spaces, with a much better water supply compared to the former place where my late grandmother had lived. So the paperworks were OK, money changed hands, and my grandmother moved into the new place with joy in her heart – her own home, at last. No more rents, no more water supply woes.
The land adjacent to it was vacant at that time. Then the owner began building a house, which is still incomplete after more than 5 years. It is already full of weeds. The land in front of both lots was empty when my uncle’s house (which he gave to my grandmother) was bought. Then the troubles began.
The area is actually full of squatters. The heaven-sent water supply was actually a Trojan horse. While the house indeed have a legal water connection, there is an illegal tap in the yard, and unfortunately it was the “poso ng bayan” (artesian well for the squatters). My grandmother, being a conscientious citizen, cut the illegal tap. Imagine the reactions of the people residing in the squatters area.
The electricity connection is another problem. The meter and the main switch were several meters away from the house, giving my grandmother severe apprehensions that someone would tap on the line. Throughout her lifetime, this never happened.
Then the worst happened. The lot in front was bought by somebody, and immediately built walls around it. The wide expanse that led to my grandmother’s house was reduced to a severely narrow alley, where a single person can pass through. This increased her anxiety; she was specially afraid of fire by then. Also, the number of squatter dwellers increased, further increasing my grandmother’s anxiety. There were times when stones hit the roof. Being a light sleeper, my grandmother spent a lot of sleepless nights.
Then her health became poorer, and she was in the hospital for almost six months. The doctors never found out what’s wrong with her. The family attended to her round the clock; she couldn’t speak. They had to tie her hands to the bed railings, since she kept on pulling out the IV lines, the oxygen line, and every contraptions that the doctors had placed in her. It was a sad moment every minute. She always wanted to go home; you ask her if she want to and she would try to sit up, which she couldn’t by that time.
She died two hours after the New Year of 2003.
And so my uncle got married a year ago, and his family resided in that house, together with an aunt who’s an old maid. Then my uncle left to South Korea to work (as always), and the troubles began. The squatter dwellers approached my aunt and asked if they could get water from the illegal tap. My aunt behemently refused. And a few days later a person from Maynilad came and accused my aunt of using the illegal tap, and threatened to have her jailed. Anxiously she asked for our help, and we had to tell her not to panic, since it was obviously an empty threat. Coincidence, perhaps.
Then just two weeks ago, Meralco men swooped up on the area and cut illegal connections. The squatter dwellers suspected my uncle’s wife for ratting them, and began threatening her. It came to a point when a certain man threatened to lob a grenade on the house. This sent my uncle’s wife into an anxious frenzy, and in the middle of the storm named Caloy, abandoned the house and went somewhere.
The family had long been contemplating on selling the house and lot. But with all the inconveniences of the place, we were not able to sell it, since the buyers priced it low – wower than the price that my uncle had paid for it. He is now contemplating of selling it at a loss.
That’s the price of living within the bounds of the law. That’s the price of living with those who give the other poor a bad name. That’s the price of not believing in the Filipino value called “pakikisama”. Sometimes we really cannot blame the upper class (including the middle class) if they treat the poor with disdain.
Now the extended family is beginning to pack things, and leave that place ASAP, as my uncle had ordered via phone. It is a retreat, a retreat that I believe is uncalled for, since we are on the right; why should we surrender to the law breakers? Why be afraid of empty threats? In the end, this cowardice will only embolden the fools to push the limits of their lawbreaking activities.
The barangay is a useless contraption in this case. Don’t tell us – we already did tell them, but all for naught. It should be abolished for being useless.
Personal Note: I had not cried when my grandmother died, not even during the funeral and the burial. There is a paragraph in Simon Birch that resonates to my case – that when someone dies, you lose that person slowly, by missing a lot of things: the smell of her clothes, her laughter, her voice. Only when you miss them all, you begin to know that she’s gone.
I was typing this with tears welling up in my eyes. Only last year did the death of my grandmother made its impact on me. When I was at the cemetery painting her tomb. During her birth anniversaries. During New Year. And now, today.