this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on April 8, 2003.
I have never liked flying. I get airsick. Whether the flight takes one hour or 10, throwing up is a natural occurrence for me. It’s really disgusting. No matter how many sleeping pills or headache pills I take, the result is the same: I throw up everything I have eaten.
However, I’m too fond of traveling and, yes, shopping, to completely give up traveling by air. But that is another story.
This time, I was bound for the Middle East to visit my husband. Being recently married made it an easy decision for me.
As I waited for my flight, I sat down in the airport lounge and tried to make friends with a number of domestic helpers. I soon found myself listening to their stories and experiences while working in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia or Bahrain.
Our conversation began with the most ordinary questions and predictable answers: How hot is the weather? Terribly hot, but what did you expect? It’s the desert! What about food? Does it all taste like shawarma? Yes! And most of the food taste weird and smelly.
My questions turned to culture, religion, best shopping bargains, etc. And then I asked: How does your employer treat you?
It was a big mistake, but I was simply asking out of curiosity. I was not prepared for the answers I got. I was so stupid to think we lived in a perfect world. Some had been beaten by their employers. Others had been locked up without food for days. One said she agreed to marry her employer after he had raped her. She was his third wife, but at least she was much happier now.
Arab women are usually jealous of Filipinas, they said. That’s why it’s more common to be attacked by jealous wives rather than sadistic men.
I had heard horrible stories like these on TV and read about them in the newspapers. But it was entirely different hearing the accounts firsthand. It seemed surreal. I winced as they gave details about the abuses they had to endure.
Then I began to wonder if all of these women were crazy. After what they had gone though, why do they risk going back to some strange lands? I asked without thinking.
Why not? they asked. Again I was not prepared for this answer! They explained that it was not everyday that they had to suffer verbal or physical abuse; it only happened when their employers were in a foul mood or when they couldn’t understand their instructions. Language was the main reason, they said. And they had not been beaten to within an inch of their lives anyway.
Then it was their turn to throw the questions: What will they do in the province? How will their children eat? Who’s going to send their children to college? God willing, a daughter or a son will be the first college graduate in the family. Why not grab the opportunity? Surely they cannot go to Manila and work as housemaids for the pittance that they will get? Besides if they have to risk abuse, they might as well earn dollars and simply suffer in silence.
I didn’t know which was worse-being maltreated by foreigners or by our own people. Although there are very few reports about maids being abused in Manila, I was sure it was happening too.
When they heard the announcement that the aircraft was ready for boarding, everyone reached for her cell phone. It was time to say final goodbyes to families and loved ones. The goodbyes were long, almost unending. Mothers gave last-minute reminders to their kids to take care of the younger ones and study really hard. Assurances of nice pasalubong upon their return were repeated-but the kids must be well-behaved and do well in school.
There were still plenty left to be said to loved ones, but the flight was being called and it was time to turn off the cell phones. Happy memories were kept and locked in the heart and mind amid heavy sighs and some tears. Vacation was over. Another 11 months of separation and hard work in a faraway land was just beginning. It was not something they looked forward to, but they had to accept the reality.
Airports had always buzzed with excitement for me. For the first time in my life, I was seeing a different part of the airport, the lonely part. This was where people left their hearts against their will. This was a place where silent tears fell. I never thought the place existed until that day.
No words come close to describing the faces that I saw that day. Etched on each of them was sadness, longing and, for the first-timers, worry and anticipation, not knowing what lay ahead for them, but knowing only that staying was not an option.
Being a domestic helper is not an easy job. It takes a lot of patience to take care of somebody’s children when once can’t even take care of one’s own. It is hard to work in another home, while one can’t take even have one’s own home.
I cannot imagine what these women have to go through just to give their family a more comfortable life, imported shoes, chocolates, clothes, cell phones, toys-everything they could never afford if they stayed at home. They were hoping against hope that all this will make up for the years they were away from their husbands and children.
Now I can comprehend why overseas workers deserve to be hailed as modern-day heroes. They get no medals for their sacrifices but they are real heroes. Because ordinary as they are, they have taken up the challenge of working abroad and face every problem with courage so that someday their children may live better lives. They have dared to seek success overseas because our government failed to give them a chance to prove their worth.
With one last look at the horizon, we brave the flight to the Middle East for different reasons.
