7 trike drivers you'll meet in your life

(image source)

I am a daily commuter. When you have lived in rural cities like Pagadian and Zamboanga (in the Philippines), where I have spent most of my working life so far, and where there are no cabs, the more comfortable means of transport is the ever reliable tricycle. At least twice a day, I entrust thirty minutes or so of my life in the hands of Manong Drayber to bring me to my destination.

Doing this routine every single day allows you to meet any of these Manongs, depending on how your stars have aligned, and you will be in for a ride of your life:

No. 1 - Manong Speedy Gonzales. I am not sure if his stomach suddenly became ill when we started hitting the road and cannot wait to go to the john. But since I’m already in the trike and he finds it rude to ask me to get another one, or maybe he knows that I will never pay him a penny if he does that, he zooms to my destination like he’s on a Carerra. Or maybe his homicidal tendencies was roused suddenly and wants to drag me with him to wherever he will be seeing that tiny flicker of light ala damay-damay na!  Manong No. 1 just don’t want to take it slow. However, this type brings out the pious in me. I tend to pray hard that I will get to my destination in one piece. Flying trikes, anyone?    

No. 2 - Manong Pastor Evangelista. Maybe the two projections on my forehead have become overgrown and visible, Manong tries put a halo to slash-and-burn them . I must behave. Amen, Manong. Just do not touch that sensitive reproach that Catholics worship stones and wood, and I will always welcome your invitation to deepen my faith. Otherwise, the projections on my head might blow up your pedicab’s roof and you might find yourself in a not-so-heaven-like ride. But the peace lover in me might just ask you to pull around the corner. I will just wait for Manong No. 1 to pass by.

No. 3 – Manong Boy Komentarista. O, he just can’t stop the blabber. This widely opinionated chatterbox will keep on talking about anyone and anything that comes to his mind, never minding that his passenger is staring blankly at a distance. At times, he competes with the noise of the road and modulates his commentaries about the elections or the frequent brownouts, and his unsolicited advice to Ai-ai in case she tries to get another man for a husband. I tried to look for the mute button somewhere, but I can’t seem to find one. Please, Manong, let us just leave Ai-ai alone.

No. 4 – Manong Silent Type. The exact opposite of Manong No. 3, this one will not utter a word even after you hand him the fare upon reaching your destination. He must be mute since he has just nodded after I told him “Tumaga”. Maybe he met Manong No. 3 and got forewarned that I am deaf or a psycho case. But thank you Manong, for giving me my peace.   

No. 5 – Manong Mike Imbestigador. He was a former NBI, I must know. Or used to be with Bombo Radyo. I surmise he is Manong No. 3’s kumpare, too. The inquisitive Manong gives you the feeling of being psycho-analyzed. Why do want to know what my favorite color is? 

No. 6 – Manong Mando Rugas. What?!? 50 pesos from Veterans to Tumaga? If I had only known that your fuel is from Jupiter hence, costs higher than the others, I must not have jumped in. I know the times are hard and prices are soaring, but Manong, many of your league charges only P30. These are the types who make the destination farther (read: they charge higher) on rainy days. Relate much?

And lastly, No. 7 – Manong Goody. These are the Manongs who are friendly and honest and generally pleasant. Fortunately, there are still many of them who do not attempt to add stress to an already taxing day. Sometimes even, you tend to shed off some of the strain while a cheery conversation ensues. These are the types you’d gladly give some tip, which, some would politely decline or profusely thank for. Yes, there can be angels in the trikies.    

While I continue to be a part of the commuting public, I must admit that these drivers and their trikes are my link to wherever I must be at a certain point in time. That without them, I might be riding horses in long sleeves under the sweltering heat of day. Often, I tend to get annoyed or flabbergasted (did I just say that "annoyed" is my other name?), but every time, I am grateful that I was delivered to my destination, whole and unharmed. And sometimes, even smiling. 

(The descriptions above are mostly propelled by the state of mind I was in at the time I took a particular Manong’s ride. This is not to malign this sector which works hard for a living - a vital service force to the society. It's just that sometimes, I forget to take anti-psychotics that I answer Manong No. 5 with “blue, my favorite color is blue, tralalala.”)

Photo used above is not mine.

scenes on a bus

Iligan, Cagayan! Larga na ta hapit!

Grabbed the ailse seat on the sixth row, bag on the overhead compartment. After the Kumalarang bus hold-up, I seldom pick the first five. 6.30am, forgot to ring an alarm. Iligan it will be, Cagayan will be too late. Damn stone mill, I could buy a new pair of pants for the thousand.

Few passengers on this trip. Only three or four when I got in.

Itlog! Mineral! Saging! Cookies!

30ish lady comes up, sits on the front seat. Asks driver what time expected to arrive in Cagayan. 1pm or so, Manong driver replies. Sound of egg shells cracking. Calls outside, mineral gamay tag-pila? (How much is a small bottle of mineral water?) Checked for my liter, a new part of my travel gear. Somehow learned to finish in three gulps. Good boy, doc will be happy.

Manang and young daughter come up, settle on the row next to mine. Daughter looks outside while Mama puts bags in the compartment.

Ako si takuri, gamay og dako...

A rhyme from pre-school Flores de Mayo. I tried to follow the verse but they soon become indecipherable. How many of those songs can I still remember?

Engine comes to life.

In minutes, we pass by my side of town. Didn't tell Mamang I'm seeing the uro again. Why cause some more worries? This is just routine, one of those times, perhaps still many times until I learn to watch my manners. I tell my sisters instead.

B U T T E R S L Y, butterfly!

The rhyme makes my first morning smile. That little kid's singing. Childhood perhaps is the happiest point in our lives when we have the least care about the world as long as we get to sing nursery rhymes, no matter how garbled the lines can sometimes get. We just go with what our senses evoke.

B U T T E R S S Y, butterfly.

Tried to take a nap then a text message - I am such a 'lousy' friend. I tried to compose but realized no point in sending a retort. I have other things to worry about.

Manang hushes little girl, 'other passengers will be disturbed'. Little girl hums Leron, leron sinta. It's ok, I thought of saying but the droning lulls a tired soul to rest.

Bus halts to the first stopover. Another bus from another line tails behind. Barkers lure the passengers to their transports. A blind man in wooden crutches comes up, strums his crude ukelele and sings Mutya ka baleleng. A younger boy tries to guide him through the ailse, a can clanks with coins in one hand. I am glad that I only have back pains but I am not glad that life can sometimes be so limiting like this pauper's daily treks up the bus and ukeleles giving off beat strums of life's prejudices. There should be greater purpose for this man of broken chords than just make passengers like me feel thankful about what's put in my platter. With the noise of these issues in my mind, I drop my donation and it doesn't make a sound.

At the next bus stop, Manang comes up and looks for an empty seat. 'Linda?', the lady behind me calls up. 'Myrna? Oy, kumusta na man ka?' starts the long chat. Classmates from grade school years, haven't met for more than twenty years. I close my eyes but scenes of their early life flash in my mind: the dance in the municipal plaza, a certain Temiong (I recall how my mother gets giddy at Robert Redford), how their marrried lives fare and children. I haven't seen a pal from more than twenty years in quite a while. The last one I saw was with a pregnant wife on a jeepney ride to home and shared stories of life at war. This brings about some nostalgic sense.

Another lady hails the bus to a stop. We stay for a while while Manang's kinhason are loaded in the compartment below. She checks her list and then barks to a buyer on her cellphone. The propellers of countryside economy. If only for that, I'll stand by the stink. 

A short nap and finally, we reach Iligan. Other scenes are then waiting to unfold.

(If I travel by land, I use to pick the air-conditioned bus since they by far offer the convenience not given by the regular buses. But I was grateful for taking this one trip – regular buses have more stories to tell. I hope in my future land trips, if my patience allow, I'll be on another regular bus.)

scenes from a jog

 Minutes past 5am, gates creaked at my exit. Neighbor puffing cigar calls out: ‘Going early for the sweat?’ I snicker: ‘Soles and knees aching again, must be the damned uric. Need to get rid of some.’ Headed for the hike. Neighbor’s dog barks. Brisk walks way past it.

Curved FS Pajares coursing towards the rotunda. Others jogging ahead. Two ladies trail some meters behind. In rhythmic paces, I advanced for the ascent. Two ladies u-turned towards plaza. Must be going back for the taebo.   

Knees slightly burn. Damn, last weekend’s nonattendance is taking its toll. The steep climb a couple of meters ahead. Jogged in circles, warm-up style. Fetid smell from tumbled garbage bin across the avenue taints early morning air.

Tackled the ascent. One, two, three, HAH! One, two, three, HAH!

Approaching rotunda now. The rising sun creates the golden glow far east. On the left, Manang is starting flames out of dried mango leaves.

‘Good morning, bro!’ A comrade at a retreat. Grins a reply, waves.

Rounds the rotund path. Ahead, couple hold hands while walking, the woman’s belly bulging. Sighs. Jogs toward the bend. Another jogger approaches from the other side, Akon playing loudly on his MP3.

Downward the curve, I slow down. There, a client with husband. Remembers how kulit she can get when paying her SSS. She smiles, I smile back. Asks: ‘You look familiar. Where was that you were working?’ ‘The bank Ma’am’, I answer.  

Another ascent for the next round. Lady up ahead. Lady tugs dog. Lady in taut jogging pants. Don’t recognize the breed of the dog. Dog sniffs something on the grass on the side of the road. Dog won’t budge. I am near now, lady coy. I smile, she smiles back. Dog still won’t budge.

Third round now. Few stretch on the open field overlooking the sea. Bend to the left, turn to the right. Most of 40s. Maybe 50s.

Stationary jog after fourth round. Bro and client pass by. Faces the sea. Poseidon puts it to rest. Was it the sea or the trees that breathed to my face?

Sun’s slow in rising, the trees cover its trace. Tricycle screeches in. Passenger looks out. Three rounds to go.

Looks up on my right, ah, mangoes. Looked for ripe ones but there’s none. Thirsty now. The cup of Milo was now all perspiration.

Finally, seven rounds. Next Saturday, I’ll make eight. Stretch. Old ones do breath in, breath out.

Descending. Strides in rhythm ala Kuya Ferdie’s instruction. Good for posture. Late joggers still make the ascent.

Hikes by the road shoulder. Couple in a distance, man cups woman’s face. Left foot forward, right foot forward. Follow the damn line.

Couple inches away. Woman, no, girl, teary-eyed. LQ or ‘I am pregnant!’ Groans.

At the plaza, taebo’s wrapping up. Neighbor from old place jogs across the street. Waves. Something, a gadget, is wrapped on her arm.

Treks down further. Manong carries on his head a basket of bananas. ‘How much?’, I prepared to haggle. ‘Not for sale. Fruit vendor up ahead already paid in advance.’

Nearing Rizal Avenue, traffic starts to build. C3 might be inaugurated early, construction’s moving fast.

At Sam’s, I wait for hot pan de sal. No. 8 my card reads. The guy with unwashed face holds No. 43. I look at the guard. ‘The numbers are in groups of 50s’. He reads me.

Finally, I have my pan de sal. I hailed a tricycle. Maybe Jhie’s already awake and boiled water is ready.