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Quiapo Vendors

A day after Ka Bel, a leftist solon, died, my father sent me an email urging me to visit his funeral. He said that man was once his boss and one whom he deeply respected, and it was only filial for him to offer flowers and prayers at his wake. But since he is away on Maastricht on a scholarship, he asked me to go in his stead.

I’m no leftist, to be honest. I’m not even politically inclined, as some of my schoolmates would probably say. So when I put on my denim pants and rubber shoes intending to go to Quiapo to buy some flowers, I thought that I was merely doing what my father asked me to do—offer flowers and prayers for a dead man.

When I got at Quiapo, the familiar downtown stench greeted me. Quiapo, Quiapo, Quiapo. Once one of the most magnificent parts of old Manila. Now a heart of slums. Such decline! But I got over my mestiza sentiments as I remembered my father's request. I searched the flower vendors at the side of the church, imagining what colors my father would have wanted to offer. I stopped at a shabby stall with green, maroon, and pink flowers, not just the usual yellow and white. The vendor gave me a price of one hundred for the usual white or yellow mums, one hundred and fifty for the assorted colors.

I tried to bargain, but she gave it to me for only a hundred and forty. I asked if the funeral wreath came with ribbons.

“Extra twenty kung may ribbon [Twenty more if there's a ribbon],” she said.

I agreed, knowing better than to bargain since I would probably get just a five-peso discount. So I handed her the piece of paper wherein my father wrote his epitaph: "Pagpugay sa dakilang anak ng uring manggagawa, Ka Bel; Ang buhay at alaala mo'y titis ng pag-asa sa pakikibaka ng uri. -Kas. George [Honoring the great son of the working class, Bro. Bel, your life and memory is dedicated to the hope for the battle of the masses."

The vendor was shocked at the long message; I figured that she was used to writing only “Condolences and sympathy” on the ribbon. Her expression of shock was so loud the other vendors came over.

”Santissima! Kay Ka Bel mo ba ibibigay? [Good God! Is that for Comrade Bel?]” a vendor of Lego-like toys asked.

I nodded and smiled.

“Diyos ko Mare, huwag mo na singilin! [Oh my God, comrade, give it for free!]” she exclaimed. “Kay Ka Bel naman pala eh, yung namatay. Kapatid natin iyon sa pakikibaka. [It's for Comrade Bel, who died recently. He was our brother in battle.]”

They called their friends, other vendors of ten-peso worth trinkets and such. There was also a man who offered to write on the ribbon, claiming his handwriting was the best. The others were sharing their opinions and what they have watched on TV about Ka Bel. Some were telling my flower vendor to add more flowers on the wreath.

“Nakakasama kasi naming sa rally si Ka Bel, [We used to rally with Comrade Bel]” the friendly toy vendor told me.

“Oo, at wala siyang paki kahit mga mahihirap kami, [Yes, and he didn't care even if we were poor.] ” the man with the nice calligraphy added while writing my father’s message.

Some asked me if I was going alone, or if I was with a Leftist group. I politely told them that I was going on behalf of my school organization. When they asked me what school I attended, someone said, “Mabuting may mga matatalino pa ring sumusuporta sa mga mahihirap. [Good to know that there are still intellectuals who supports us poor]*” I could never have dared told them I am not leftist.

Finally they finished my wreath, beautifully done. The flower vendor told me that the total worth with all the additions were now past two hundred, but that was her own offering for Ka Bel. A vendor of plastic bags gave me a big red-and-white plastic for easier travel, sold for five pesos each, free of charge. I was already preparing to leave when a cigarette vendor came with a small bouquet of white mums came, asking me to bring their own flowers to their champ. They all bade me a cheery goodbye, asking me to extend their condolences to one of their champs.

Had my father been here, he would have gone everyday to Ka Bel’s wake. He maybe even would go to his funeral, marching with his KMU buddies, sharing pictures and stories of Ka Bel and the KMU. He would probably have never invited me, knowing that I am not interested in rallies and leftist organizations. But probably it is a good thing that he is away and had to ask me to do this, because I never would have been that close to those in poverty, nor would have I been touched deeper by poor vendors’ offerings for a man they consider their “kapatid sa pakikibaka [brother in battle].”


* UP is seen by many as the seat of activism as well of intellectuals, even if this may not be entirely true.

** "Ka Bel", "Comrade Bel" may also be equal to Latin American "Compañero" Bel