Into the Maze

I wish I could show you what the squatter communities I visit are like. Pictures don’t do them justice, as you miss the constant motion, the noises and smells, but mostly the cramped maze feel. I might try to get some video walking through one, but I’m not sure how that would go over. I’m not sure I can really describe them, but I’ll try.

You take a turn off a main road onto a path that is narrow, winding, and irregular. At times, it might be as much as 6 feet wide; usually it’s smaller, making it a challenge to pass people going the other direction. Sometimes, it’s even tighter, making it impossible for more than one person to pass. This is aggravated by the fact that there are people everywhere. Sitting, laying, standing, playing, talking, selling things, carrying water, sleeping, cooking, taking showers, doing laundry. All in the pathway or in tiny doorways. Stray dogs and cats dodge around your feet while you dodge what they leave behind.

You also have to dodge the open drainage that runs the length of the pathway, crisscrossing back and forth, left, right, down the middle. It isn’t sewage. At least, it isn’t straight sewage. Mostly it seems to be out of people’s sinks, from people’s showers, drainage from roofs, or leftover laundry water. But judging from how watertight, sanitary, and up to date all of the piping I see is, it’s probably safe to bet that there is some level of sewage in there. Oh, and all the stray dogs and cats have to go somewhere. In Navotas, the level of this stuff goes up and down with the tide, making high tide treks a whole new challenge. Sometimes a whole block of the sidewalk/pathway is missing, revealing more blackish/brownish/soapy water underneath the concrete.

It’s dark on the pathway too, especially towards night. The makeshift houses around the pathway are made of anything and everything, lots of hollow concrete blocks, occasional bricks, wood, cardboard, election signs, corrugated metal sheeting, and who knows what else. Not a lot of space, so additions go up, regardless of how unstable the bottom layers are. Leaning two and sometimes three story structures hang awkwardly overhead. People hang their laundry off anything and there are awnings everywhere to protect from the downpours. As I’ve got 6 inches or more on most people here, I am constantly ducking or getting hit with wet laundry.

The only light towards dusk comes from cooking stoves, candles, and the occasionally brilliant glow of florescent lighting. The electricity comes from “jumpers”, illegally hacking into the power lines. Apparently, almost no one pays for it. Oh, and there’s the glow from the TV screens.

Most people have TVs. And cell phones. It’s bizarre. They can’t always afford to feed their children, but texting is only 1 piso (a little more than 2 cents), so why not? Still, it’s hard to blame them. TVs are ubiquitous, and when you’re flooded with American culture, and old sets aren’t that expensive, I imagine they are hard to resist. That and they babysit your children for you and give you a way to spend the hours. And without a landline (if you get power illegally and don’t have running water, no way you have a phone line) a cell phone is probably one of the only ways to be reachable. And it is “cheap” in relative terms, it’s just hard from my perspective not to do the math. If you spend 10 piso a day on texting (everyone texts. everyone. constantly. phone calls are passé. and way more expensive. I think they proudly hold the highest rate of texting per capita) you could save yourself almost $2 a week. That’s meals and school supplies and medicine. Anyways...

The smell on the pathways can also be intense. It’s not bad, per se, it just ranges through various shades of interesting. It’s a lot of people and animals crammed into a small space but mostly overpowered by the cooking smells of rice and fish and eggs.

Part of the experience, though, is me. Everyone notices me. Pretty much, any stranger walking through would be noticed. Especially with a camera. And I’m white. So everyone notices. I get a lot of “hello, how are you?” (kind of like saying “hola, como estas” to a Hispanic person. not as friendly as you might think if you’re just yelling it to get a laugh). “Hey joe” is frequent, “gringo” less so. Kids follow me, so I sometimes gain quite a following of little people. Eventually I get led to the house of one of FH’s CDP children where I get introduced, visit, typically get forced to eat something, have a genuinely fun and interesting conversations (from my end, at least. I guess I’m assuming they are interested, but they do ask a lot of questions) and enjoy myself.

And then I get led back out into the maze of pathways running their crooked races where I dodge the dogs and drainage and smile at the children to make them squeal and laugh and where I mostly can’t believe my eyes.