For Many Filipinos, Social Distancing is Not an Option

Normita Borigas, 49, and her neighbours in Rockefeller Street, Makati City, are usually gathered outside their five-storey informal compound.

“It’s impossible for us to stay indoors, it’s too cramped. It’s better out here, where the air circulates,” the mother of 12 told VICE.

Borigas lives in a small compound of informal settlers. Unlike the swanky New York icon it was named after, the area is a picture of poverty. A tiny room is a home for a family of six, making it impossible to practise social distancing. It’s the same for others living in the compound made up of 110 families with an average of eight members each.

Living across from her is Jocelyn Cases, a single mom of two who owns a corner store. The 43-year-old thinks the lockdown is good because the neighbourhood is peaceful and it keeps her children inside. But she despises the paranoia the pandemic has brought.

Many have also lost their income.

Borigas’ husband, a construction worker, is now out of work because companies stopped operations. Nobody is hiring.

Informal workers make up about 38 percent of the Philippines’ workforce. Many of them rely on daily earnings to survive, so the coronavirus lockdown is a matter of life and death.

Roland Domingo, a 43-year-old pedicab driver, parks his vehicle outside the Rockefeller compound.

Prior to the lockdown, he was earning PHP300 ($6) a day, and used about PHP200 ($4) for daily expenses. But now, since public transport is suspended, he has zero earnings.

“My savings can only hold up for a week. I hope the groceries from the government are delivered. If not, we’ll have nothing to eat," he said.

Jeffrey Bondad, 25, is more fortunate. As an inventory specialist in a bar, he received his salary right before the company closed for the lockdown. Still, he knows that it won’t last long.

“When this money is all spent, we will have to rely on the goods the government promised us," he said.

Outside the compound and into the streets, hundreds of homeless and stranded people took refuge at the Baywalk along Manila Bay on March 17. The next day, the Manila city government swept the area of bystanders and street vendors, with the promise to provide proper temporary shelter during the community quarantine.

Sitting by the bay while everyone else was asleep, 49-year-old Ronaldo Carbonilla contemplated his situation.

He was looking for a job when the lockdown started and is now stuck in Manila after the government prohibited people from leaving and entering cities. Carbonilla can't go home to his parents in Quezon City because his official residential address is in Manila. He does not have a house in Manila, so sleeping near the bay was his only option.

“Some people gave me food earlier. I've been saving it because I don't know when I'll get food next. They're telling us to get out of here, but they don't let us go home," Carbonilla said.

Asked if he was afraid of catching the coronavirus, Carbonilla echoed the sentiments of many.

“Afraid? Yes, we are afraid of the virus, but I think hunger and insanity will kill us first before we die from the virus."

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