About Us
Picnic 2007
History
Doha, Qatar
by Vicente Collado Jr.
May 31, 2008
Last Friday night, we were scheduled to go to the airport to pick up Carol’s parents and sister who were coming to Doha for a longer stay with their only grandchild, Sema.
We were there alright but exactly for the opposite reason. We boarded a QA airbus that flew us to Manila for an unwanted emergency visit. The day before their flight, Carol’s mom slipped and fell while waiting for a taxi. She had to be rushed to the hospital, in terrible pain and unable to move. Fearing the worse, we hurriedly packed our suitcases and headed for Manila.
Of course, it is hard to make sense of all of these. The news of the fall and flight cancellation came when Sema and I were in the midst of giving the house almost a complete makeover in order to prepare their bedrooms. We almost did not finish the task afterwards. This is not to mention a yearlong effort to get their visit visas and several early morning trips to the immigration department to have some signatures affixed on their papers. Yes, it is that difficult to get a visa. After all the draining legwork, this outcome was the least expected, let alone desired. At times, one really needs a beyond-this-world outlook to understand how fate or providence treats us mortals.
But, we didn’t have time to go deep into the meanings of events. We only had enough time to run to the grocery store for a two-week food supply for Donna who was left behind and for some chocolates as pasalubong.
As usual, Carol couldn’t sleep during the flight; she went through several episodes of Friends and prayed several rounds of the rosary scared of the seemingly endless waves of air turbulence. Exhausted from the house rearrangement we did the day before, Sema and I slept immediately after boarding the plane. We almost did not notice Noli de Castro, our Vice President, who passed beside us and took his seat four rows in front. But, according to Carol, he paused briefly at my side while I was busy strapping Sema to his seat and took a second look at me, maybe to ascertain that he wasn’t going to share the ride with a prominent opposition leader many claim look like me. I am used to this phenomenon of people staring at me at the malls and restaurants and then completely ignoring me once they realize I am not really the senator I closely resemble at first glance.
The following morning, after a good night sleep and a hearty breakfast, we felt greatly honored when the Vice President himself approached us, shook hands with us and engaged us in a small talk. He also introduced us to Undersecretary Yuchengco who was doing some stretching in the empty seats beside us.
“Are you both working in Doha?” the Vice President asked me.
“My wife is working for Shell,” I replied.
“What about you?” he asked me.
“I am not working; I take care of my son.” I immediately said.
“Ha, ha, ha, baliktad (opposite),” the Vice President laughed.
Since the start of Carol’s cross posting days, I have been asked the same question over and over again. At first, I was reluctant to say I am what is commonly called a “houseband.” But, somehow, after all these years, I have become comfortable and even proud to say that I am not working. Oh, I could easily say that I am an artist or an IT Specialist, since painting and developing websites have really kept me very busy ever since with no idle time to spare. But now I find it easier to say I am not working. Many, especially, in Qatar, think I am joking. Others can only wish they could be in a similar “predicament”.
Once, when we just arrived in Doha, some male colleagues of Carol asked her if I had already found a job. Carol said she didn’t want me to work. She said she wanted me and my son to enjoy life and have a great time together while she is working. Immediately, two of them asked Carol if she could be their wife. According to them, their wives wanted them to work hard so that they could buy them an SUV. Another officemate asked Carol if she could talk to his wife and impart her the same attitude towards him.
Okay, I digressed.
The Vice President then asked us if we were going home for vacation. I told him about what happened to my mother-in-law. He showed some expressions of sympathy. He then turned his attention to Sema. He was delighted to find out Sema was actually born in The Netherlands and not in Doha as he naturally assumed.
“What is your name? “ the Vice President asked him.
“Josemarie,” Sema answered softly.
“How old are you?”
“One!”
The Vice President laughed loudly. I really don’t know what has gotten into Sema. Maybe he is also tired of being asked the same question again and again by different people. Before, he would answer “three point five” but lately he would say either “one” or “twenty six” as if telling the person to get lost.
I then asked the Vice President if they came from Doha. He said they came from Kuwait to attend the Emir’s funeral and to intercede for a Filipina housemaid sentenced to death there. The case of May Membrini, the Filipina maid in Kuwait, is also well known in Doha. She is accused of killing her employer's seven-year-old son by slitting his throat and attempting to kill his older brother and sister. From the expression of the Vice President’s face, it was obvious he had no good news to tell. I didn’t ask for more. Laws in this region are enforced so strictly that nothing short of God’s intervention will impede it.
“Some housemaids here are really miserable,” Carol remarked.
“They really are,” the Vice President answered.
Indeed, in this region, housemaids are normally the ones most abused among OFWs. We regularly read in the papers reports of such maltreatment. But, we do have some firsthand knowledge of some cases. In Sema’s former school, we often came across a Filipina nanny whose pained face revealed the ordeal she’s in. According to Sema’s teachers, she was regularly beaten up by her non-Qatari employer. Every time she accompanied to school the child under her care, she was always seen with fresh bruises on her arms.
There is also the widely publicized case of a Filipina maid who was tortured to death by the wife of her employer. The maid’s fault according to the suspect was beating her daughter, stealing the children’s food and washing her own dresses before the family’s clothing. The death was first made to appear like suicide. But, a forensic investigation painted a totally different and horrifying picture. There were marks of injury all over her body including those caused by hot iron. One of her fingernails was pulled out; she had not eaten food for days; her body weight was only 39kg when she died. The suspect’s five year-old son innocently told the police that his mother would hit the maid non-stop with a plastic stick, a rope and even with a hot iron. The suspect admitted doing so and even pouring hot water on the maid. The husband knew what was happening but could not speak up for fear he would earn the wrath of her entire family. The court found the defendant guilty and sentenced her to death by firing squad. Her husband was sentenced to three years in prison. Justice was done but that will not bring back the Filipina maid who came to Doha healthy and cheerful, hoping to pursue her dreams.
In fact, we do not have to look that far. Five houses away, Gemma (not her real name) works as a domestic helper for an expat family. We were happy to know when Sema and I once coincided once with her in the playground that she is also from Ilocandia. We began chatting in Ilocano but she said she shouldn’t be talking to me because her employers forbid her from talking to anyone. Indeed, it didn’t take long before her male employer came out of their house to watch her and the toddler Gemma was taking care of. Other Filipina domestic employees working in the compound have attempted talking to her while Gemma was cleaning the SUVs in front of the house. The female employer promptly came out and drove the Filipinas away. According to her, her female employer once threw a plate at her face when she refused to eat the food and her male employer once pulled her hair when she made a mistake. “I am rich, I have a lot of money. You are poor so you work and don‘t complain,” her female employer allegedly reminds Gemma occasionally.
Among expat workers, the housemaids are indeed the least protected. Luckily, in Qatar, there is now a talk of a law being formulated to regulate the working hours and remuneration of domestic helpers. The proposed law might make it mandatory for householders to provide end-of-service benefits to domestic workers like free medical care, one month leave every two years with air tickets to their home countries and back. A two-week leave every year and possibly a day off a week could be part of their entitlements under the proposed law. That would indeed be great.
Okay, I digressed again.
When there was a lull in our conversation with the Vice President, I begged off because my bladders were already bursting. When I came back, the Vice President was already in the company of the stewardesses and other Filpino passengers. When they started snapping pictures, I decided to grab my camera and Sema and joined the photo session. Unfortunately, Sema didn’t like the idea, he was screaming, and covering his face as a Filipina stewardess took our pictures, which really amused the Vice President. One of these days I should really talk to Sema and make him realize the need to treat one’s Vice President with utmost respect and courtesy deserving of his office.
A short while after, we were told to prepare for landing. When we landed, the Vice President said goodbye to us and when he stepped out of the plane he was promptly surrounded by bodyguards. We last saw him entering the VIP section. The queues at the immigrations were quite long but we were told to line up before the empty diplomatic counter because we had a toddler with us. The van of Vivere Hotel was already waiting for us when we got out of the airport. An hour after unpacking our suitcases, Carol’s parents arrived. We instructed them beforehand to bring her to the hotel where she can rest and recover for a couple of weeks. We expected her to be in a wheelchair but she was actually walking. That was a great sign. According to my sister-in-law who is a nurse, Carol’s mom suffered spinal column compression and not bone fracture.
With that information, Carol and I felt so relieved we decided to take our welcome drink at the SkyLounge, a restaurant on top of the hotel. Carol and I enjoyed our draft beer and pork sisig while Sema feasted on his chips and apple juice as we watched the most beautiful sunset we have ever seen in our life. As I relished the crunchiness and unique flavor of the pork sisig, I stopped asking myself about the underlying meaning of the most recent events, if ever they have any. The sisig is good enough explanation for me.
Postscript: Two days after I submitted this article, Amy, my sister-in-law was diagnosed with breast cancer. We immediately had her operated on. The operation was successful. The doctor said had we been delayed for another week, the cancer would have irreversibly spread to her chest muscles and ribs. We cannot imagine what would have happened had their trip to Doha pushed through where they planned to have a six-month vacation. Now everything makes sense.
