Memoirs of an Amnesiac

The fastest way to get news these days is not through the newspaper, the radio, nor the TV, not even the internet but through hailing a cab and listening to some random driver talk about education, the government system and then some vitamin supplement.

This was what welcomed me as my plane touched down at the Mactan airport this morning. Under the heat of a typical April morning, I hailed a cab. I was trying to get my nerves all calmed down as I went down from a 16-seater jet stream plane from Bislig, Surigao del Sur (since I don't want to ride for more than 20 hours on a ship going back home all by myself).

Ten days being far away from home, breaking free from a routine that one got used to in Bislig, I was having quite a hard time trying to refigure (if there is such a word) out how to adjust to the climate (It was cold in Bislig, what with the trees around.). All I really wanted was to ride a cab and go straight home. I would have wanted to surprise my mother at her workplace but had to put it off. The flight (although it was only about an hour) was nerve-wracking. If I had been religious, I would have called all the saints I had knelt down in church with.

So I was exhausted, tired and getting all warmed up. The driver then asked where I was heading and he immediately recognized it. Having ridden taxicabs, it's a relief that a taximan knows your place for several reasons. One, you don't have to give him directions. So, you can rest the whole time while he takes you home. Second, you'll be confident he wouldn't overcharge. Some taxi drivers tend to be really great opportunists when it comes to fares and distances. They'd go, "Di ba Ma'am adto pa man na sa so and so... Pun-e lang ug 50 kay lisod kaayo ang pasulod." (Ma'am, isn't that going to be this street and that? Can you just add 50 pesos because the road heading there is really difficult to maneuver?)A friend and I had been a victim of this. She immediately motioned for me to go down and suggested we get another cab.

Mr. Taximan this morning fortunately was not the opportunist type. He first asked me where I came from and what I was doing there. I told him I did a seminar to a group of teachers and had my vacation at the same time. He first asked about K+12. I did all I could to explain it. Sensing this as a time to pour out his litany of verses about the educational system in the Philippines, he went on to say, "I have a suggestion. Why don't we train skilled workers, instead of teaching them how to speak English. The Japanese were not well-versed in English yet they have a very progressive government." Although I had my own set of arguments to combat his, I learned earlier on to pick my own battles. Besides, he was right.

All the while, I was trying to breathe in Cebu (figuratively, that is) and Mr. Taximan was still up and about his topic. In order not to sound rude, I would occasionally quip with, "Mao ba?" or "Diay?" but truly my mind was again wandering. How difficult would it have to be a taxi driver? What great lengths did he have to go through to decide on running the streets filled with a lot of stories to reflect on --- of poverty, of unemployment and poor government system? With a radio to listen to amidst a torrid day scavenging for passengers like me, he must have formed all his opinions about his musings (for he mentioned a radio announcer's name in the course of his discussion). How many mouths did he have to feed? Why was he talking about all those topics to me (as if I am part of a government that is irreparable)?

Then his topic shifted to Pinoy's visit in Cebu recently. He mentioned about Pinoy's election catch line, "Kayo ang boss ko" and how ironic it had been when he slipped out of a conference not greeting everybody "goodbye" and claiming that the masses are his bosses. He was very right on that one. Where are your manners, Mr. President?

I told him to pass by a drive through fastfood chain since I was getting starved (In my stomach are huge worms waiting to be fed.). Then, as if on cue, he got this brochure from somewhere and told me how that vitamin supplement has helped him. I don't remember the name now but I do remember my reaction to it (in my brain). I told myself, "Lahi na jud ang mga taxi drivers karon dah! Nakakuha paman mo-market ug tambal!"

We reached my place in time for lunch. I was already starving and yet the many things he told me stuck through my brain (like crabs with oyster sauce). It can be tough being a taxi driver, having to be in an enclosed vehicle the whole day (or even longer), engulfing every bits and pieces of life that goes right through those dusty windshields (like a daunting apparition one can't escape every single day).

But those he had to deal with, in order to feed mouths he said are waiting for him in his province. As I hand him my fare, I thanked him both for sending me home safe and for those insights I gained (far more expensive than the cash I handed him).