‘Ayuda’ blues

Supertyphoon “Odette” came and went unapologetically a few days before Christmas of 2021 and did not spare Cebu, where we had relocated after my optional retirement at 55 from my stressful human resources position. However, when a nationwide lockdown was imposed starting March 2020, we agreed it was safer to stay in our farmhouse for the duration of the pandemic, where we could have fresh food and move around more freely without fear of infection.

We were included in the list of those qualified for ayuda (government assistance), even if we had not transferred our voter’s registration to this town, and some neighbors hadn’t even seen our faces. We received packs of rice, canned goods, noodles, root crops, and vegetables about three times since the pandemic began, and we are very grateful for these.

About two months after Odette struck, a purok official visited us and took our pertinent data for a possible cash ayuda. We took this with a grain of salt, since we were also included in the ayuda list for Typhoon “Ursula” in 2019 but never received the assistance promised.

A week prior to the rumored release of the Odette cash ayuda, another purok worker came and asked about the same data, as the previous purok leader may have lost the paper bearing our names and information. A day before the release, the same worker advised us to bring an enlarged photocopy of our government IDs to the barangay hall complex the following morning. We arrived at around 9 a.m. the next day and found long lines and filled-up bleachers. I dropped off my wife and drove home to tend to the farm. Barely had I settled in when she called and said the P1,000 cash for each individual would only be given if we were both physically present to claim it. I came back and waited a long time as the municipal disbursers took their lunch break. As we were having our lunch, I learned that our IDs must bear the address of our barangay and not our city address.

I decided I’d just go home and forego the ayuda, until somebody told me that since our names were already included in the budget, the unclaimed amount would just go to the pockets of some local officials. I had vowed that I will not contribute to corruption, so I asked how to get the cash due us. We found ourselves lining up again for a barangay certificate attesting to our residence in the barangay, a document that cost us P150 each. We were back in line for the ayuda by 3 p.m., and just 30 meters away from the confirmation table. At about 4 p.m., we were some five meters away. Then the unexpected happened.

During confirmation, it turned out that my middle name in the list did not match that in my ID. The purok leader there said that as the data gathereaderr only put my middle initial, she presumed that it must be the same family name as that of our nearest neighbor, which had the same first letter, as we might be relatives. But the disbursing officer refused to accept the explanation and required another certification from the barangay. The barangay secretary, who was also in line for the cash aid, however, refused to do his job, claiming tiredness since he had been issuing certifications nonstop since seven that morning. He was scolded for this by the barangay treasurer, which resulted in a harsh verbal exchange between the two.

The barangay chair intervened and asked the disbursing officer what else could be done. He said our cash aid could be released in the municipal hall after we had submitted the required certification. Ahh, I thought another day to be spent for the P850 aid. Never mind, I said, I will no longer claim it. The disburser seemed taken aback, and later said that if anybody, not a relative, would vouch on my behalf and cosign the disbursement list, he would release the cash. Our purok leader stepped up and said she would. And so it came to pass that I finally received my first disaster cash ayuda. Hurray!

The sun had already set when we reached home, only to discover that three turkey chicks and a newborn goat had died because nobody could tend to them. The chickens had roosted without being fed, and it had gotten too dark to gather and count the goats. The plants were unwatered and no supper waited at the table. Our knees and nerves were still shaking from the ordeal—and all for the P1,000 cash aid!

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Jaime D. Suico worked for a private company for 31 years before availing himself of early retirement in July 2019.