As an OCW

Ruth Mabanglo is currently a professor at theUniversity of Hawai‘i at Manoa. She has beenpublishing poetry for over 30 years and has receivednumerous literary awards and honors, and is known forher politically inspired poems. Through “As An OFW”,the author was able to show us that when a Filipinoleaves to work as an OFW, he/she is not only acceptinga job but a life where the foreign employers takesadvantage of him/her in more ways than just strenuouswork. This poem addresses the poor economy of thePhilippines. In particular, the lack of decent jobsand the minimum wage that is clearly insufficient fora living.

Melinda Yoingco

As An OCW
Ruth Mabanglo

Poverty brought me to Hongkong,
Singapore, Saudi Arabia, London and Italy.
I infused into my tongue the different idioms.
I tuned my body to the different beats,
Movements and sounds of submission,
Answering,
Obeying.
I studied how to show
I understood the explanation,
The order,
The instruction.

Careful, might make a mistake--
This is the destiny of one who has a servant,
Now to serve in a foreign land.

The memory clenched in mind
That afternoon at the airport:
Do you have a visa for your destination?
Where is your passport?
Hurry, show me! Show me!
Maybe your documents are fake,
Maybe you are illiterate,
Maybe you are stupid.

Lucid in memory
That afternoon at the airport:
If short, dark, and flat-nosed,
Surely a servant!
You cannot make a mistake
IDs decorate the luggage,
Bringing only boxes.
Departing to/Arriving from Qatar, Iraq, or Bahrain,
Wagering/Wagered their honor
For riyals or dinars.

Lucid in memory
That afternoon draped across the airport:
A widow awaiting a decapitated corpse,
Refusing to answer queries.
Who asks?
Friend or foe?
Can this shame be revealed?
They say he was accused.
One dark night he smuggled
The cruel employer's money and jewelry.

But, but, but
The truth wails.
Wanting to be heard and pampered--
One dark night
The hairy employer sneaked out.
The hairy employer
Approached his bed.
Come on,
Come on,
My wife has her period now.
Come on.
Sir, I am also a man...
Come on,
Lie on your stomach, and raise your butt,
Let me caress your butt.
Smooth, smooth.
Clean, clean.

He was terrified at the scratch of the touch.
Sir...
This won't be long!
Come on,
Come on,
Lie on your stomach, and raise your butt,
The employer violated him.
The servant was horrified
As he felt something sticky.
A hardness thrusted
While curly hair Grated his skin.

The repulsive odor whirled
In his room.
There?
Pig! Pig! Pig!
He shoved the hairy employer.
Kicked.
Hit.
Pig! Pig! Pig!
(A swine among people who do not eat pork.)

A sharp obscenity lodged
Into his ears
When the employer left the room.

Later,
The military came,
Arresting him.

Lucid in memory
The images at the airport--
Sir, only loose change there.
Ma'm, take care of me!
Don't we have anything for Christmas?
What can we serve for dessert?

They seem like enlarged frames of experience
Tears and laughter from
The search for a destiny.

My tongue remembers your wounded taste.
Under the cover of my face
Your shadow hides;
My shoulder
Your suffering stabs,
Forge me to hasten
My search
For my true colonizer;
Smoothen me to further soften
The conquest of my own fears.
Worry and grief.
The search
For a dignified means of survival
Is a myth.
Like
Searching
For a heron's egg,
Like
Pursuing
A rainbow
To bring home a pot of gold.

I will wager everything I can,
I will erase my accent,
I will change my personality
To assimilate to you
My colonizer.

Open your door
Let me in,
To your country,
To my cell,
To my tomb.