It was raining very hard and the wind was picking up as my taxi approached Tondo, the largest and most populated of Manila’s 16 districts. It was September 18, 2018 and Typhoon Mangkhut was ravaging the northern tip of Luzon hundreds of kilometers from Manila. Despite the distance, Mangkhut was having an impact in the Philippine capital.
My first sight of Tondo was of scores of children playing in the rain on a main avenue. They were relishing the downpour in the ankle-deep water that covered the street. Each child was smiling, laughing, and squealing with joy as they ran and splashed about.
Joy was not my reaction to the wind and rain. I was also apprehensive about toting thousands of dollars of camera gear into an impoverished neighbourhood. What type of reaction was I going to get from the locals? Would somebody rob me? Was I being completely socially tone-deaf? I could have signed up for an excursion with Smokey Tours, an agency that offers guided tours of Tondo, but they had recently banned photography after fielding complaints about exploitation of the poor.
My reasoning is that if anyone doesn’t want me to take their photo, I won’t. I believe that poverty doesn’t rob people of the opportunity to make up their own minds.
Tondo is well known internationally as one of Asia’s biggest slums but in fact, most of the area that makes up the district is not inhabited by poverty-stricken squatters. Tondo consists of the northern half of the Port of Manila and is home to about 630,000 people. Slums developed in Tondo around the banks of the Pasig River where people made makeshift shacks with whatever building materials they could cobble together.
My driver pulled over near a sign reading “Happyland” and said “this is Tondo!”. He agreed to wait right there for me to return. With my umbrella held over my head and my camera dangling from a strap around my neck I nervously walked towards the sign. As soon as I passed the overhead sign I was immediately greeted with warm smiles and choruses of “Hello” and “How are you?” from people of all ages.
I was quite relieved to walk into such a hospitable place. My worries about being viewed as an interloper vanished on the spot. Upon seeing my camera many people asked to have their photo taken. No one voiced any objections about me taking photos. Some children began to follow close behind me as I walked further and continued returning all the friendly greetings I was getting. The rain stopped for a time as well which further heightened my mood.
Before long I stumbled into an impromptu open-air birthday party being held in honour of a stocky, shirtless middle-aged man who invited me to join in. Immediately a glass of Red Horse beer was poured out of a large bottle and handed to me so I could join in a toast. Again I was asked to take photos of those assembled and I obliged. After I finished my beer I strolled across the lane to a little makeshift shop and asked the lady behind the counter if she sold Red Horse beer. She did. I bought two of the oversize bottles and handed them over to the Birthday Boy. I then bade farewell and good luck to everyone and continued on my way.
Soon after I left the party the rain began to really pelt down and the wind began to get so strong that it was difficult for me to hold my umbrella. It wasn’t cold so I wasn’t worried about getting wet but I was definitely concerned about my camera. Water and electronics are never a happy combination. Finding a spot sheltered from the wind I put my camera into its bag, zipped it shut and pulled the waterproof cover over it. It was time to head back to the taxi.
I was disappointed about cutting my visit short. The people of Tondo welcomed me so warmly. No one asked me for anything. I was impressed by their kindness and genuine humanity and I would encourage other travelers to pay a visit to Tondo.