An Unusual Christmas Eve

I’ve never met a prostitute much less spoken to one. My first encounter with these women was on an unusual Christmas Eve, one that I may never forget.

“Mang and I would be back soon,” I told my mother. It was my first time to excuse ourselves from our annual Christmas Eve family reunion. My parents and sister came all the way from Manila to celebrate the holidays with us. I’ve finished all the necessary preparations, cooked the food for the Noche Buena, and wrapped the presents. Surely, two hours away before midnight won’t matter.

Mang and I cruised along the downtown on our yellow Suzuki Shogun-R motorbike until we reached Dunkin’ Donuts. It was to be the meeting place for tonight’s special Christmas gathering. Kuya Jerry was already there. Kuya Emo, Edna and Wendy soon arrived. Mang sat in one corner while I took the two plastic bags from Kuya Jerry and arranged its contents on one table. They were plastic toys that were to be gifts for the children of our special guests.

In a few minutes, the ladies started coming in. They didn’t look the way I thought they would. They weren’t wearing skimpy clothes or heavy make-up like in the movies. They looked to me like my neighbor who is a housewife, the college student walking past my house early in the morning to go to school, the store owner across the road.

Coffee and hot chocolate was served followed by some doughnuts. “Hi,” I said as I inched my way into the empty seat. The ladies smiled back shyly. “I’m Grace. I’m with Kuya Jerry and Kuya Emo’s team.” They have known my team leaders for several months now. Kuya Jerry and Kuya Emo have been visiting these ladies, talking with them and befriending them, including their pimps. Now, they were ready to meet even other members of our team.

“I’m Sally. She’s Margie and she’s Shiela.” They each nodded and smiled at me as their names were mentioned.

“So, you’re working even on Christmas Eve?” I thought that was a lousy thing to say but I really didn’t know what we could talk about. I wanted to be able to say the right words. I wanted to make sure I didn’t say hurtful or demeaning things. It was Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be special for them.

“Yes. We have to otherwise our families won’t have anything to eat tomorrow. We should at least bring a simple meal home to celebrate Christmas,” Sally said. She was the most open and outgoing. She talked about their kind of work as though it was a regular thing. “I’ve grown to accept that this is the work we do. We have no choice.” Somehow, I still found it hard to believe that they really had no choice but to sell their bodies to earn a living. But I had to listen more than to entertain my thoughts.

As we talked, the ladies started to feel more comfortable and so did I. Before long they were sharing personal stories with me. Sally said she just gave birth four months ago. She is married and her husband fully supports her kind of work. How could he not when that’s where they get their means of livelihood. “My husband is a baker, a good one. But then the bakery got bankrupt and he couldn’t find any other place to work. He tried other bakeries but there are just no vacancies. After being jobless for months, he finally agreed to me going into…well…this kind of work.” I could sense hopelessness in her voice. Then Sally snapped back into a jolly tone laughing and talking about how she wants to spend Christmas day.

Margie has been in the “business” since she was seventeen. She said she started out as a dancer upon her cousin’s mentorship. Soon, she was deep into the trade. She had three boyfriends and a child with each. Now, she bears the responsibility of raising her three kids alone. Without any education, she feels that this is the best way she could provide for them. “But my problem now is that my eldest daughter is beginning to wonder why I go out late at night and come home early in the morning. She’s only ten years old but she is starting to think for herself.” It seemed like Margie was fighting back the tears. “There are times when I feel it’s time for me to stop doing this, for the sake of my children. I don’t know how they would feel if they find out their mother is a whore. But until I find another job, I’d have to do this to make both ends meet.”

“I just started less than a year ago,” Shiela started to share her story. “I also have children. I have a son and a daughter.” “So, why did you get into this kind of life?” I inquired. “My husband died last year. I couldn’t get any job.” She didn’t say anything more. Then she smiled and turned to Sally.

It’s been an hour of chatting. Finally, Mama Cora (their pimp) told us they’ve got to go because they’re late for work. Kuya Jerry then told them to pick out one toy for each of their children. Sally was the first to approach the table with the pile of goodies. The other ladies followed.

I watched the ladies happily helping themselves to the unexpected presents. Looking at their beaming faces, I could imagine the joy they’d bring to their kids on Christmas morning.
“Merry Christmas! Thanks for everything,” Sally, Shiela and Margie said almost in unison. “Merry Christmas!” I replied.

This story is just one of the many beautiful stories of faith in our team's upcoming book A Pebble in the Water, A Hoe in the Soil.