The Third World Friendship Hustle

Or, How I Struggle With Being In A Poor Country While Taking Care of Myself and Not Coming Across Like a Classist A-hole.

Baybay was supposed to be a one day stop for me.  A quick breather to visit Sarah and break-up my trip to St. Bernard where I would attend the victory celebration of my friend Rachel who was elected vice-mayor.  I never make it to St. Bernard.  I'm having too much fun in Baybay.  One activity leads into another and I realize I'd rather stay here and continue the fun.  I'm making more and more friends, eating delicious food and attending fiesta after fiesta.

At a disco one night- yes I love saying disco - I meet a group of kids attending Visaya State University.  They're young, fun, witty and enjoy dancing.  Like college kids everywhere, they're broke.  I buy rounds of Red Horse - the stronger version of Filipino beer - built specifically to get one effed-up at clubs and parties.  A 40oz bottle costs me under $2 - that's small coin I'm happy to throw down to keep the kids having a great time.  What I fail to consider is that with each bottle, a dollar bill sign gets stamped on my forehead.

Filipinos assume I'm rich.  They're right in a way.  Even though I'm a budget traveler, I can afford a lot of things.  I get two or three massages a week (for $4-$7 a pop).  When I'm in Manila and Cebu, I go to a swanky fitness club that not even middle class Filipinos can afford.  I drink only bottled water.  When I pull out my Kindle, heads crane just to watch me read.

The next day at lunch, one of the college kids, Mark, tells me that he has no money to get through the day.  I give him 150 pesos (3 bucks-ish).  Stamp another dollar on my head.  That night we attend a concert of live acoustic versions of current pop hits.  Filipinos love going acoustic.  Unfortunately, I find it dreary.  Imagine a singer crooning a slow ballad version of "my my my my my my my po poker faaaaaaaaaace."  We get bored.  I realize that I'm the only one buying alcohol now.  An idea springs forth - let's go to the disco in Ormoc!  We jump on motorcycles - three to a seat, and drive half an hour north to the bigger city.  The club entrance fee is 75 pesos.  I walk up and pay for Sarah and myself.  We should have immediately gone inside.  We don't.  I wait outside for the kids to go in but they all hang back.

- Why aren't you going in?  I ask.  A venomous tone slithers at the edge of my voice.  I'm biting the corner of my lower lip.
- We don't have any money.

A couple of bottles of beer has segued into my becoming the bankroller of their partying.  I should frown and say "bummer!" and walk in.  But I don't.  The trap works and I bitterly pay for six entries, go inside, sit in a corner and sulk for half an hour.

I keep myself away from the kids for the rest of my time in Leyte.  Two days later, Mark texts me from his friend's phone saying all his life he's dreamed of having a cell phone, will I help him make this dream come true?  I ignore the text.  Two weeks later he texts me saying he doesn't have money for school tuition.  Can I loan him some?  I ignore the text.  He texts me saying I'm rude.

The third world friendship hustle; anyone who has traveled in developing nations knows what I'm talking about.  It sounds conniving.  It is.  It's also more complicated than that.  I suffered through reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love, but she had one passage that rubbed familiarly against my experience.  She was raising money to buy an Indonesian woman a house- a house!  The beneficiary, while grateful, was pushing for more money.

- She's fucking with me!  Gilbert realizes.
- Of course she's fucking with you, her lover responds.

Gilbert describes the weird twist well.  The fact that someone is hustling you doesn't mean that he's not your friend.  It doesn't mean there isn't legitimate affection and care there.  In a land of limited opportunity, people must seize opportunity.  In a place of ossified class stratification, people try to find small chinks in the glass ceiling.  Care, fun, friendship and exploitation can co-exist.

But not for me.  I've talked about this with my friend Melanie, a fellow writer, wanderer and observer.  We've discussed the nuance and the difficulty.  She articulates the conclusion we both come to, "It's just wrong!"

A week after I left Olongapo, my friend there texted me.
- Can I ask you a favor?
- Of course!  Jes pls dont ask for $. I dnt have mch.
- Thats what I was gng to ask. Nvr mnd.  But thx enewayz!

Three years ago I made a friend in Burma.  He's an underground revolutionary.  I was delighted that when the crackdowns happened two years ago, he was able to get to France.  Recently he sent me a message on Facebook.  He had gotten married in France and it had gone bad.  He was broke and in trouble.  Could I please send him money?  I ignored the message.  I don't want to be a sucker.  I still feel guilty.

A Cambodian monk asked me to be his boyfriend.  I told his that, as a rule, I don't date priests.  A week later he emailed me asking for money to start a business.

Jose - my American ex-pat friend in Manila - and I have discussed this at length.  Friends ask him for money all the time.  He's been hustled.  Now he loans 500 pesos as a tester loan. If they pay back, he may trust them with more.  The 3WFH affects me in the worst way.  I do something that I've never done before.  I analyze potential friends based on class lines.  If someone has money, I can trust they aren't interested in mine.  This doesn't mean that I don't befriend middle class* Filipinos, most of my friends here don't come from means.  It does mean that I find myself trying to determine one's wealth status.  If you have money - my guard goes down quicker.  Letting down my guard is a critical ingredient for real friendship.

There are many difficult things about the Philippines: broken infrastructure, pollution, diarrhea.  Keeping my guard up is the worst.

Baybay is an amazing place with amazing people.  Sarah's family is humble and they are interested in only my friendship.  I've made amazing friends and had incredible experiences.  It's been the best part of my trip.  With immense gratitude, and with a slight bitter aftertaste, I bid bye bye to Baybay.

I am unaware that in a few weeks, the hustle will get much darker, with no friendship thrown in as a chaser.


*In Filipino terms - middle class means poor but living in decent shelter with enough food.  Poor means destitute.