Biking By Manila Bay: Meeting The Fishermen

"We have turned our back to the sea" said newly elected Indonesian president Joko Widodo in a speech on his plans to prioritize the development of his country's ports.  Biking by Manila Bay daily, I get a sense of how this can also be said for my city. How well we have built our walls to "protect" us from this body of water we now admire only from a "safe" distance.   

Yes, we look at the bay as part of the photos we compose when capturing Manila's famous sunset. But we've forgotten what it's like to actually touch the water and live off it. "Kadiri" (yucky) is what I hear when I tell people about a future I wish for, when we live so closely with our waters, our seas and rivers - especially in the city! - that we swim in them, catch fish, even live on boat houses. 

But there are people who have not forgotten the sea, and I see them in the mornings. On the biker's route between Mall of Asia and CCP (Cultural Center of the Philippines), I cross this bridge where urban fisherfolk congregate.  I catch them at daybreak, when they've just returned from their early outing. They sometimes sell their catch by the roadside, and to my surprise and amazement, bike-racked cars and SUVs stop on this bridge, and health-conscious morning bikers go down to inspect (and buy!) the fresh catch. 

Today, I stopped by and had a chat with a friendly fish vendor. She told me they came from Cavite and they offer early bikers first pick of their fresh catch.  I couldn't help but notice how the Tilapia laid on plastic sheets by the side of the road were still breathing.  They were selling for 50 pesos a kilo (less than half of the grocery price).  "Mayayaman ang bumili sa amin" (rich folk buy from us) she reported.  They swing by with their coolers or buckets. They leave their containers and as they go off to do their usual cycling laps, the vendors clean the fish they ordered and prepare them for pick up.  The vendor showed me a bucket by the roadside, filled with the larger fish.  The biking crowd in MOA are their regular customers. They start selling from 5 to 8 am - then they pack up the fresh fish (still alive and kicking) and start peddling them to residents of  nearby Pasay and Makati, selling directly, door to door.

Over by the rocks, some fishermen made a fire with twigs, and they were cooking rice; a little farther down, I could see smoke, and someone tending what smelled like fish being grilled. I also saw coffee being poured out of a thermos onto a tin can.  It seemed like a beautiful breakfast in the making. The sun was just about rising, and the entire scene unfolded in front of me, bathed in surreal light.  I smelled it all - the appetizing  scent of rice, coffee, grilled fish, and sea breeze; and also the stench of the sewer and the exhaust from a passing car.  It's always like this with Manila, there's always a striking contrast everywhere one looks.  I saw trash in the water, and pristine white birds catching fish yards away - it's a picture of a bay both dead and alive captured in a single frame. 

"Kadiri"(yucky!) is what I hear when I report this phenomenon to grocery-raised friends and family. "That's crazy!" they said. But I wonder, if it is they - fishermen in the margins, (and their brave clientele) who live off the sea - who are crazy... Or is it the rest of us city dwellers at the center, with our backs to the sea who have lost all sense of place? We are in the islands!  This is the way it should be!  Elsewhere in the world, a fisherman's wharf is a normal feature of coastal cities! Why not here in Metro Manila?

Further down the road, at Harbor Square, behind the Philippine Navy Headquarters,   people come with their fishing poles.  Just as I was pedalling past one man, he reeled in a fish, it struggled for a bit, then he unhooked it and laid it on the floor - it looked like a Bangus to me, medium-sized, the length of a tile. I found it exciting to watch my fellow city dwellers connecting with the sea, I loved watching them angle their bodies - the smooth choreography of swinging fishing rods. I loved the whipping sound of a line being cast, and the whirring sound of it being reeled in.  

I chatted with some of the vendors in the area. One man in particular was peddling styro cups filled with worms, bait for sale! He told me so many people come to fish during the weekends - entire families. Fathers who want to make sure their kids see them catch something buy his worms at 50 pesos per cup, - he guarantees they always catch something!   On good days, when they have a nice catch, they also sell fish to joggers and bikers who frequent the Cultural Center of the Philippines. 

This is what I love about biking in Manila. I get the chance to stop and observe, to watch and learn, to converse with strangers and discover diverse ways in which this city comes to life. 

Today, I learned to take a look at the sea - to really, really see it for what it is. I learned a valuable lesson from  

urban fishermen who bring to the city the skills and knowledge of our seafaring ancestors. They remind me that the sea is teeming with life, that it is not some inert backdrop fit only for photographs - that the sea in Manila bay should be no different from the sea in Anilao, or Puerto Galera, or Malapascua - that to imagine "this part of the sea" as "kadiri" and "that part of the sea" as a "diver's paradise" - is a convenient way to artificially (conceptually) divide that which is, and should be seen as whole.  

We need to love and protect ALL our waters, and not forget what's right before our eyes. I find comfort in the knowledge that Manila Bay's fishermen are here. With more eyes watching the water, and more mouths feeding off it, the less likely Manila bay will be allowed to die. And I will join the fishermen (though I'm neither a fisher nor a man) - in watching the water, patrolling the shores on my bike, facing the sea with prayers of gratitude, and love.