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These women are trend settersThe hardworking mothers of Barangay de la Paz found their way out of poverty by turning yesterday's trash into today's trend. By Owen L. Santos. Photographs by At Maculangan and Katya Guerrero |
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| At 23, Marilyn Rivera's lived a life more heart-rending than a teleserye. Pregnant, then married at 18 to a man who beat her up and had two children with her. For reasons she won't divulge, her husband was jailed. She remarried at 21, and her brood grew to four. Each day was a struggle for survival, her family never knowing where their next meal would come from. She certainly didn't expect to find her fortune in a pile of trash.
Perla Boncales, 41, was a stay-at-home mom. Though she knew how to sew and had a few projects, the jobs were scarce. Her husband, a construction worker who couldn't find regular employment, took on jobs selling whatever he couldice candy, plastic pails, and basins to help Perla and their children get by. For years, they lived in a tiny, weather-beaten kubo, relying on money borrowed from friends and family. "We had borrowed too much money," recalls Perla. Marilyn was still a teenager and Perla in her twenties when they joined the women's cooperative Kamay Krafts in 1992. The cooperative, composed of 75 women from various poor communities within Metro Manila, was founded in 1990 with the help of the missionaries of Servants to Asia's Urban Poor. |
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| When they first started exporting, the biggest hurdle the women had to overcome was meeting stringent quality standards. "We're very strict on quality because the market is growing. It's hard," Venus recalls. "I have to explain to the mothers repeatedly that we have to do this. They don't understand why they have to do it a particular way. But once they have understood everything turns out well." Their first shipment was to Switzerland, with their buyers placing orders every two months, around US$3,000 to US$8,000 worth of orders each time. To date, the country remains their biggest importer. The United States is their next biggest market, with sales focused on various beach resorts in the Caribbean and Hawaii. Most of the bags produced are for export and at times they are unable to supply items to local resellers, except for the occasional bazaar. Newer styles invented or copied from magazines have also emerged, ranging from chic evening clutches and kitschy multi-compartment wallets (a perennial bestseller) to foldable beach mats. "They have such a variety of funky designs that are really made well. I don't even have to really 'sell' them. They fly off the shelves in no time," says David Chambers, a member of the Australian chapter of Servants to Asia's Urban Poor. He flies to Manila occasionally to check the latest designs and pick up a batch to sell back in Melbourne. |
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| Their micro-financing scheme helped the women acquire their own equipment. The group made accessories with cross-stitched designs, but sales were slow. It was when Kamay Krafts switched to producing bags made out of recycled trash in 2003 that the money rolled in and sales zoomed. Along with 18 other women from the depressed area of Barangay de la Paz in Antipolo, Marilyn and Perla have transformed their families' lives from a hand-to-mouth existence to a more sustainable, comfortable life. "It's too much work, but it helps a lot when my husband isn't working. It helps with education of the children," says Marilyn. COLORFUL TRASH MEETS WESTERN CHIC The co-op gets most of their raw material from the Payatas dumpsite. Foil juice or tomato sauce packs are collected, taken apart, and thoroughly washed. The co-op buys them from the trash collectors at P0.40 apiece. Materials like straps, plastic covering, thread, buttons and zippers are bought in bulk from Divisoria. In less than a month, the thoughtlessly discarded juice and sauce packs are converted into trendy bags that fetch up to US$10 each abroad. Small change by international standards, but a windfall for the women who make them. "It's pretty fantastic considering where the raw material of these bags came from," says Venus Pizaña, the cooperative's manager since 1992. "Basura lang 'yan pero dito may silbi pa 'yan. Dito, ginto 'yan." |
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