Piece by Piece

Fiesta has come and gone once again, and as we slowly wake up from our food coma, we’re beginning to prepare for our big trip to AMERICA. With a third year extension now approved, we’ll be staying on here in the Phils til December 2012. In the meantime though, we’re taking a much anticipated one-month trip home for the holidays.

While we start to pack bags full of pasalubong (as Filipinos call souvenirs, delicacies, and local gifts) for everyone back in America, we’ve also started to reflect on the day-to-day things that seem so normal here but were once so foreign to us. The trip home will provide plenty of moments where we’ll think, “Well that’s not how they do it in the Philippines!” but for now, we want to share some of those things and start to record them for ourselves.

At the top of the “you see this in the Philippines but NOT in America” list is the sari-sari store. Found on every street corner throughout the country, the sari-sari is a small convenience store that sells items in micro-quantities. One recipe worth of vinegar in a plastic bag-tube, one pack of crackers for your long van ride to the city, one foil “sachet” of shampoo for your bucket bath, one sachet of 3-in-1 coffee drink. one cigarette. one match. one piece of menthol candy.


Those sari-saris located further from the town center also carry staples like eggs, rice, sweet rolls, soft drinks, and beer. Sari sari owners who have a good amount of money and therefore electricity sometimes also sell cold drinks and ice. Sari-sari translates as “mixture of” and you can easily see why when you peer behind the chicken wire facade and see countless sachets hanging from the ceilings and candies filling plastic jars in every nook and cranny.


During an informal survey-stroll last night, we estimated that at least 1 in every 10 houses has a sari sari store out front. They range in size from plywood cubby to spare front room of the house, to walk-in cement minimart. New ones seem to pop up all the time, with seemingly little concern for supply and demand. (There's perhaps a broader application and commentary on this concept, but we can save that for our long chats back in America...)



From our front door, I can see 4 stores. From the street corner, 10. Sometimes these stores are opened to earn extra income for the family of course – we’ve heard that an average sari sari earns 100 pesos (or $2) per day. But equally often, the stores are opened to provide entertainment for elderly members of the family or serve as a gathering place for neighborhood friends.

[next door]

At our host family’s house, they have a sari-sari store to meet the sundry needs of their boarding house. When visiting, I frequently play the role of “tindera” or saleswoman at the sari-sari, much to the amusement of the host fam and the customers. The exchange goes something like this; the purchaser yells “maupay!” in the direction of the sari-sari (meaning, hey! I want to buy something). Then I emerge from behind the strands of hot chocolate mix and soap packs, saying “Ano iton?” (what is it?) This is followed by a surprised/frightened gasp when the buyer realizes the tindera is not a little old Filipina lady, but “Oy, Amerikana!” They then shyly ask for a cigarette or two (cost is 1 peso each, or 2 pesos if they want Marlboro) or a mosquito coil and match to get a good night's rest without a mosquito net.

One morning we woke up to the sounds of vigorous sawing and hammering outside our window. When we opened the door, we saw a man building a cart inside our gate. When we asked what it would be, we were told “sari-sari.” Clearly. And when we asked where it was going to be located, they said “right here, of course!” So now there is a sari-sari at our house. It doesn’t bother us at all, aside from having to keep some blinds drawn to ward off curious customer stares. Plus, there’s always an emergency tube of soy sauce or toothpaste packet at arms length.

[new view from our porch]