Filipinos resort to odd jobs on Kish Island, Iran

[B]BY JOJO DASS [/B] [I][U]Special to the Saipan Tribune[/U][/I] [B]KISH ISLAND, IRAN[/B]—The cliché that there’s no free lunch is actually a rule of thumb for hundreds of Filipinos stranded on this island, waiting for their visas to be issued by the United Arab Emirates government for employment purposes.

From doing laundry service to peddling prepared meals, Filipinos make a living to offset the cost of hotel room rent and food during their stay. The waiting period ranges from a month to three months depending on the visa application—tourist or employment—and on whether their papers were in order.

Foreigners arriving in the UAE on tourist visas are required to exit the country once their travel documents expire. Kish Island, which does not require visas, is among two places where the expats go for their “visa runs” as it is called, the other being Buraime, a border town in Oman.

Most Filipinos wanting to land jobs in the UAE enter the country on a tourist visa, which has a 30-day validity period that can be extended for another 30 days, during which they spend time job-hunting. Successful ones leave the country temporarily while their employment visas are being processed; those unable to secure jobs also leave and re-apply for another tourist visa to get another try.

While on Kish Island , the “visa runners” stay in mid-sized hotels that charge approximately US$10 (35 dirhams, the UAE currency) a night; food costs approximately US$3 (10 dirhams) a meal. There are a few cases where those waiting for their employment visas have their employers pay for their rooms.

To weather it out, those spending on their own and running low on funds have resorted to odd jobs—among them 32-year-old Cecille Ruiz, a 2004 graduate of Polytechnic State College in Cantulan, Surigao del Sur who holds a degree in industrial education.

Ruiz, a mother of two who came to Abu Dhabi on Aug. 20, 2008 on a two-month tourist visa, arrived on Kish Island on Oct. 18 with only US$15 (50 dirhams) left for food and room—the rest of her money having been spent on immigration fees and a three-night room deposit.

Realizing she would have to stay for over a month, Ruiz said she asked her roommates if she could do their laundry for them in exchange for food.

“I was so desperate,” she said. “In my prayers, I asked God how I could survive. I told Him, you sent me here, you must have a reason for doing so. That same evening, two new guests arrived. I overheard them wondering where to do their laundry. I came up to them and made the offer,” Ruiz added.

She at first cried, noting she had never washed other people’s dirty laundry before, not even back home in Bgy. Doyos Carrascal, Surigao del Sur, where her husband is a barangay counselor.

Ruiz, as of this writing, was still waiting for her new tourist visa to be issued. Asked why she did not prefer to go back to the Philippines instead, she replied: “I actually would really want to go home. But I was thinking I’d be a loser if I do so. All my efforts and the money I had spent—we are now heavily burdened with debts acquired for my papers and travel to the UAE—would go to waste if I return home empty-handed.

“Besides, I’m doing this for my two kids. I want to give them a better life, provide them with a home of their own, send them to college. I don’t want them to grow up the way we did where at times we had to share a small amount of food on the table.”

Ruiz, whose laundry service is done underground as it is not allowed by the hotel’s management, said she averages approximately US$12 (40 dirhams) a day. She said her customers—all fellow Filipinos—pay her more than what they should to show support. “Now I can buy shampoo and bath soap. The only thing I have to be bothered with is my tourist visa. I definitely am going back to Abu Dhabi and look for a job.”

Jonathan E. Gaetos, a former Philippine Army sergeant who holds a degree in business administration from the Philippine School of Business Administration in Quezon City, sells and delivers lunch to fellow Filipinos staying at the hotels. The prepared meals cost approximately US$2.50 (10 dirhams). In return, he gets about US$.75 cents (2 dirhams) for each lunch sold, and free food for the day. Gaetos said he averages US$6 (20 dirhams) a day.

Gaetos, who went to Dubai on Sept. 16, 2008 also on a tourist visa, arrived on Kish Island on Nov. 13 following his visa’s expiration. He said he got part-time jobs waiting tables at hotels.

At the time of the interview, Gaetos was already on his 35th day of stay on Kish.

He said he got the food delivery job after having a talk with a fellow Filipino working as a cook at another hotel. “I asked him for help, told him my situation. He said, ‘Here’s what we can do: We’ll give you lunch packs that you could sell around, and give you free food.’ That was good enough for me,” Gaetos said. “I was desperate. I needed to survive.”

Asked how it feels to be doing such an odd job considering his educational background, Gaetos said, “That’s okay with me. It’s the only way to survive. I have no choice. If I would not do something, I’d die.”

Liban “Wendel” Danlico, also a former Philippine Army soldier who was with 30th Infantry Battalion based in Zamboanga, arrived in Dubai on May 8, 2008, with a tourist visa. While there, he got jobs as a security watchman, a carpenter and a cleaner. He arrived on Kish Island on Nov. 20, 2008.

Danlico said he took his chances asking for a job at a fastfood center near the hotel where he was staying at, and got one as a kitchen helper; he said his employer had also informed him about the possibility of being transferred to the company’s main branch in Tehran.

Sonny Magno, for his part, was a hairdresser in the Philippines. He took his chances going to Dubai as a tourist on Sept. 22, 2008. He arrived on Kish Island, Nov. 21. Magno, who landed a job also as a hairdresser in Dubai, has been doing what he enjoys most—giving haircuts. He charges US$2.50 (10 dirhams). “They [fellow Filipinos] learned that I am a hairdresser; they gave me a pair of scissors—that’s how it all started. Eventually, I was able to buy me a new pair and now I’m making a living—somehow,” he said.

Noel Ocampo, 45, for his part, has started making use of what he had learned back home—giving therapeutic massages. He charges between US$7 and US$10 for his service and has developed a steady string of customers.

Ocampo, who hails from Inayawan, Cebu, arrived in Dubai on March 11, 2006, with an employment visa. He, however, resigned in September 2007 and had since been re-entering Dubai on a tourist visa. He had landed different jobs—kitchen helper at a hotel and a staff at a landscaping company, among them.

During the course of this period, however, he came across at least three different employers who failed to pay him, thus compelling him to move on and seek a new job. “They [employers] all promised me a job and a salary but they never kept their word,” he said. Ocampo, at the time of the interview, was well on his second month of stay on Kish Island. He has a brother in Dubai who sends him money for rent and food.

Asked why he would not just go back home, he said, “My brother advised against it. Life back home is hard. I would just be a burden to my family if I go home.”

Kish used to be among Iran’s defense positions against Iraq when the two countries went to war decades ago. It has since been transformed into a tourist resort with about 50 small and big hotels.