The story of a male broker in the Philippines and their experience of patron-client relationships (a composite character expressing words, thoughts and feelings of real life brokers who operate in a busy fishery port)

I didn’t plan to become a broker. Back then, it was just buying and selling. Zero gid ya (We really had nothing). We started with nothing — no capital, no savings. I borrowed ₱5,000 from a small lending, through my wife’s stepmother. She had some huya (shame or hesitation) about it, didn’t want to ask from her side of the family, so I took the step.

We had a small pumpboat. We’d go around — libot gid namon (we really went around). We’d buy a few kilos here and there, just enough to pack in ice and bring to Iloilo in the evening. That was our routine. I bought; she listed. Ako manugpalit, siya manuglista (I was the buyer, she was the record-keeper).

Later, her father built five sinsoro (ring nets). That’s when I started to get steady volume — the fish were all delivered to me. That’s when I really began as a broker.

And that’s also how sukianay began (mutual patron-client relationship).

It’s not something you write a contract for. You just get to know the fishers. Kilala ko man mostly mung (I mostly know them). Some are even relatives. They come to you not just to sell their catch, but to ask. Mangayo financing (to ask for financing). You look at them, and sometimes even if you don’t know them, ginatagaan mo na lang (you just give it). Naluoy ka eh (You feel sorry/pity). You don’t want them to go out to sea with nothing.

But I don’t say yes to everyone. I choose. Ginapili ko lang man ang tagaan ko gid nga dalagko (I choose carefully who I give big amounts to). It depends on the type of fishing, the way they act. A good suki — wala nagalinag-it (doesn’t secretly sell elsewhere). He gives all his catch to you. Wala gina tunga-tunga, wala ginapalasik sa iban (He doesn’t divide or secretly sell to others). He doesn’t lie about the price. If they do that, salawayon nga mangingisda na (that’s a misbehaving fisher). I had one like that. Ginpalasik niya ang isda (He secretly sold part of the catch). He caught plenty, but sold half to someone else — even though he owed me. That’s not maayo nga pamatasan (good behavior). A good suki brings all their catch, doesn’t split it behind your back. So I filed a complaint. In the barangay hall, we made him sign a promissory. Para may legal (So there’s a legal basis). Para mabalik man ang ginpa-utang (So the loaned money can come back).

Most of the time though, I don’t get anything back. Lista lang (Just a list). In the record — lots of money. Pero sa bulsa? Wala (But in the pocket? Nothing). Only utang (debt) is left. Sometimes, when I really have nothing, I go to turko (loan sharks also called 5-6 or “bombay”). That’s my financier. But there are days, I just cry. Mahibi ka na lang. Then, pray. Pangamuyo lang ah.

Sometimes I tell my wife, “Wala na ko kwarta” (I don’t have any money). She just listens. She knows I have my own diskarte (strategy or way). I don’t involve her too much in the stand (broker stand) — iya na ya, wala ko na nagapakialam sang iya nga kita (that’s his, I don’t meddle in his income). She has her work, her salary. Small, she says, but she helps when she can. Ambaganay lang kami (We just contribute when we can).

We hardly even eat together. Bwenas nga adlaw nga makadungan kami kaon (It’s a lucky day when we get to eat together). I leave at 4am, sometimes 5. She’s already gone when I come home. Binulan nga indi kami kadungan kaon (Months pass without us eating together). But even in that separate rhythm, we share. When I say, “May ara nagapangayo financing” (Someone’s asking for financing), she just says, “Tagai na lang” (Just give it). And we do. Because sometimes, it helps.

It’s hard when you give and give and don’t get it back. But sukianay isn’t just about money. It’s also about paghidait (peace, harmony), about trying to keep relationships intact. You see them (fishers) struggle too. They come back sometimes — even the ones who left without paying. Maybe nakonsensya (they felt guilty). Maybe not. But they come back.

The good ones? Ikaw ang ginauna nila (They prioritize you). And I do the same. I give them the fair price. Insakto gid nga presyo (Exactly the right price). I don’t cut 50 pesos from their banyera (tub of fish). Others do, but not me. Wala ako nagalagad sang blind price (I don’t give a hidden or fake price). I tell them what’s real. The price that runs in the port — nagalakat ang presyo, gasaka, gapanaog (the price flows, it rises and falls). And I go with it. If you give the right price to the fishers, they trust you. You cheat someone who went to sea at dawn? No good.

That’s what a good broker does. You deal rightly with their catch. No tricks, no cuts. Because kung indi maayo ang imo ginahimo, sa imo man na mabalik (if you don’t do good, it will come back to you).

There’s no suki buyer for me. Wala gid (None at all). I deal with whoever offers the highest price. Highest bidder gid (Always the highest bidder). But with fishers — that’s where sukianay really lives. In those everyday decisions: pa-utang ko ni? Kahuluoy? May abut siya subong? (Should I lend to this one? Poor thing. Will he have a catch today?) You decide, not with a calculator.

The one we call suki — that’s the one helping us in our business, our livelihood. The suki is the one keeping our business alive. Because if you don’t have a suki, you don’t have a business.