I was a mother of five young children when my husband Tony, an engineer, left for a job in Brazil in 1972. Our combined income was not enough to sustain and provide for our growing family. Raising the family in our town of Paniqui, Tarlac was a lonely existence for me and my children during those years. Tony was never able to visit us during those four and a half years, but it was a price we had to pay for our family’s future.
Amid this loneliness came a letter from Tony in February 1976, telling us that he had applied for our family to come to Canada. The news was followed by hectic preparations for our immigration papers, which involved my frequent trips to the city of Manila.
Then one Saturday night, after feeding supper to our children, the phone rang. With my heart pounding, I picked up the phone. It was Tony, who said, “Ma, you should go to the Canadian Embassy to pick up your visas.”
I jumped with joy as I thought of our family getting reunited and our children seeing their father for the first time in many years.
With my parents, siblings, and my in-laws around to send us off, we boarded the plane, our children wearing beautiful and well-tailored suits sewn by our neighbour. My father gave me a long necklace with a medallion of the Virgin Mary dangling from the chain. I knew that he and Mama had mixed emotions seeing me go abroad, yet they did not say a word. Mama was also quiet, just holding my hands as if comforting me as she noticed my mixed emotions of apprehension and sadness. I hugged them tightly. Maybe they heard the strong pounding of my heart due to my anxiety at leaving them and the country of my birth.
On October 12, 1976, we landed in Vancouver after a fourteen-hour flight from Manila. After a two-hour wait, we were on our way to Winnipeg.
The children were quiet on the plane when I finally heard the flight attendant announce: “We’re landing in Winnipeg in twenty minutes.” As the plane descended, overwhelming joy and amazement engulfed me as I looked outside the plane’s window. Below was a vast expanse of land, sparsely spread houses, and neatly planted trees along the roadside. I saw two rivers joined like a fork. Later, I would find out this place was called the Forks, now a tourist spot. I breathed in the fresh air coming from the gaps of the window. My heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing my husband, whom our children and I missed so much. He had arrived in Winnipeg in February and was there to welcome us with his relatives and friends. Tony’s cousins, Pacita Hidalgo and Demetria Nanali, were among those at the airport to meet us.
Tony had found work at Dominion Tanner and, after five months, became a machinist with Canadian Pacific Railway (CPR). I knew his salary would not be enough to sustain us and decided I needed to find a job soon to augment our income.
Back in the Philippines, I was a scholar at the University of the East, graduated with a Bachelor of Education in 1962, and earned a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in English, in 1975 at the Central Institute of Technology in Paniqui. When we arrived, however, I had no knowledge of the settlement processes and services of the immigration department of the Manitoba government, and I didn’t know how to apply for jobs that matched my qualifications. I did not have a computer and did not attend orientation sessions given by the Canadian Embassy. I was solely dependent on relatives and friends to give us information on how we could successfully integrate in Manitoban society.
With my husband’s low salary, I needed to work somewhere, though, and my friend Sylvia suggested that I apply for work as a garment worker. I had never touched an industrial machine before. But thinking of our survival needs and five children to feed, I applied at one of the sewing factories downtown. I was hired immediately; however, before noon I was already tired. I perspired as I pulled the heavy coats, which needed to be inserted flat, close to the needle, before I stepped on the sewing machine’s pedal. At one point I felt so dizzy I threw up.
I told Tony I could not bear to be a garment worker. He agreed for me to stay home. I rested for a week. However, I was worried that Tony could not afford to single-handedly support all of us. Sylvia accompanied me again to Tan Jay on Notre Dame St., where I became a sewer of skirts. I found myself again struggling as I tried to sew even the simplest item correctly, such as the hem of a skirt. Unknown to me, I was being observed by a supervisor, who stood behind me. She approached and said, “You are not really a garment worker. I know you used to be a teacher, and I could easily detect it in the way you behaved.” I wondered why she had said that. I found out later that some of the workers were gossiping and fighting among themselves. I refrained from getting involved.
One of the workers approached me, taunting me to talk to a Spanish-speaking co-worker to prove that I had been a teacher. So, I did.
“Como está usted?” I asked my fellow worker.
She replied, “Muy bien.”
“Cuantas hijos o hijas tienes?”
“Dos hijas e dos hijos,” she answered.
I said, “Muchas gracias.” After that simple conversation we became fast friends.
In my letters, I never told my late father that I was a garment worker, or how we were adjusting to the challenges and difficulties as new immigrants. We knew that it was just a matter of time before we would know more about living in Canada, and that eventually we would be successful. We were already in a land of opportunity, a country that respects people regardless of their religious, economic, political, and social backgrounds.
A month after our arrival, I was surprised to find out that I was pregnant, but I continued to work. In wintertime, I would go home with achy muscles, so I told Tony that I wanted to quit as a garment worker.
This decision to quit proved to be a turning point in my life.
My husband had found a townhouse on 521 Magnus Avenue in front of William Whyte School, and we moved into the three-bedroom house in December 1976.
With five children and pregnant with our youngest, Jonato, I trembled at night every time I heard noises of drunk people in front of our house. Tony worked on night shifts, so I was the only adult left to attend to our children.
I continued to work as a garment worker at Tan Jay on Notre Dame when, one slippery day, heavy with a child, I slipped and fell while walking on the pavement going to the Eaton Place shopping centre. I was with Ludy, a co-worker and friend at Tan Jay, who helped me to get up. I got scared that I might have a miscarriage because that night, my lower back ached. Fortunately, the pain vanished the following morning.
Days went by, and on July 10, 1977, I delivered a baby boy, our youngest and sixth child. We named him Jonato, with the first syllable “Jo” taken from the first name of my father, Jose, and the last syllables “nato” from my father-in-law’s name, Fortunato.
I again suffered loneliness at the hospital as I received no visitors, while my roommate, a Black woman, had lots of visitors. It was during these pangs of loneliness that my thoughts hearkened back to my hometown of Casiguran, Sorsogon, as I pined for my parents and wished that they could come to see our new baby.
After three days, my roommate left. Before leaving, she gave me the white flower vase with a single rose in it. I was so embarrassed; however, I accepted it. Maybe she felt sorry for me for not having at least a rose by my bedside.
In our conversations, I discovered that my roommate was a co-teacher of a Filipina — Lolita Oandasan — who was one of the first few teachers who had arrived in Winnipeg in 1965. Both taught at Polson Elementary School in East Kildonan.
I phoned Lolita later and she recruited me to be a member of the Manitoba Association of Filipino Teachers Inc. (MAFTI), an organization she had founded. Lolita encouraged me to attend MAFTI meetings and to have my credentials certified.
I was truly fortunate to be certified by just taking six credits hours of reading courses at the University of Manitoba during the summer of 1977.
I became active and committed to MAFTI, eventually becoming its president for three terms. My involvement with MAFTI honed my leadership skills, from meeting dignitaries to being invited as a panelist in conferences and giving presentations on methodologies in teaching English as a Second Language.
Our townhouse on 521 Magnus Avenue was right across from William Whyte School. I was naïve about the school system here in Winnipeg. Our friends told me that the children should get to know the culture here in Manitoba first before being sent to school. They should be taken out for field trips, to the malls, and driven around the city; in short, exposed to the Canadian environment. So, we kept our children at home ’til December.
In January, the principal of Strathcona School visited a friend of his who was our neighbour. He saw our three boys — Antonio Jr. and the identical twins, Fernando and Hernando — playing outside in the snow on our front yard. He asked them why they were not in school. They could not give an answer, so the principal went to his friend’s house to inquire further. She told him we had five children not yet enrolled. The following morning, our neighbour came to convince me and Tony to enrol our children at Strathcona School on Burrows Street, which was four blocks away from our house. The principal phoned me too. Thus, I registered them the following day. Maria Estela, our four-year-old youngest daughter, became a nursery student. Maria Carmelita, our eldest daughter, became a grade four student. Antonio Jr. was in grade three. The twins, Fernando and Hernando, were grade one students.
Maria Carmelita, upon arrival from school, would tell me how she would drag Estela to walk faster to keep her from the cold, but being so small, she had mincing steps. Maybe her jacket was not warm enough too. Now I shudder at the thought of my youngest daughter suffering from those cold winters. We could not afford to buy them very thick coats of decent quality. I was not aware that there were agencies that could have helped us provide good clothing for our children. Our children studied at Strathcona School for the rest of the year.
Maria Carmelita turned nine years old in March of 1977; however, at an early age, she was a tremendous help in looking after her siblings. She would hang washed clothes in the backyard and wash the dishes. The twins were featured in a film by their teacher, Mrs. Pajonk, as aliens visiting Strathcona School. At the time, the Winnipeg School Division still had the film program. Tony and I were very appreciative of the twins’ teachers, Mrs. Pajonk and Ms. Rockwell, for the opportunity they had given to Fernando and Hernando. Our sons’ portrayals as aliens in the film boosted their self-esteem, and they felt very welcomed. Also, the experience of being in a film must have inspired Fernando to take up filmmaking as a hobby. Aside from being a teacher, he now owns Blue Water Buffalo Productions and has made documentaries, one of which, Manila Road, won third prize in the Winnipeg Film Festival.
A month after giving birth to Jonato in July, an opportunity came in the form of a flyer in our mailbox. It said William Whyte was looking for a community teacher’s assistant. William Whyte is a community school in the core area bounded by Salter and Powers streets.
I applied for the job.
In a room close to the kitchen, I faced a serious-looking panel of interviewers led by Mrs. Zimmerman, the vice-principal. One of the questions asked was, “If you’re hired, would you transfer your children to our school?” I quickly responded, “Of course, because it’s closer, and besides, we just live right across the street from this school.” I was told to remain in my seat for a while, and Mrs. Zimmerman and members of the panel went to a separate room. My heart leaped with joy when she came out and announced, “You did well, Gemma. You are hired as a teacher’s assistant, and you will start on Monday.”
Living on Magnus Avenue from 1976 to 1983 was a blessing for us newly arrived immigrants. We enjoyed the privilege of living right across from the school. Having no fence, the school was open for children to wade in the wading pool, skate on the skating rink, play baseball in the schoolyard, and slide and swing on the playground equipment.
As well, a summer program was offered and was supervised by then community coordinator Anna Tynes and an area social worker, Greg Selinger. Greg later became the premier of Manitoba from 2009 to 2016.
One day, sporting a T-shirt and his hair in a ponytail, Greg knocked at our door and said, “Anna mentioned you to me to help us request from the school board to reinstate the Summer Enrichment Program, which has been cut back. Could you help us present a brief to the school board?”
I hesitated; I thought it would be a conflict of interest because, at the time, I was already working as a teacher’s assistant at William Whyte. However, Anna Tynes told me that I was also a parent of six children studying at William Whyte School. I relented, and on one evening, along with other William Whyte parents, I presented the brief to the trustees of the Winnipeg School Division and other parents in the audience. After I finished, the board did not raise any questions. Consequently, a motion was passed to reinstate the program. Our children benefited from this program as we did not have a car at that time. They joined field trips and other excursions that exposed them to diverse cultural experiences.
While in William Whyte, our children were highly active both academically and physically. Fernando became a fast track athlete and, at the end of grade six, got the highest academic award. Hernando won first prize in an art contest, so did Maria Estela. Antonio Jr. also became an outstanding basketball player. Jonato was a nursery student, and his teacher, Mrs. Sinclair, praised him for his exceptionally good vocabulary. He said to her one day, “Oh, the bubbles disappeared.” She could not believe he knew the word “disappeared.” His English was very formal as we did not use baby talk with him, but we spoke to him in adult language.
During the day, Tony babysat Jonato before he worked on night shifts at Canadian National Railway (CNR). When Tony slept, he would let Jonato lie face down on his tummy, holding him tightly so he would not fall. He taught Jonato nursery rhymes. On weekends, I also read nursery rhymes to our toddler. Before Jonato turned four, he had already memorized twenty poems. Tony would ask him to recite poems in front of his friends and relatives. They were so delighted, they would give Jonato a dollar for each poem recited.
During the late 70s, there were two Filipino TV programs in Winnipeg. One of them was hosted by Dante Buenaventura, founder of the Magdaragat Dance Troupe. Dante invited our children to join his group, and all of them except the eldest, Maria Carmelita, became members. Their being members of Magdaragat boosted their self-esteem and leadership skills.
Despite being certified as a teacher, I continued working as a teacher’s assistant (TA) at William Whyte School ’til 1979. During this period, my friend Cory Juan, who was also a teacher’s assistant at John M. King School, suggested that we both get our Bachelor of Education degrees from the University of Manitoba as part-time students.
When a vacancy occurred at John M. King School in May, Mr. Patterson, the principal, asked Cory to phone me to apply as a teacher’s assistant. I thought the compliment that I had given Mr. Patterson when I met him previously impressed him, so he remembered me. I had told him that his school had well-behaved students and that the school was clean. Mr. Patterson hired me immediately as an English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher’s assistant. (ESL is now called English as an Additional Language or EAL in one classroom.) However, he made the arrangement for me to be a substitute teacher.
The influx of immigrants from Southeast Asia propelled the opening of ESL classes in schools, especially in the Winnipeg School Division. Between 1979 and 1981, not many teachers trained to be ESL teachers, so school divisions were caught by surprise. Most of the students in 1979 came from southeast countries as refugees.
Although I had been a high school English teacher in the Philippines, I was not confident about teaching elementary ESL students. To be more efficient and effective as a teacher, I spent the entire day on Saturdays researching ESL methodologies at the Department of Education.
When the teacher I was substituting for moved out of the province, I was assigned to be a term teacher in 1981.
“I am now a teacher,” I whispered happily and confidently as I opened my classroom door. A surge of pride filled me. But my happiness was tinted with pain and sorrow that night, when my eyes welled with tears as I remembered my Papa and Mama. I imagined myself on the phone saying to my father, “Papa, your dreams for me have been realized. I am now a teacher here in Canada! I did what you had always been telling me to do: to try my best and to work hard.”
Being a permanent teacher spurred me to obtain more career opportunities and subsequently improve our economic lives in Canada. I became a three-time president of a prestigious association in Manitoba, the Manitoba Filipino Teacher’s Association (MAFTI), where I currently still serve as adviser. I completed my Bachelor of Education at the University of Manitoba in 1983 and went on to get a Master of Education in 1990, again as a part-time student.
In 1994, I was appointed vice-principal of Victoria Albert School. A decade later, in 2004, I retired after serving as vice-principal in two more schools: Sisler High School and Shaughnessy Park School in the Winnipeg School Division. I devoted my retirement years to serving the community in various associations, most particularly MAFTI. In 2019, I received the University of Manitoba Alumni Award for community service.
I have written four books: First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba, published by the Manitoba Filipino Writers’ Guild in 1997; Understanding Filipino Seniors in Manitoba, Their Immigration, Settlement, Adjustment, published by the Knights of Rizal in 2010; gemma: The Bud, a book of poetry (2020); and Grammatically Yours, Gemma (2021).
In my moments of reflection, I thank the Lord for giving me and our family a chance to be here in Canada, truly the “Land of Opportunity.”