There’s something incredibly moving about walking through the night, when the streets are quieter and the world seems to slow down. It was on one such evening, almost midnight, when I passed by the iconic Sto. Niño Church, a landmark in Cebu that’s rich with history. As I walked home, a familiar sight caught my attention—several candle vendors standing outside the church, humbly offering their candles to passing churchgoers and visitors. One night turned into a week, then a month, and still, I saw the same faces, standing in the same spots, waiting for a chance to make a sale.
Curiosity grew within me, and one evening, I decided to approach them with a simple question: “How are you?” A simple inquiry that opened up a world of stories, struggles, and deep resilience.
Ate Lony: A Journey of Survival
One of the vendors, Leonsia, or “Ate Lony,” shared that she had been selling candles since 2017. But in reality, she’s just one of the newer faces in a long line of vendors who have made this humble practice a part of their lives for generations. Some of them, she says, have been doing it since they were children.
Ate Lony spoke about the responsibilities that keep her on her feet every night. “Naa koy mga pamilya, naa koy PWD nga nagskwela nag college, 3rd year na siya” (I have a family to support, and I have a child with special needs who is studying in college. She’s in her third year now) she said. The quiet strength in her words was unmistakable, as was the determination in her eyes.
She told me that they usually pack up around 11 PM. For Ate Lony, candle selling is more than just a means of survival; it’s a way to support her family, including her child’s education. Before the pandemic, she had owned a small sari-sari store, but when it hit, she had to adapt, changing to selling candles to continue providing for her family. A widow living in Basak San Nicolas, Ate Lony is doing everything she can to make ends meet, and the candles she sells are more than just wax and wick; they are the light that fuels her family’s hope.
Ate Nene: The Struggles of the Night
Then there’s Ate Nene, or Hernita, a 70-year old candle vendor who has become a familiar face outside the Sto. Niño Church. She shared her story with me as well, and the challenges she faces became even more apparent. “Maabtan mig buntag kay sayo sa buntag, naa may mangarbon. Mao nga wa mi tugpahay,” (We sometimes go beyond the next morning because there are market goers who pass by at dawn. So, there are times when we don’t get much rest) she said.
The unpredictability of their work is something that weighs heavily on them, it’s a gamble of whether or not they’d sell a bunch each day. And one factor that added to their struggles were the street children who often outsell them. “Manggukod sila ug mga manglabay, mao nga mugamay amung halin,” (They run after customers and can take them away from our areas, resulting in fewer people to buy from our own candles) said Ate Nene.
Despite the struggles, there was no bitterness in her voice, only the quiet acceptance of the reality she faces as she shared that the children are also doing what they can to survive, similar to what they’re doing too. For Ate Nene, as with Ate Lony, the candles represent a steady source of income in uncertain times. They may not be able to sell much on some nights, but they persist, knowing that the following day might bring a brighter opportunity.
A Moment of Connection
It was on that same night, while I was talking to Ate Lony and Ate Nene, that something lighthearted and beautiful happened. As we exchanged stories, they learned each other’s real first names for the first time! I could see the surprise and delight in their eyes as they shared a laugh over the fact that they’d never actually introduced themselves by name, despite spending so many nights together at the same spot, since 2017. That simple moment of discovery, filled with laughter and smiles, was a reminder that even in the toughest of circumstances, there’s always room for joy.
As we continued to chat, I also shared a little piece of my own life with them. It felt like we were no longer strangers, but rather friends who had exchanged stories, each one of us carrying away something precious from the conversation. I left them with a new story to share, and in return, they gave me a piece of their lives—one that was filled with resilience, laughter, and hope.
The Resilience of the Candle Vendors
The stories of these candle vendors are not just about survival—they are stories of resilience. Every night, they stand in the shadow of the Sto. Niño Church, offering light to the faithful while also seeking the light that sustains their families. Their candles may be small, but the hope they carry is immeasurable.
What struck me the most was the sense of community among the vendors. They don’t just compete for customers; they support each other, understanding the struggles they face. They are a living testament to the spirit of perseverance, holding on to hope even when circumstances are less than favorable.
For these vendors, each candle they sell is more than just a product—it’s a symbol of their dedication to their families, to their future, and to their unbreakable spirit. Their stories, though often unseen, remind us that resilience can shine brightly in the most unlikely of places.
So, the next time you walk past Sto. Niño Church and see the candle vendors, take a moment to stop and ask them, “How are you?” You may be surprised by the strength, the hope, and the light that they offer, both in the candles they sell and in the stories they share. And who knows? You might just walk away with a new friend, and a new story to tell.
And as a last word of advice that they gave me, “Katawa rajud. Basta magsgeg katawa, mawa rajud ang problema.”
