‘waiting shed citizens’

By Noel Galon de Leon

I told myself I would not write about flooding again. I am tired of it. It feels like a broken record. But Iloilo City has this strange way of forcing you to write about it again and again. A little rain and we are suddenly swimming in our own version of Noah’s Ark. Another day, another flood. Another post on Facebook with the same caption everyone uses, “Iloilo, not again.” And yet, here we are, flooded, frustrated, and still waiting.

It was not even a storm yesterday. It was just an ordinary rainfall, something that should not have caused any panic. But after only a few minutes of rain, Jaro, La Paz, General Luna, and Diversion Road all turned into rivers. The City Operations Center reported that more than fifty barangays were affected. Fifty. Isn’t that infuriating? What kind of city gets paralyzed after a drizzle? What are those flood control projects for, if we still end up like this every single time it rains?

While I was driving, I could only pray that my car engine would not die in the middle of the highway. You can never predict what Iloilo traffic will be like when there is flooding. Everyone is in a hurry, no one wants to give way, horns blaring, lights flashing, stoplights not working. It becomes a battle of who can be the most impatient.

But the part that broke my heart last night was not the flood or the traffic. It was the people. Ordinary Ilonggos waiting for a jeepney in the middle of the rain, taking shelter inside waiting sheds that looked more like chicken coops than public structures.

Let us talk about those waiting sheds.

They deserve their own award for being the most useless public structures. Some are too small, others too low, and some are conveniently placed where no jeepneys even pass. Others are built under trees that drip water right through the roof. Some have holes so big that even when you are already inside, you still get drenched. Some seem like decorations, placed only so someone can claim, “there is a project.”

You can tell so much about a city’s priorities by looking at its waiting sheds. They reflect the kind of governance we have. Decorative, photo-ready, but when it rains, completely useless. Yesterday, I passed by La Paz and saw a group of students waiting for a jeepney, soaking wet, their bags dripping, their shoes squishing with every step. Some tried to laugh it off, but I could see the discomfort in their faces. They deserve better than this.

I saw elderly people holding plastic bags over their heads, mothers carrying children while trying to find a dry spot in a tiny waiting shed that could hardly fit three people. Then jeepneys would speed by, trying to avoid deep water, splashing the same people they were supposed to serve. It was painful to watch.

The waiting shed is not just a place to wait. It is a mirror of what we have become as a city. We wait for jeeps, we wait for projects, we wait for change. But sometimes I feel like we have turned into “waiting shed citizens.” Always waiting, always drenched, always told to be patient.

And then there are the markets. The vendors in wet slippers, their stalls half-submerged, the air heavy with the smell of spoiled vegetables. You could almost hear their goods crying. The vegetables, the fruits, the fish, all soaked and ruined. And what does the local government do? Release a press statement saying, “We are monitoring the situation.” Monitoring? What we need is action, not observation.

But back to the waiting sheds.

Because the truth is, these sheds are metaphors for the city itself. They are built to shelter but cannot protect. They are designed to serve but cannot deliver. They look fine from a distance, freshly painted, with the name of a politician printed proudly on them. But in reality, they are hollow, poorly planned, and practically useless. They remind me of relationships that look perfect online but are falling apart in real life.

Isn’t it ironic? Iloilo City calls itself the City of Love, yet it cannot even show love through something as simple as decent waiting sheds. How can we claim to be a city of love if we cannot even care for the people who use public transportation every day?

Ilonggos are known for being kind, calm, and patient. But patience has its limits. How many more times do we need to make memes, post complaints, and call for change before we realize that this is not normal anymore? How many more rainy days will it take before our leaders stop treating these projects like photo opportunities?

Maybe it is time to stop treating waiting sheds as just small shelters from the rain and start seeing them as symbols of how we are governed. Because inside every waiting shed is an Ilonggo waiting. Waiting not just for a ride, but for a city that truly works.

Maybe our leaders should try standing under those waiting sheds too. No entourage, no umbrellas, no cars waiting nearby. Just them, standing in the rain beside the people they are supposed to serve. Maybe then they would understand. Until that happens, we will keep waiting. Soaked, patient, and smiling sarcastically under the ironic roofs of Iloilo’s waiting sheds. (Accompanying caricature was created using Gemini)