The Sattelite Husband

Leo and Cora Morbos have been married for 25 years, but have been together for only 15. For a decade, Cora worked abroad as an Oversees Filipino Worker (OFW) spending two years in Hong Kong and then eight years in Toronto.

“I didn’t want her to go abroad. We didn’t plan that together. I guess she just wanted to explore,” Leo laughs.

Leo Morbos smiles during a day out at Woodbine Beach in summer 2016

Leo is part of a generation of Filipino men who have been forced to redefine traditional paternal and marital roles due to the exodus of Filipino women. These migrant workers send money or remittances to the families they left behind. According to a report released by the Central Bank of the Philippines, remittances from OFWs totalled $17.6 billion during the first eight months of 2016, a four per cent increase from the previous year’s total. The World Bank estimates that by the end of the year, the country will receive $29.1 billion in remittances. About half of the two million OFWs today are women. In Canada, most serve as live-in caregivers, cheaper alternatives to traditional daycare and nursing homes.

Leo and Cora along with their two sons, lived one hour away from Manila, in a city called Imus. Leo was a supervisor in a jeepney factory (Jeepneys are military vehicles left by American troops after World War II. They are the most popular form of public transportation in the Philippines). He also bought and sold cars and kept a small convenience store. He earned a healthy living, which is why his wife’s decision surprised him. That being said, Leo supported Cora and embraced his new role as surrogate mother.

“It was really hard. Mark was 12, Kenneth was 10,” Leo says. “Even though their mother was not there we were happy. I filled in for her shortcomings.”

Kenneth and Mark are now 22 and 23 years old. When their mother was away, Leo would wake up at 4 am each day to cook for his children and to send them off to school, all while working full time. Before Cora left, he didn’t even know how to do basic chores.

When Cora was abroad, she called and texted on a daily basis. She also went home once a year to visit the family. The couple credits this steady communication as a reason why their family survived the separation.

“Leaving your own children to take care of other people’s children is the most painful thing for us mothers,” Cora says. “Staying in touch is so important to get through that pain.”

On top of that, she knew that she was putting her marriage at risk.

“Going away has clear benefits for the kids. I was able to provide for them in a better way. But for the husband and wife, there is really no benefit,” she says.

Despite this, she stayed abroad because she knew that eventually, her children and husband would be able to come to Canada for more stable prospects. Through Canada’s Live-In Caregiver Program (LCP) migrant workers are able to gain permanent residency status. Between 1992 and 2009, the LCP welcomed 52,503 caregivers, 90 per cent of which are Filipina women. In the span of four years, caregivers must work full time for two years after which they can apply for permanent residency. Then, they can petition for their families to join them.

In July 2015, the family finally reunited in Toronto and has settled in North York. Cora took a month off to help her family transition into their new lives. Leo and Cora say that it was a happy reunion.

“I did not want to come here,” Leo says. “I had no choice. If I didn’t go my children would not be able to come… But I am still so happy and thankful that we’re finally together.”

Divina Lopez, a Filipina-Canadian settlement counsellor with Settlement Assistance and Family Support Services says with their relatively smooth reconciliation, Leo and Cora are exceptions.

“Most Filipino men who I’ve worked with feel quite degraded. They were not the main providers for a long time,” Lopez says. “Even coming here the wife would still be the main provider for the family.”

Lopez says that the men’s lowered confidence is just part of the reason why once they reunite, Filipino families fall apart. She says that the wives who came first become more assertive and often outgrow aspects of Filipino culture.

“The husbands sometimes find it hard to match their growth,” Lopez says.

Cora also experienced this maturity.

“Before, I was scared to do things without my friends and family,” Cora says. “After all these years on my own, I learned to trust myself.”

To recover their previous dynamic, Cora puts extra effort in doing the things that she used to do for Leo and her sons, such as cooking for them each night. For Leo, his ongoing struggle is fitting into the Canadian way of life.

Most men like him who come to Canada through the LCP are working class immigrants. This part of their identity means they face extra barriers, says Ahmed Allahwala a professor of Human Geography at the University of Toronto.

“There’s a certain class bias in the policy discourse. A lot of the conversation focuses on internationally trained professional immigrants like doctors and accountants. It’s driven by middle-class immigrant interests rather than working-class immigrant interests,” Allahwala says.

Unlike highly-skilled workers, Leo and his peers have little government support to help them acclimate to their new environment. He works at a factory polishing mechanical parts. Unlike skilled immigrants expecting bigger prospects, Leo and his peers come to Canada knowing that they will be working in general labour for the rest of their lives. At 50 years old with only high-school level education, Leo accepted the fact that once again, he would have to disregard his own success and alter his way of life so that his family can fair better.

“Canada is a great country. I tell my sons to work hard because I see that here, they can really be successful,” Leo says. “For me, it’s like I’m climbing a mountain where I don’t know if I will ever reach the top.”