On a weekday in Manila, Philippines, Al Enriquez, 86, pushes a rickety wooden cart with a rainbow umbrella perched on the rickety wood.

He sells candy and cigarettes outside a bustling neighborhood supermarket, where a casual smoker or a kid with some loose change stops by to make a purchase.

In these dense and chaotic streets, Enríquez is often overlooked by the crowd, engulfed in a basketball jersey and shorts that hang freely over his distressed little frame.

On the weekends, however, he calls himself carmen de la rue and transforms into a Manila showgirl, complete with long dresses, elaborate make-up, high heels and wigs.

Enríquez belongs to a community of older homosexuals who call themselves Los Golden Gays.

They have lived together for decades in the Philippines, putting on shows and parades on the weekends to make ends meet.

The community was created in the 1970s by Justo Justo, a Manila city lawmaker, AIDS activist, and columnist.

Justo opened his house to welcome the lola, or grandmothers, an affectionate term the group has adopted for its members.

When Justo founded Golden Gays, he wanted to create a foster home for gays living on the streets of Manila, rejected by their families and society.

The community has evolved into a place where residents have been encouraged to do so as well Accept your gender identity.

Some members, such as Enríquez, embody both male and female characters.

Others choose to keep their female stage identity in their daily lives.

Justo hosted the Golden Gays at his home until his death in 2012.

Without Justo as a patron, the group, now numbering around 20, returned to the streets.

“Many have had to go back to the street they came from,” explains Ramón Busa, current president of the Golden Gays, who goes by the name Lola Mon or Monique de la Rue.

One of the members, Federico Ramasamy, better known as Lola Rica, got a job as a street sweeper and was given a room in a slum.

Lola Rica packed her things and clothes into the small room and welcomed other Golden Gays who had nowhere else to go.

Tragically, a fire burned down the apartment.

Everyone was safe, but Lola Rica’s heels, dresses, wigs, and photographs were lost.

“Time is limited. Our philosophy – because we are showgirls – is that the show must go on. The course of life must continue to flow,” says Lola Mon, 72.

It wasn’t until 2018 that the group finally earned enough money to rent a small shared house in Manila.

“We consider ourselves orphans, although it may not apply to us, because we are older,” laughs Lola Mon.

“We protect each of us, because we have no carers to lean on”.

In the Philippines, there are few support systems other than the traditional family.

More than half of citizens aged 60 and over are living without a pension, automatically classifying someone as poor, according to government data.

The country’s largely Catholic society has long discriminated against the LGBTQ community, meaning many of the Golden Gays were unable to find work when they were younger.

The pensions were over.

“Justo’s family kicked them out of the house, and I guess what sparked this kind of story in the community is the shared experience of being disowned, of being kicked out of a house that you want for yourself,” said Mela Habijan, pageant queen and organizer for the LGBTQ community.

“That shared experience will always be the anchor” of the community, Habijan said.

“We know what it’s like to be rejected. We know what it’s like to be rejected. We know the fear of being thrown out of our own homes.”

After being evicted from Justo’s home, some Golden Gay members entered homeless shelters, but said they felt unsafe in the male and female dormitories. uncomfortable expecting them to perform religious rites, as many hostels in the Philippines are run by religious organizations.

Lacking a traditional family structure, the Golden Gays had to create their own support systems.

During the pandemic, the government has banned older Filipinos, considered more vulnerable to COVID infection, from leaving their homes.

He also banned large gatherings to prevent new outbreaks, forcing the Golden Gays to suspend their performances.

“The holidays are over.

There were no shows.

The bars were closed.

Where would the money come from?

Showgirls were the first to be hit by the pandemic,” says Robert Pangilinan, another member of the group, aka Odessa Jones.

The group survived the pandemic thanks to the fan donations and followers.

“They loved us. The community hasn’t abandoned us,” says Odessa Jones, 55.

The Golden Gays’ home is painted green, the door festooned with rainbow tassels welcoming all who enter.

Entertainment photographs adorn the walls.

The residents share tasks such as cleaning, cooking and tending.

Becoming a resident is a very informal process that has changed over the years.

People can be referred by other residents and the doors are open to artists who are aging, applying to join or in need of shelter.

Laughter filled the house one recent afternoon as hot marinade sizzled in the kitchen. Enríquez held Odessa Jones by the hand.

On a shelf was a small marble urn.

Contains the ashes of Lola Rica, the resident who generously shared her apartment after the Golden Gays were kicked out of Justo’s home in 2021.

Lola Rica died during the pandemic.

Due to COVID restrictions, the Golden Gays were unable to hold a proper funeral for Lola Rica.

One day, when they have extra money, they dream of going to the beach – perhaps on vacation – dressed in black lace and scattering Lola Rica’s ashes in the sea.

Now that the COVID rules have been relaxed in the Philippines, the Golden Gays are back on the scene.

On a recent wet Sunday, in an unassuming Manila mall, they dressed up for a show, putting on makeup and dressing up.

These days, preparations require a little more effort. Enríquez cannot bend over to put on heels.

Lola Mon sometimes needs support to get on stage.

A new generation – the Silver Gays– has become central to the show.

Golden Gay performances are usually competitions in which each lola displays a talent, such as wheeling in heels or lip-syncing.

Visitors stop to see them.

Their eyes light up.

The performances are reminiscent of Philippine holiday culture, where each neighborhood celebrates the holidays of a patron saint.

“He’s cheerful,” says Odessa Jones.

“I have missed the cheers and cheers from the people. I have an overflowing energy, because I want to show people that we are still alive.”

At the end of that Sunday’s show, the Golden Gays held hands as they sang Diana Ross’ “If We Hold on Together.”

After the show, they went home to celebrate their performance with beer.

“Home is beautiful, because it’s where there is complete love,” said Lola Mon.

“Love revolves between us. Our camaraderie is complete, and since we’re together all the time, our camaraderie is solid.”

c.2023 The New York Times Society