In portraying the story of two temporary foreign workers living in St. Albert, the Gazette has agreed to keep their names and places of employment anonymous. Both women, here referred to as A and E, were afraid that publishing their identity could hinder their efforts to remain in the community.
When "E's" mother lay dying, her daughter was too afraid to go home.
For five years, E had saved and sent money to her family in the Philippines. But when the time came to fly home and say good-bye, she would not dare to buy a ticket.
It was the middle of summer 2014, and the moratorium on the temporary foreign worker program had many Filipinos working in Alberta cancel their vacation plans, too scared that they may not be allowed back into Canada upon their return.
Now E fears it was all for nothing.
In September, the province announced that wait times to process some categories in the provincial nominee program can now take up to two years. By then, many of the work permits of temporary foreign workers such as E will have expired, forcing them to leave.
"I am the sole breadwinner," E says. "My dad is working for a hospital as a utility man. He is earning around $250 a month. That is basically my family's income and I am the one who is helping them out."
Leaving home
The small town that E grew up in is located north of Manila, the capital of the Philippines.
Families there still live together, generations of grandparents, parents and children rooming in small compounds to save money and help each other out.
There is no tourism to support a lack of industry. And due to the country's struggling economy and high unemployment rate, people over 30 are considered "too old" to work, even in the capital. Employers only hire "young people," says E, who is in her mid-30s.
Most people live day to day, helping out on construction sites, painting the walls in a new home, or driving people around in tuctucs, small auto rickshaws used for transportation and taxi services. With no steady income, sometimes they go hungry.
The oldest of eight siblings, and aunt to 10 children, E left like thousands of others to make money and support her family from abroad. The sacrifice comes with a toll. She has not seen her family in five years.
Leaving her children
At the end of every work shift, "A" sits down in front of her computer. She turns on her webcam and smiles at the two little girls on the other side of the screen.
She has not seen them face-to-face since 2011. That year, she spent a month visiting her family in Manila. She first left to work abroad when the girls were one and three, she says. Today, they are seven and 10.
Her mother-in-law raises them, while A works in Canada.
"I said that's for their future so I need to be strong," she says. "And I need to support them for their study. Before I came here I heard that you have a chance to stay in Canada so I said that's good, right."
She never wanted to work abroad, she says. She had been employed in a restaurant in Manila for years and while her friends left to apply for jobs oversees, the thought of leaving seemed just "too sad."
Then she saw an ad in the paper. They opened Canada for work and they were hiring foreign workers.
School in the Philippines is expensive (A pays $1,000 in tuition for both of her girls) but if you want to have a chance to work some day you need a good education.
"When you are in Canada, you have a chance to become permanent and you have an opportunity," she says. "Even if you are really old you can get a job."
Working in Canada
E's first job abroad took her to Taiwan, where she signed a three-year contract in a factory making circuit chips for computers. She worked the night shift, 12 hours a day, she says.
When she heard about friends who had moved to Canada and became permanent residents, she applied for a job in Alberta.
"It was life changing. You are in a big country, where all the people are treated the same," she says. "My hopes were really high that everything was going to be alright."
It wasn't. Upon her arrival, E's employer would not pay her, she says. Instead of having her work in the restaurant she was trained to lay tiles in his basement.
She had expected good people, she says. Instead, she missed her family, had no income and yearned to go home. She quit her job after a month.
A friend's referral landed her a new job in a restaurant in St. Albert and her situation changed for the better, she says. She quickly moved up to a manager position and her status changed from low-skilled to semi-skilled worker.
Semi-skilled workers are allowed to apply to the provincial nominee program after one year of full-time work, she says. Once they receive their certificate of approval from the province, they can apply for permanent residency.
When E first sent her application to the program this January, the wait time for the certificate was about six months, she says. Over the summer, that time has been extended to 12 to 14 months, she says.
E's work permit ends in December. If she doesn't receive the certificate in the next two months, she'll be forced to go back home.
"If your mindset is okay we work hard, we try everything but this is the limit, at least your mind and heart are ready for that," she says. "But we came here for the reason to stay and have a better future and then it cuts off like that. That's really, really sad."
In 2008, A had started as a semi-skilled worker at a restaurant in St. Albert. It was a similar position as the one she had held in the Philippines, and she quickly moved her way up to becoming a skilled worker.
She followed all the rules, she says. She received her work permit and applied for the provincial nominee program. Then the system changed.
Now, if she doesn't hear back about her certificate for the program in the next two weeks, she'll also be going home.
"In the Philippines you earn money but it's not enough to support your family," she says. "I am not thinking about going home. I am not thinking that I won't (be able to) support my children to go to school. I am not thinking because I am afraid."
False promises
For the longest time, friends and agencies told temporary foreign workers that they had a chance to stay in Canada. Those hopes were quelled in the summer.
Following investigations into abuses of temporary foreign workers in Canada, the federal government imposed a moratorium on the program. The moratorium was lifted in June but the government since introduced changes.
These include a cap – by July 2016, employers will only be able to have 10 per cent of their workforce at a site as temporary foreign workers. The cumulative time workers can stay in Canada was also reduced.
Then the provincial government announced that, due to a spike in applications in 2013, processing times for the provincial nominee program would now take up to 25 months in the skilled and semi-skilled categories, which includes the restaurant industry.
The program has been a popular route for many employers to nominate their employees and help them receive permanent residency.
Losing hope
"The first time I came here, if I had known that I had no chance to stay here, I would rather have stayed in the Philippines with (my daughters), not away from them," says A.
In 2011, A sponsored her husband to come to Canada. His work permit is connected to hers, so they would have to leave at the same time.
They also have a son, she adds. Born in Canada, he is a citizen of this country, but not of the Philippines. If she has to return, she would have to pay about $500 to make him a Filipino.
But as a skilled worker, she also has to pay for her own flights home. That will eat up all of her savings. Already, both of the women send almost half of their income back home.
"I don't have that much money because I have two kids at home as well," she says. "And I don't want to leave my son here."
A and E feel they are members of the community. They volunteer at their church and they go out to the movies with their friends, Canadian and Filipino. They even got used to the weather, jokes A.
Neither see much hope for their future if they can't stay in Canada. A says she would ask her husband to work abroad again. E shrugs her shoulders, clutching a tissue between her hands.
Asked what their families say when they talk about the possibility of them having to go back, both women retreat into uncomfortable silence.
"It's a sacrifice leaving your family," says E. "We think we can stay here but after all the hard work, we live like Canadians, we pay taxes, we do everything, and all for sudden this one thing happens like that and all your dreams go."
