Eduardo “Edong” Reyes, 41, never imagined that his experience tending pigs in a small backyard farm in San Miguel, Bulacan, would one day take him to the countryside of Denmark a country known for its cold climate, clean barns, and advanced agricultural practices.
Back home, Edong lived a simple life. He inherited a few native pigs from his father and raised them behind their nipa hut. Every morning, he’d collect leftover vegetables from the local market and boil them into pig feed. It wasn’t fancy, but it helped them survive. He and his wife, Mylene, scraped by selling pork meat and piglets every few months. But when their eldest daughter passed the entrance exam to a private university in Manila, Edong knew his small operation wouldn’t be enough.
I’m willing to do anything, he said, as he filled out his application for an overseas job as a livestock farm worker in Denmark. The agency said they were looking for Filipinos with farming experience. It didn’t matter if it was backyard level as long as they were hardworking and willing to learn . Edong fit the bill. The transition wasn’t easy.
When he arrived in Denmark, it was the middle of winter. The wind stung his cheeks like needles, and his fingers froze inside his gloves. He was assigned to a large piggery with over 5,000 hogs clean, computerized, and a far cry from his muddy pigpens in Bulacan. Everything was digital: feed dispensers, climate control, breeding logs.
His Danish supervisor, Lars, was kind but strict. Instructions were mostly in English, and Edong struggled at first. He made mistakes misreading feed schedules, fumbling with equipment but he asked questions, watched tutorials on his phone at night, and took notes.
Slowly, he adapted. Within months, he could single-handedly monitor temperature controls, assist with piglet birthing, and identify sick animals by their behavior. His co-workers started calling him “The Quiet Expert.”
But behind the hard work was the aching homesickness. Edong missed his wife’s tinola, his daughter’s high-pitched laughter, and even the familiar smell of home cooked feeds back in their backyard. He kept a small photo of his family in his locker and looked at it during breaks, whispering. “This is all for you.”
Edong sent most of his salary back home. Mylene used the money to finish their house’s second floor, and their daughter enrolled in her dream course veterinary medicine. Their youngest son even joined a robotics club after Edong sent money for his first laptop.
After three years, Edong had saved enough to return home for a short vacation. When he did, he was welcomed like a hero. The small piggery he left behind had grown too with Mylene now managing it with updated practices he taught her over video calls. They had upgraded to proper to proper pens, improved hygiene, and better feeds.
But Edong had one more dream: to open a training center for backyard hog raisers in his barangay. He wanted to teach others how to modernize their practices using what he learned abroad providing that even a simple pig farmer from Bulacan can rise, grow, and come home with wisdom beyond borders.
Because for Edong, raising pigs wasn’t just about livelihood. It was about dignity, resilience, and turning mud into gold.
