Daddy is home?

Just a short note before I go back on field… Got back just in time for my birthday in the company of civilization (apologies to the areas I visited, not to say these were less civilized than imperial manila–just a manner of speaking).

I kept my team close and secured. One of these days, I plan to write a manual on rapid rural appraisal for dummies. One of our cells got held by NPAs for 7 hours before being released during an encounter with soldiers on patrol. I suspect these are the same soldiers I met on a hill on my way to a barangay. I just had to stop and take a rest and told my companions so. Then out of the tall grasses, 2 lead scouts emerge with weapons on full automatic. Followed by 4 more with ammo belts slung on their soldiers — then the radioman and then the rest of the company…

The day before, I hear 4 NPAs were killed and we were being discouraged from proceeding. But a mission is a mission. We had to bring solar energy to these remote, forsaken barangays even though I personally doubt their capacities to pay for the basic set-ups even with heavy subsidies from government.

We hang on to habal-habals (motorcycles fitted with wooden panels tp accommodate passengers like sitting on an airplane tail) and help bail out water on our small banca (dugout canoe sometimes fitted with a motorized propeller) as it roars upstream the green and sometimes bluish river, admiring the egrets and blue kingfishers and bush birds and wonder about those holes in the muddy river banks. crabs? snakes? I learn about the “kagsili” or eel lurking within. I watch some fishermen dive and spear tilapia and carp or gather shells for food.

We trudged up trails with sharp rocky ledges then through jungle growth. I picked up a branch to use as a walking stick, used up the bottled water and hoped there is “buko” (fresh coconut) available in the barangay. I see centuries-old trees felled and drowning in the deep parts of the river — hazardous to small bancas that do not see the protrusions. Also within the trails, we try to control our falls as we go down deep then up again until the air in our lungs are spent, and we breathe through our ears hearing the blood rushing and our hearts thumping, like helpless vampire victims as they stare in fascination at the spectre of death about to devour them. Scratches and itchy insect bites are the least of our worries as we recoil from snakes that rise up and show their hoods. We let them pass and cringe as our guide swiftly cuts their heads off. So much for animal planet and national geographic fantasies. Here, as it is everywhere, survival first. slice now, ask questions later.

I warn my crew to always wear their IDs. Our guides idly banter trying to distract us from fatigue. Maybe more to announce our presence lest we surprise some trigger happy elements. We already chanced upon some guys with a chain saw fixing up some board feet of long, straight, fragrant tree trunks. We act nonchalantly and greet, “Maupay” (good day) to everyone we meet. Showing them we’re just some stupid city rats, come to visit. They let us pass, gun barrels barely hidden. (so you think i have a glamour job, son?)

We bring some biscuits and candies to share to the suspicious villagers who allow us to conduct interviews and FGDs, keeping them from the work waiting in their fields. Balanghoi (cassava), copra, abaca, palay. Some corn. A few chickens, an occasional skinny pig.

We walk even in the night to cross bridges made of felled tree trunks. I swallow my balls as i hear a sudden SPLASH to my right. This is it!

I laugh as it turns out to be a carabao as a flash my light in that direction. Who would’ve thought the poor beast would be left in its mud wallow at this time?

Actually, I don’t see a carabao. My light catches nothing but tall grass and banana leaves jutting out the mud. 7 kinds of mud i learned. I believe it was a carabao, but my companions’ expressions are grim and they walk faster. We need to reach the next barangay. Quite hard to see in this pouring rain. so hard to move in this muddy swamp. I blur all thoughts of leeches and other critters in there. next step. take another. next step. going further.

We pass through a trail near the river which I hear below the narrow pass. One small slip and down to the rocks my head will bash like a ripe squash or watermelon. We had to retrace a few times. Even our guide is disoriented by the storm and flood.

We reach the area as the dogs announce our presence. It takes time before someone opens the door at the kapitan’s house. Our escort, the kapitan himself from the last barangay talks to them and they are surprised we dared to travel through the night saying they thought we’d just arrive in the morning.

Small talk. Apologies for city feet, slow through the local trails. They are drinking rhum as the missus busies herself to cook some rice and heat the viand. Skinny chicken tinola. They apologize as the chicken is just a chick. the mature ones were taken already by hungry soldiers or NPAs. We do our own apologies and bring out the sugar and coffee we brought as pasalubong.

I wait for the idle talk to drift and politely decline the rhum and say my feet were killing me. They were, too. They invite me upstairs. A mat is laid and I lay after massaging my toes and feet with alcogel to get the mud off. I forget the off-lotion and I wake to my own snoring. Someone tied a mosquito net over me. it was quiet. The gasera was thoughfully lighted and kept on for me. I blow it out knowing kerosene is in short supply and 4 hours by banca plus 2 hrs walk available in town.

I am rewarded by fireflies on the straw ceiling. I drift off to wonderland and see the faces of the children, their skin with wounds and scratches. Reminding me of gio and pia. I had to give away my cocorub…and the medicine I brought. what to do — and then its bliss, broken by crows of roosters nearby. It’s 6 am already. wakey- wakey sleepy head.

I wake up to a small, toothy voice. I open my eyes and GIO’s face is above me: “Hapfe birthdey dadee, hapvee birdthday dah-deee, hapvee boirthday hapveee beeeertdey, dad-deeehh!” It’s my son! he lost a front tooth.

I get a hug with the song and a buzz on the cheek.

I am home. I was on the sofa.

Pia stares at me for a long time with my arms outstretched. She’s been scratching her legs again. skin asthma. Only after Gio shows her its really me by coming over again for hug does she walk slowly to me.

We go to the swing. I sing our song. She sings along and smiles as she brushes her cotton diaper (“muas”) on her upper lip. I almost cry. It’s so sweet.

I got to work and in the evening after a meal of spaghetti, I call her again and she climbs into my lap. We go to the room and she tells me “ time! Dahdee–time!” which is what I used to tell her as we prepared her for bed. “It’s time” meaning time to sing some songs, give her a foot massage, tell a story, pray, then sleep.

We sing about her turtle and recite the old pony poem and I tell them we’re on a banca. and we row-row row the boat. Sleepy time. We cuddle and I think I fell asleep first.