Lukan, An Island
This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to be part of a few select individuals to be mentored under the founders and photographers of Grid Magazine.
On our second day, we were asked to immerse with the environment around Escolta; to seek stories and photograph them.
This is my story.
In Binondo, Manila, along the banks of Pasig River, docked is a decommissioned oil tanker — The Lukan.
The Pasig River serves as a vital channel for industries inland of Metro Manila. It is cheaper for companies to have goods brought in via the river, than have them transported by trucks and trailers.
Oil is one such good that used to be transported via this channel. Tankers would ply up and down the river resupplying oil to the Pandacan Oil Depot.
The M/T Lukan is an oil tanker that used to serve the Bataan-Pandacan supply line. She was built in ‘96. Lukan is a type of seashell; a clam.
Since the closure of the Pandacan Depot almost two years ago, the Lukan has been semi-permanently docked at the Muelle Dela Industria. There are crews, professional mariners, stationed at the Lukan. They serve as the Lukan’s caretakers and guards.
During the first day of the workshop, I felt the pressure to find a story. Something unique to tell the mentors, organizers, my fellow photographers, and eventually those reading this article.
Water. I wanted something that related to water. I found myself walking along the docks of Muelle after the workshop’s first day ended. As I strolled, the lines and grittiness of this one particular boat was attracting me. It was the Lukan.
Born and raised in Antique, Elter spent most of his life in vessels and tankers; a total of twenty five years of life at sea.
With the up surge in the number of people graduating from maritime schools, Elter found it difficult getting contract renewals for international ships. “Ang daming mga sea man ngayon, mahirap na makakuha ng trabaho. Tignan mo diyan sa Luneta, madalas sa mga nakatambay diyan, mga sea man. Tapos andiyan pa ang mga Chinese na sea man, mas mura pa ang singil nila kaysa sa pinoy. Mahirap talaga”, he tells me.
He has settled to work domestically, serving the third party operator of tankers for petroleum companies. The Lukan is his most recent assignment. He is one of three seamen maintaining and securing this tanker.
It was 7PM and Elter was on his hammock. Apprehensive he was at first. I should’ve known better than to just casually walk onto a facility such as this.
He warmed up to me when I explained that I was a photographer looking for a story in the area.
I opened a pack of hopia I bought from Chinatown earlier in the day and offered him a few. We talked. I took no photos as we introduced our sides.
“Ano ba course mo?” He asks. “Nag-graduate po ako ng degree sa kompyuter, at ngayon nakahiligan ko po ang pag litrato” I reply.
“Maraming nag-lilitrato dito, madalas mga taga La Salle” he mentions. I wasn’t surprised as the area’s architecture definitely lends itself well to photography.
Our conversation went on for thirty minutes more, until I mentioned that I had to head out. “Balik nalang po ako bukas ng umaga…” I said.
“Wag mo ako interviewhin. Pwede ka magpicture. Ayoko lang ng interview.” Elter mentions. I said yes.
Headed back down Escolta, I was doubtful that I even had a sliver of a good story. This type of photography is alien to me. Alien but exciting. I loved the fact that I would embed myself in someone else’s life, albeit for a short while, and show the world their side through my photos.
5AM the following day. My approach was of a landscape photographer. Come in before golden hour, prepare my composition, and wait for the light to come.
The tanker was quiet. Not a single soul except for a security guard who’d do his night watch once the crew went to bed. Not wanting to waste the good light, I walked towards other boats docked in the area — tugboats that were designed to pull non-motorized barges to refineries upstream. These barges mostly carried either metal or soybeans.
It was rough. I saw a woman screaming violently at a guy for something he did, passed by a guy sleeping on a cardboard by the roadside, observed a pregnant old lady who was so frail, she could hardly walk. I saw a large man pulling a cart of water containers, he had black skin color and the people he passed laughed at him for that.
Trying to connect with the crew of the tugboats proved fruitless. While waiting for Elter to wake, I decided to sit down with two men hanging out by the docks. The men were Bulaceños I found out. They were waiting for their friend before heading out to Divisoria to pick up supplies for their store.
“Ang hirap ng buhay dito no, pero kahit papaano, nakakaraos din sila” mentions one of the guys as he was looking at the scene in front of him. “Ang kawawa diyan, ang mga bata nila, posibleng wala nang future…”
I agreed. Life here was tough. These people had to grind it out every single day. Were they content with it?
We had several more discussions about life in general and of how beautiful Pasig River once was.
“Pards mauna na kami!” says one of the two guys. I headed back out to the Lukan. Elter was up.
“Buti maaga ka… eto kape o”
Elter was back in his crows nest, coffee mug in hand, ready for the day ahead. It offered a 360 degree view of the surroundings. A small high point in this area.
Elter was a soft spoken man with a heavy Ilonggo accent. We talked. Random stuff. We talked about how he got into being a seaman, about his family, how his grandfather sided with the New People’s Army back home, about the technicalities of an oil tanker, and about what he has been witnessing in the year and a half of living in the Lukan.
He brought up that he was bored with doing nothing onboard the Lukan.
There were lots of pauses and silences in between our conversation. By the second hour, we’ve become comfortable with each other’s presence; I then took the camera out.
“Wag diyan, may gas pa ang tank na yan, baka sumabog tayo”. I was reminded by Elter that we were still a floating oil and gas-filled metal structure. Fumes were still present in some of the tanks which could be ignited by the electronics I had with me.
The Lukan is an island that was semi-tethered to the life of Muelle, as well as, the Pasig River. Elter, perched high on his crow’s nest in the Lukan, was stuck in the middle of two worlds — the fast-paced industrial water way to his right, and the hard street life to his left. A clear cut split; and elter had nowhere else to go but to chug along, continuing to be a witness to this place.
Except for the pilot’s area and quarters, I had free reign within the Lukan. I was lucky to be given so much access. My framing for the photos had to be such that I would always show elements of the tanker, connected somewhat to events beyond it.
Elter left me for an hour to have his lunch. Sitting by the bow, I was observing these street children jumping from Jones Bridge and into Pasig River. Some had solvent (Rugby) in plastic bags and were sniffing it like mad.
“Ako si Darna!”, exclaims one of the girls in a blue bathing suit. “Pinipicturan niya ako mga pare o”. She danced, trying to attract the attention of the traffic passing by the bridge.
She’s 15. I learn from Elter that she was the daughter of one of the old ladies that lived in Muelle.
“Tinuruan siya ng nanay niya kung paano magnakaw. Grabe.”, Elter explains. “Kinukuha sila ng DSWD, pero ewan ko bakit pinapakawalan at nakakabalik pa dito…”
“Pero kahit ganyan yan sila, tinutulungan pa rin namin yan sila.” He adds. The crew of the Lukan do what they can to help the people living around them. They hand out food and goods if they have extra.
It’s a security blanket for them as well. The Lukan is easy to climb onto. It is an open, floating platform. Anyone with ill intents could easily take them out when they’re asleep. Being friends with the people around lessens their risks.
If that fails, their second means of security is the shot gun hidden within their quarters.
“Pero alam mo, mula nung naupo si Duterte, nalinis ng paonti-onti itong lugar na‘to”. He recalls seeing more crimes during the previous administration than this one.
Theft was the most common crime he’d see on a daily basis. “Yung mga kano at koreana na pupunta dito, at yung mga nag-pipicture diyan sa Jones, isang hablot lang yan ng mga batang yan (he points to the kids jumping by the bridge), tanggal mga alahas nila, punit pa ang tenga”.
“Pero ngayon, bihira ko na makita, natakot na rin sila siguro”. “Yung madalas ko makita na dito ay yung mga nababaril dahil sa drugs” Elter is pertaining to the ongoing drug war. I stay silent, imagining the scene of a body, head wrapped in tape, lying on the street with Wag Tularan written across him/her.
“May mga nagshoshooting din dito!” His tone changes to a lighter mood. “Nag shooting diyan sa posteng yan yung Alyas Robin Hood.” He points to the lamp post near where one of the Lukan’s ropes were hitched.
“Nasama ata ako dun kasi nakahiga lang ako dito sa duyan nun eh. Baka makita mo pa ako sa tv hahaha!”
“Yung kasamahan ko dati, na tv eh, taga Tacloban din yun!”
“Pero yung sa kanya kasi nahostage sila sa Somalia, parang yung Captain Philips”
“Ok na siya, nakabalik na siya sa abroad”
Elter gives me my third mug of black coffee. My heart was palpitating so hard at that point. Out of respect, I could not decline his offer.
There was a long silence. Elter was busy fiddling with his phone. I was trying to absorb the surreal position of this oil tanker while I sipped the coffee.
The M/T Lukan, unlike the rest of the boats in this dock, is a permanent feature of this side of Manila. She is an island, independent from that of the area’s local government, that has built her own ecosystem around her — home to a few, an aid to those in need, and a witness to the hardships of life.
She is a hub for many, until she gets sold for scrap, which Elter says is the plan of the company that owns her.
“Manong Elter, mauna na po ako. Daan po ako minsan pag napadpad ako dito.”
We say our goodbyes and thank yous. I shake his hand and I step off the Lukan.
I took one last photo of the Lukan before heading back to the workshop. As I snapped, it got framed in the center of two jeepneys as they passed by. A fitting composition for this tiny island.
This workshop has opened my eyes to the other side of photography. Something I haven’t experienced yet. I definitely loved the whole experience of immersion and storytelling. I came into this shoot thinking I’d just be photographing the crew as they went about their daily lives onboard, but, I came out knowing the story of an oil tanker stuck between to opposing worlds.
A part of me is now attached to the Lukan and the life around her.
I took a total of 308 photos during that small time I was onboard the Lukan. It was then distilled to just 6. It was difficult to show the whole story of the Lukan with just 6 photos, so I added several more in this photo essay.
Lastly, I would like to thank Paco Guerrero, Nachi Ugarte, Carlo Gabuco, and most especially our mentor, Miguel Nacianceno for the wisdowm, Globe, my fellow photographers, and my Wai Ying Crew (Jeric, Bea, Noel/Joel/Howel) for an absolutely beautiful and productive weekend workshop.
Until the next Grid workshop!
Follow me on instagram: @nickaguilos
