Two years later we were back to meet members of Netty’s
family at an inland resort near New Corella, which boasted natural springs and
freshly cooked Filipino food. We were again escorted by the staff of RSCC Davao
and were soon reminded of the easy company and relaxed efficiency of Filipinos.
At the behest of Mr Sye, we were being escorted by two social workers, one of
whom - named Dodong - had direct experience of managing community improvement
projects in the district.
Whilst driving along Dodong received a text on his mobile. Shortly
after his texting a response, a second text arrived. He’d told us that Netty’s
folks be coming down from the mountains on a motorcycle. “Netty’s grandmother,
and several aunties will be there, and an uncle and a cousin,” he reported. And after the second text, “The mayor
and the village chief will also be there, but the Barangay Captain will be
slightly delayed.” By this time I was getting used to the Filipino past time of
joking around. I’d already seen three people on a motorcycle, but six or seven
people beggared belief. As for the parade of dignatories, yes well I wasn’t
that gullible. “Yeah, I suppose the Mayor couldn’t make it,” I retorted.
Fortunately my sarcasm was lost to the roar of the van’s motor
as we careered down the road. Ten minutes later we pulled into the grounds of
the inland resort. Netty was swamped with enthusiastic attention and drawn to
the bosom of her relatives. Lola Patacia, three aunties, Tito Erno and a cousin Jeremy. A handsome and
friendly man stepped forward after the preliminary greetings with the family, to
introduce himself as the village chief (Datu Mencio Balong). The Datu spoke
earnestly about the needs of the Mangguangan people of Purok 7 and I was very
impressed by his compassionate stewardship of the village.
The Barangay Captain, Alex Paña, arrived some time later,
dinking on the back of an official vehicle. He was extremely helpful and
offered to assist us to reach the village on our next visit. Meanwhile we’d all
feasted on soup, grilled fish, rice and fruit. Not to waste good leftovers, the
relatives bundled even the soup into bags and re-mounted their motorcycle
(hubel-hubel) for the journey home. See attached the photo of eight people on a
motorcycle (including the driver of course – Jeremy is seated behind her father
). It was a 155cc single cylinder Honda TMX I think, before the addition of extensions.
True to his word, Alex Paña proved extremely helpful when
we returned with our friends, Cath and Filbert eighteen months later. Filbert
had scouted ahead and had even taken the trouble of hiring a hubel-hubel to
visit Mambing a day in advance in order to ascertain whether it would be safe
for us to travel there. Alex offered to drive us to Mambing in an official
vehicle – although we cracked an axle on the return trip. We decided to buy
supplies, (including medical supplies - in order that Cath might run a clinic)
in preparation for the next day. Alex’s driver couldn’t make it, as the van was
still being repaired, so up we all went to Mambing our first hubel-hubel,
although Alex did arrange for ten soldiers to attend the village during our
stay, “Just a precaution – standard procedure when westerners visit the area,” we
were told.
Again, there was that rapturous moment of stepping out into
Purok 7 Mambing and Netty being swept up into the arms of her family – always
very emotional – with Heather and I blubbering ridiculously and too distracted
to take a photo of the event. Cath did the honours for us, while Filbert proved
invaluable with his easy-going manner and congeniality - readily engaging with members of the
community. He was thrown into the role of translator, doctor’s assistant (during
the clinic hours which Cath ran over the next two days) and adoptee detective,
as he sought out snippets of information about Netty’s birth parents, relatives
and the circumstances leading up to her relinquishment and subsequent placement
in an orphanage in nearby Tagum.
On the second day of our stay, we were all accompanied by
Datu Mencio, Erno, Jeremy, and a small kitten (with the ten soldiers of course)
to the gravesite of Marina Pasi. She’d been living in a bahay kubo belonging to
Mencio and Ellen. Marina had experienced a complication during Netty’s birth
with Tita Merenci in attendance. Unfortunately she died in the early hours. It
seems Netty had been lucky to survive. In accordance with Mangguangan custom,
the bahay had later been burned. Marina had been laid to rest next to the grave
of her father on a nearby hillside overlooking the banana plantation.
Before we mounted the hubel-hubels for our return to Tagum,
we were invited to return to the village on our next visit to the Philippines.
Thus setting the scene for our most recent sojourn. On this occasion we made
our own arrangements, which is to say that we telegraphed our intention via
letter to visit Mambing during the months leading up to our return. I even attempted
to contact the army division, which was active in the area, explaining the
timing and purpose of our visit - in order to ensure our security. As it
happened none of our correspondences arrived, so we turned up completely
unannounced.
Travelling by bus from Davao, we’d passed through Tagum,
scanning the hotels visible from the road, looking for appropriate lodgings for
the night. There we boarded a jeepney for the twenty odd kilometre ride into
New Corella, before taking a tricycle to the municipal building to announce our
arrival and to inform the authorities of our intention.
We received a most hospitable welcome from the staff.
Municipal Administrator Virgilio Getizo assisted us with travel advice, gave assurances
that our visit would be a happy one and provided a staff member to convey us to
the PNP (Philippine National Police) office. Nimfa Alcoran provided further
assistance and some welcome refreshments for our girls.
Pulis Chief Inspector (PCI) Alvin P. Saguban then met with
us to discuss our safe arrival in Mambing.
The uniforms of the Pulis are superbly tailored. Navy blue
trousers topped by a tooled, black leather belt secured by a dual-clasped silver
buckle, suggestive of eagle’s talons. The belt would drive any 8 year-old boy
wild – a weighty hand gun, ammunition clip, handcuffs, cosh and so on. The
slate blue, pin-striped uniform shirts are tailored and bedecked with golden or
silver insignia. Decorative, embroided symbols of the PNP adorned each arm. Epaulettes
sheaved with Prussian blue, display badges of rank, while a braided shoulder
trim in vivid red completes the ensemble.
Perhaps you know the look that movie actors and highly paid
models exhibit when caught unawares by a regular person (“Oh isn’t that…”).
They tend to look pale and bland compared to the highly polished movie product,
primped, pampered, and worshipped. One might suggest that they look guilty as
though undeserving of the attention lavished upon them - which of course they
are. The by-product of a happy coincidence of attractive bone structure, good
dentistry and a PR machine in overdrive. But what if this coincidence was
quietly delivered to the doorstep of an unsuspecting person (minus the PR
machine of course) – would it become a curse like the perpetual attention paid
to movie actors and royalty, or simply a state of grace, which is cheerfully
shared, bringing forth a radiant spirit and a warm heart? In the case of our
guest, this is precisely what had occurred.
PCI Saguban is the most handsome man I’ve ever met. He was
casually dressed, which is to say that his highly-polished patent leather shoes
and uniform trousers were only topped by a well-fitted white t-shirt. It was
easy to see from his physique that he kept himself very fit. We discussed the
purpose of our visit and our security whilst in the mountains. He was able to
reassure us concerning our personal safety, whilst another member of his staff
advised us of comfortable lodgings for the evening, at the Inland Resort. Apologising
for his state of undress, the PCI retired to the Pulis station to retrieve his
uniform shirt and a police cap before he attended to our safe arrival at the
resort, “It’s policy that we be in full dress uniform whilst escorting visitors”
he advised. Using a satellite phone he offered to put us in contact with our
friend, Datu Mencio Balong of Mambing (whom he’d recently met whilst
investigating a recent murder outside the Datu’s house).
On Saturday, we were driven to Mambing by PCI Saguban and
seven members of his staff. Having swum and sung karaoke during the morning, we
were collected in the police van, to be taken shopping in the local market.
Whilst Heather ordered supplies for a village feast, the PCI chatted amiably
with the stallholders, suggested practical measures for Heather’s ordering
(“Get two smaller containers, because the villagers will re-use the containers
as drinking vessels.”) and sampled the delicious fruit, commending the locals
on their excellent produce. Having loaded the shopping into the van we headed
off to collect the rest of the officers who’d by now finished their birthday
party and were ready for more police-work. They were happily lounging in the
shade of a large tree. Again however, their smart uniforms and heavy weaponry betrayed
the seriousness of their office. Loading rifles, and the leftovers of a
substantial feast into the back of the van, we were soon back on the road.
It seems that we took the long road (via Nabuturan), in
order to display a police presence in the area. The PCI was not about to waste
an opportunity for positive community policing. In fact he was in his element -
singing along to visayan songs, translating for us one concerning the natural environment,
with his fatigue cloth wrapped about his head. It seems that our host was a
university graduate in science. Certainly he was very adept at identifying
species of trees, their fruiting habits and the myriad uses of their timber. He
also described the conditions of local farmers, cultivation methods and the
history of the region pertaining to Spanish colonisation and its aftermath.
As we left the bitumen and began climbing into the mountains
the gravel roads narrowed and deteriorated until we were grinding along muddy
forest tracks, the PCI was clearly enjoying the adventure of negotiating the ‘roads’.
“You know you’re in New Corella when the roads become ugly!” he said as we
approached a particularly muddy and seemingly impassable section of track. The
outside wheels were centimetres from a sheer drop where a recent subsidence has
caused part of the surface to plummet into the jungle below….
“Left, left that’s it now there, through there (bump) ooooh!
– Any Which Way But Loose.” (the PCI had just quoted another famous movie
title). Many quips were made in this fashion with well-known song titles
peppering his speech (such as ‘Love is the Answer’ and ‘The World is not
Enough’ for me to name but a few).
We emerged from a particularly slippery and lumpy passage,
rounded a curve and emerged into a small village where we stopped. The van
disgorged full-dress policemen and crumpled tourists on the unsuspecting
locals. Several officers carried the leftovers from their earlier party feast to
the local Community Health Centre and prepared an impromptu banquet for the PCI
and ourselves. There we met the new Barangay Captain, Jerry Abonero, who
chipped in with litre bottles of Pepsi and Sprite, which had Mhiki’s eyes
popping out of her head. While we were invited to dine, contact was made with
our host, Datu Mencio Balong. By the time we were washing hands after a
satisfying feast the Datu had arrived. It was also advised that the road beyond
the village was impassable to 4 wheel-drives. Jerry managed to whistle-up a
hubel-hubel and a skylab in order for us to reach Mambing. Black clouds were
rolling in even as the luggage was being lashed to the frame of the skylab…
Three days later we were back in New Corella and again in
the company of the PCI. We commented on the rigors of his job (posted on the
bulletin board was information from a ‘credible source’ that there’d be an NPA
attack in which the guerrillas would be heavily armed and dressed as policemen).
“When we are alert we are relaxing and when we are relaxing we are alert,” he said,
rolling his r’s playfully. He continued to joke with Datu and his staff. At
that moment there were several loud bangs beyond the compound. He was instantly
all attention. The moment passed, “When you are relaxing you are alert,” I
commented. “So, how do you know you’re in New Corella?” he quizzed. “When the
roads get ugly.” He delivered one of his most disarming and dentally perfect smiles. I’d passed the test.
I suggested that if I were to publish a poster of the PCI in
his uniform, armed with this dazzling smile I could guarantee a boost for the
local tourism industry as the area would be swarming with Australian women wanting
to meet the ‘Pogi PCI’ (as it happens he has a wife and a daughter soon to be
graduating from kindergarten back in Zamboanga).
“Bob Marley says No Woman No Cry,” he smiled.
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