Chapter Two – the journey to the Cordillera, the wait in Bontoc

It was rather amazing to experience that the ride to Baguio was rather swift, it took just five hour from Manila but in Manila on Edificio de los Santos Avenue, EDSA, traffic jams agonizingly slowed the bus down. To get to Balintawak on EDSA took close to an hour already. EDSA, then the outer ring around the City, is an overwhelmingly smog like thoroughfare and in passing through, though passing may not be the right word, we were standing still more often than that we were moving. Once reaching Balintawak though we hit the super highway, as it was called, and with the toll station behind the ride was smooth and swift. After Dau near Angeles City, the city of Sin, the road narrowed and the bus somewhat slowed down. When we passed Dagupan near the Lingayen Gulf where in the remote past Chinese merchants traded with the people living there long before the Spaniards colonized the Philippines, named after King Philip of Spain, the run up into to Baguio began. Baguio the summer capital of Luzon as it is fondly called because of its altitude which, compared to the plains is somewhat cooler. Hence many of the rich have a second home there. Having arrived then we walked to the bus company serving intra Cordillera and confirmed our seats on six o’clock morning bus to Bontoc, a seven hour ride we were told. We had been reading up, but it was not nearly enough to comprehend the extent of the of tribal life in these majestic mountains. Mining was a major industry here and the lowlanders, as the tribals called the people of the plains, organized gold mining. Since we had a bit of afternoon left we decided to hire a jeepney to Benguet Mining Corporation to get an idea of life in and around the mine. One of their mines was not very far from the city but located down the mountain. On the way down the descent was steeper than I had anticipated and I felt relieved when around a sharp bend suddenly a strange looking building, apparently the home of the miners, appeared; the home of gold diggers. We were not allowed to go into the mine itself, but the miners and their families were more than willing to talk to us. All Igorots, men of the mountains, had come to live and work here because of land problems, a rising concern at the time, since much land was forcibly bought at back-breaking prices. No other way to earn a living now they were exploited here we were told by a group of men who were more or less organized by a labor union. We were talking and learned that the children around their families had come from many different places in the Cordillera but had no school to go and played games. We took pictures of them and were later led by a few men to a river nearby. This river was common property, not owned by the company, and so many people without a job survived by panning gold there. At first we could not quite believe that but they took us down to the river a few hundred yards away to see for ourselves. And, indeed around a bend in the scenic river flowing through what was once a forest a few men were busy panning and sieving. To separate the gold from the stones they had they had self-made contraptions. This was hard work and heavy too I learned when I accepted the invitation to try myself. A salvo of laughter sounded when they saw how clumsy I was and so friendship was born, more so when Jerry gave it a try too but hopelessly failed as well. So, here we were in a beautiful natural environment which because of the great scale mining had turned into wasteland. Gold, I wondered, it is good for nothing but since it is so rare it gives a kind of credence to value and for that reason alone it is beautiful and used to express status. “The contrast could not have been more profound,” Jerry said to the men, “people here have been robbed of their land and now, for a beggar’s fee, work to enable other people, people with means and stature, to show off.”

“So this is it,” I remarked, “this is where the gold comes from, the gold people adorn themselves with? Do they know what has to be done to get it? Do they know the cost of the environment, the people? What to do with the waste?” I asked.

“Yeah, this is the way we live. We have no alternative!” one of the men answered. Jerry reminded me then of our journey into the mountainous gold fields of Mindanao near the town of Tagum which is not very far from Davao. There we had experienced illegal and very dangerous gold digging. Hundreds of men, a whole village really with amenities like prostitutes provided too, were crawling under ground and had created an environmental danger in the process. The danger was downstream, the small river we crossed on a motor bike used as a taxi to get to the site, a site guarded by Army Personnel because frequent attacks were carried out by what they called rebel forces. These forces could be anyone and that means from criminal forces to the regular NPA or the MNLF, the Moro National Liberation Front. That danger was a real threat to man and beast because the miners used mercury to extract the gold, a common feature. This mercury when heated evaporates and hits the surface water. Going downstream that mercury causes severe illnesses. This had been the case when we were there and we had been cautioned about the perils of prolonged exposure. Thinking on this Jerry asked if the people in the river here were using the same techniques:

“Yes we do. To get pure gold mercury is a necessity,” another man answered, “but at least we are careful with it here and take precautions so it cannot leak away. Also we catch the vapors in a way we can used the mercury again and again,” he explained.

“So, you minimize the environmental effects which could severely hurt people even far away from this site?” I asked.

“That is the idea,” he confirmed. Though not quite satisfied yet our time was running out. It was nearing sunset and we had only time to see the next shift of miners getting ready to do their duty. Once they had been relieved those coming out of the bowels of the mountain before us, we too called it a day and warmly exchanged goodbyes then moved to wait for a jeepney to take us back:

“So Jerry,” I began as we waited on the roadside where in contrast to Taft Avenue in Manila or the main street of Baguio jeepneys here only passed by once every hour or so. Not on time they run, either because drivers rent their jeepneys or don’t like to spend fuel for nothing. So they waited till their vehicles were completely filled up. Full meant really full; especially in the countryside this could mean people would ride on the roof too. Luckily we did not have to wait long and were even luckier now that we knew this was going to be the last ride of the day. Not quite full when we left but filling up rapidly on the way and so crammed with people and lots of commercial produce we reached Baguio City. When we reached the terminal we sighed relief. Going to the hotel where we checked in before going to the mine was an option but Jerry suggested to get something to eat first. Like in Manila this was easily arranged for at the terminal eager vendors advertising their delicacies were running around. We however opted for a small restaurant at the far not so busy and noisy end of the terminal. There, at least, we could eat and talk. Chicken adobo we had with rice and other paraphernalia like gulai, vegetables.

“So tomorrow morning we should be on time,” Jerry said, “better if we have the management giving us a wakeup call,” he shrewdly said to avoid a potential hazard.

“Yes, good idea,” I answered but was thinking about what we could do in this town we never had been before, “do you want to get an early sleep or shall we take the opportunity to look around this famous resort of a town,” I asked, “was it not here that Bobbie Fischer defended his world title in chess?”

“I remember Reykjavik,” Jerry chuckled, “but yes let’s have a look around but not till late man. Rides like the one tomorrow I think can be tiring too and I want to be prepared so I like to browse these books some more Frans,” Jerry said. I nodded while we enjoyed the Adobo which was served with fragrant jasmine rice. We had hardly eaten all day so we managed to stash it away in a jiffy. Once satisfied and having a beer we looked around to see where we should go. This is when Jerry mentioned:

“I am curious to know if things here are as they are in Manila,” he said with a naughty smile and looked at me to see if we should go together.

“I like to read up too so for an hour then!” I agreed. And so we got up to stroll around on the main street and into the side alleys to see if we could find comparisons. What we did not expect and seldom had seen in Manila or other places, but in Davao and Bacolod on Negros, were street walkers. And there were few of the side alleys. We did not expect anything like it but when we were talking and walking I suddenly remembered that in Manila beyond Quiapo back streets we had come across them too.

“Come man, I give you a good time. Very cheap for you too, only 100 peso per shot. What do you say,” a girl on high heels and a short skirt said to me as I saw another one riding up to Jerry too. She looked expectantly and though I had no intention to invite her to our room I was intrigued by the way she bluntly tried to seduce. Overwhelmed by her attack I was stunned for a moment and could not resist her. She took that as a yes and asked me:

“Take me to your hotel. Where is it, three hours enough for you, or do you want an all-nighter. It is up to you. What is your name? I want to give you good time!”

From the corner of my eye I saw Jerry getting lost in the same predicament so played along with the girl for the moment and whispered:

“You are a beauty and I am sure we could be perfect for each other so an all-nighter would not nearly be enough but to be with you long time. You know, I want to know you well. Where do you come from,” I asked her gently.

“Oh, you are like that, you married?” she asked to my surprise.

“Nothing like that I answered, but tell me what your province is?” I persisted.

“Oh, I am from Abra but Ilocano side,” she revealed with a bitter sort of smile.

“Oh, you are an Ilocana, I see, so family of Ferdinand Marcos of course and not a tribal Tinggyan then,” I chuckled which put her on the defensive. It was like she thought I was belittling her and she shot fire.

“Of course I am not a Tinggyan, I am an Ilocana,” she said with pride but no longer touched me with her body, “yes our president is from my province she said now with even more pride.

“I happen to like the tribal people of the mountains,” I smiled, “don’t you?”

“Why you ask me that, you don’t want a good time with me? You want a Tinggyan?” she asked defiantly.

“It is not that. As I said if I like to be with you it is not for three hours, not for three days, not even for three months. I want to you know if you come with me. But not this time, for tomorrow morning we are leaving for Bontoc and will be back only in two weeks,” I explained.

“Oh,” she reacted as her mouth fell open, “so you don’t want me then. You want a tribal girl.”

“It is not that either,” I twinkled, “but you see we have only little time and that is not enough to be good to each other and that is what I want first and foremost, you know.”

“Okay then I will give you a blowjob for 50 peso all right? You have time for that I am sure,” she said in return and twinkled with her eyes too like she was convinced I could not escape her anymore.

“Oh oh oh,” I exclaimed, “oh dear let me tell you this. I am not after sex just like that or sex you can buy like pan de sal (morning small bread) or white rice. Now I am sure you do it for money so I will give you some okay?” I offered

But this was against her pride for she reacted furiously. She stepped back to look at me like she wanted to say something but held back. Then suddenly out of the blue she asked:

“Are you gay or what, or do you feel sorry for me? I do this for a living. I have a child to care for,” she said taking a bite at me like she was on fire.

“Yes I am sure you will not do it with a stranger because you fell in love with me first sight,” I said but empathetically this time, “so that is why I offer you twenty peso so you can buy things for your child, all right?”

“You mean it?” she asked not quite believing me as she sized me up from top to bottom scanning her eyes slowly but avoiding mine.

“Yes of course,” I answered and opened my purse to get her a twenty peso bill. But, as soon as she realized that this was serious now, she first came closer like she was about to take the note, then hesitated and stepped back again. I had practically forgotten about Jerry but saw him talking to the other girl now too and saw she was no longer taking possession of him. Seeing how she reacted I said:

“What is it dear, what is wrong?”

“Nothing but I cannot take money from you and not doing anything for it. Let me at least give you a blowjob. You are worth that,” she said in a tone which sounded like she was begging.

“No it is all right,” I assured her, “may be another time when we get to know each other better we will continue, now we just want to go for a beer and discover Baguio a little. We are new here you know.”

“I can go with you and show you if you like,” she suggested as she gained confidence. This time I had a good look at her. Though in an alley which was sparsely lighted by reverberating neon lights I could make out she was physically a rather attractive lady. Though it was out of the question for her to lead us around, we could agree on an hour or so, I made a note that it would be nice to see her when we would have more time so I suggested to her:

“Listen, how about me taking your address or phone number and so when we get back we will spend some time together, but not now?”

“I don’t know,” she said and explained, “I never give my private address to anyone. May be I should this time. You are a nice man!”

“You flatter, but it is the only way if we want to meet again,” I concluded. She wrote down how I could reach her and showed us where a few cocktail lounges and bars were located before we kissed goodbye on the cheek. Jerry followed in the slipstream. At the end of the short alley were a couple of bars where we were physically invited to come in to.

“Cheap beer and sexy chicks here,” a girl outside said as she laughed to stress the fact she was willing to accommodate each and every whim. Since the beer was cheap we did not waste any time and followed her lead. This proved to be a small bar, kind of sleazy, but cozy too. There were only a few customers around and the women outnumbered the men by a ratio of around one to three. Not surprisingly we soon had a couple of them around us, some were clad in just a bikini:

“We have go-go dancing here,” one of the girls hissed, “what do you want to drink Sir?” she seriously asked, emphasizing the word Sir.

“Just a couple of beers,” Jerry said, “draft beer preferably. Do you have that?” he asked seeing an installation behind the bar.

“Oh we have,” the girl answered him, “but it is Beerhausen, not San Miguel!”

“That is fine with me,” Jerry smiled which was the signal for the girl to inform the girls behind the bar to pour us a couple of glasses. When she returned with two mugs he asked:

“Tell me please, what is the score here? What do you have on offer?”

“Oh you must be very new,” the girl said, the others, not as straightforward as the one acting as a receptionist, giggling with her. They looked a bit shy but when they were ordered to go on stage, which was really a small spot on the bar itself, they transformed. Like they were going through a metamorphosis, now with a sure face, they began to dance moving their bodies seductively yet still in command and more so than when face to face with us; they looked like they could conquer the world.

“Yes, very new,” I acknowledged to the two girls who had remained with us and who explained that they were next to dance on the list, “we just arrived today but leave tomorrow!”

“So, only a short time then!” she concluded, “then you must have a look here and enjoy,” she continued with conviction as she laid a hand on my leg, “now what can I do for you,” she asked, “do you know the rules and regulation here?”

“No idea,” I answered her truthfully while keeping an eye on the dancing girls who moved like they had only eye for Jerry and me in the way they were seemingly offering themselves, “but please tell me what we should know?”

“Well,” she giggled, “you can buy a girl a drink and so the girl will talk to you and you can fondle her. You can try out several before you decide to bring one to spend the night with,” she said and quickly put a hand before her mouth smiling shyly, “we have a bar fine here!”

“Oh, what is a bar fine?” I asked.

“To release the girl so you can spend the night with her you have to pay the bar, but what you pay includes the girl. So, you do not have to pay her again. What you pay the bar includes everything,” she smiled seductively yet shy she was too. I looked at her letting her info sink in while scanning around too. Many impressions at the same time were there, quite overwhelming I thought and I knew I had to sort them out so I would not be taken in by that and do foolish things. The girls on the small stage were spreading their legs acting like they were ready to do anything on our minds, Jerry was talking to a girl next to us, close to him she was, her breasts on him as she stood next to the barstool Jerry was sitting on, a hand on his leg too. The info the girl just had given meant she waited for me to react while smiling and squeezing my leg. I deliberately waited longer than was needed and directed my attention to the stage for a moment, prompting the girl to double her efforts.

“You can chose anyone you like,” she said and she moved her hand to indicate really anyone in this bar was available, “you can chose me too,” she said and giggled, again with that shy undertone on her face.

“That is a lovely idea, it feels like this is the place to get spoiled completely,” I remarked, “but to get spoiled could be costly as I think you do not do this because you like me so much. We barely met,” I said and smiled at het too.

“No, no, for you not expensive and you can take the girl all night. She will do anything you like,” she stressed as I sipped the pretty good refreshing beer.

“You could be right but you see we have lots of things to do and the money is to make that possible. We did not know that this would come in between. I am afraid we don’t have the funds for that,” I explained.

“No, no, no, not expensive, twenty dollars only and you can do anything you like. You are a cheap Charley then?”, she suddenly asked changing her attitude to a confrontational one. Her face was no longer accommodatingly understanding and servile. No, now she looked up sternly for she thought she had to do with someone who had no means at all and so I would be a waste of time to her! So, I gave it a small thought and decided to let her be.

“Yes a Cheap Charley I am. You discovered that fast enough. I am sure you have lost your interest in me now right?” I answered her confrontation, “don’t worry I am not bothered by it. You can leave any time you like. You do not have to feel you should be here with me,” I said but got her on the wrong footing now. Her face increasingly souring she moved to talk to me again, but then Jerry jumped up. He smiled at her first then looked at me before he said:

“Let’s go man, we should be up early in the morning and we cannot afford to stay up till late. Yes, we are Cheap Charley’s in time,” he chuckled, “you know we would love to spend some time around here, but time is what we are short of so yes cheap we are, but in time only,” he said and with that had cleared the air. The girl looked at him with renewed interest. Obviously she wanted him to stay. But Jerry once more looked at the women on stage then drew his wallet and told the girl to get the bill who, without a word, went over to the cashier to get the change. When she returned she looked at me again too and said:

“Next time then? You keep your word?” she asked with force like she was asking for a long term commitment. Surprised about that come back I answered:

“But of course, you stole my heart already you know!!!”

“I did, wonderful,” she said in reaction and moved closer to slip a kiss on my cheek. Jerry’s girl looked on but did not say a thing. A sullen look she had on her face when we moved to the door. There the girl with me had regained full confidence and smiled when we left yet again, now outside, slipped a kiss. Only after we had rounded the corner and were out of sight we shared our experiences

“Man,” Jerry said aloud, “I thought she had towed you in. These girls were pretty convincing and I felt I wanted to be with one of them. We cannot afford that so I hope you don’t mind I cut it short,” he said apologetically as we were heading back to the hotel.

“No, it’s all right,” I laughed, “I think I had it under control, but it is true she pulled out a few surprises. But, our mission comes first, so no worries man,” I answered and he told me what the girl with him had suggested, which was quite a bit more than I had expected. Leaving the details aside we reached our room and only when we had arranged our stuff so we could get up and go right away the next morning he revealed:

“The girl proposed to come along with us. She is an Apayao, a tribal close to Kalinga and Bontoc, but I did not believe her and got a little worried so I asked where about she came from in Apayao and she said from around Tabuk, which is the big town there. So I asked further about the tribe and the culture and she blushed and stumbled and smiled which made me believe she was putting me on and she did, she just fooled me to get what she wanted, a night in the sack,” he laughed, “this is why I came over to you. We have better things to do man!”

“Right, we have a long ride ahead of us, we should have a good sleep. Two beers will do the trick. Don’t you think?” I laughed.

“Yeah,” Jerry agreed as we got ready to turn in.

Woken up by the prearranged knock on the door we shot into action. Moments after a brief shower we paced to the terminal where we found our vehicle quickly enough, a dilapidated bus. Not very reliable it looked on the outside and it was not very comfortable inside either. The driver however looked rather confident a man and this reassured us somewhat, yet a feeling of willfully endangering us crept up on me. The same driver told us he would leave on time so in 10 minutes so if we liked we could get a fast breakfast. Because it was a long ride we took it to heart his advice. Make shift restaurants about and we had coffee pan de sal and fried eggs. Feeling reborn we hopped on the bus just before it set off on the winding road ahead. And winding it was, so much so I felt nauseous a couple of times. It took so long to get to Bontoc because the bus picked up any passenger on the way even if they were only going from one village to the next and we passed many villages. Though we intended to read the books we had brought, the road leading over high mountains and the people on board were interesting which made it next to impossible to concentrate. We gave up and instead talked about their scenery to old ladies, children and all kinds of men. They in turn happily told us about where they were from, what to expect but also about the roadblocks set up by the Armed Forces of the Philippines to prevent movement from the New People’s Army or like an old lady stated:

“Ahhhhh, our messengers take the bus too. They carry small notes to inform the cadres about the military movement. Cadres themselves of course travel in civilian outfits. And, as long as their face is not known, this is quite safe!”

“So, you think we have guerillas on board,” Jerry asked.

“No, when they are civilian and act like civilians, like us, they do not act like soldiers. They are our men and they defend us from these harsh good for nothing lowlanders. They only want our land and what they can get from it. They steal our gold and our forests,” she solemnly said but was ready to spit on the floor of the bus, perhaps even on a Philippino soldier when the bus stopped and a few men of the Armed Forces of the Philippines stormed inside. Excited they were, like they were certain they had hit on a bus full of guerillas. When they noticed Jerry and me, they changed their behavior dramatically. From close to being brutal and disrespectful four stopped short to first look at us before coming closer. Then one gently asked about our destination. Jerry noticed the change too and was prepared to answer them:

“Oh we are on our way to Bontoc Sir. You seem to be quite excited. Is anything the matter? Are you chasing someone? Are we in danger?” he asked. They did not expect this naiveté and comprehensively began to explain how dangerous and explosive the situation was around here and that it would be better for us to return:

“Sagada is a long way yet,” one of them with a AK 47 in his hands with two chains around his shoulders and around his neck filled with bullets long enough to reach to his waist, “but on the way there are many guerillas laying in waiting. They may take on this bus and when they do your life is in danger very much. In Sagada the people are demonstrating and the military has taken over. What are you going to do in Bontoc?” he asked in turn. Jerry, not deterred whatsoever, replied:

“Yeah Sagada is a beautiful place I heard and we wanted to pay a visit. Lots of tourists go there. Is it forbidden territory now? Why should it be, these Bontoc people won’t hurt a fly so why has the military taken over?” he asked, again putting the soldiers on the defensive.

“There is a lot of NPA around there, no you can go there but I am sure the NPA will strike anyone just to get attention. Don’t go there. Wait till it is safe again. These Bontocs defy the policies of our government and now some have joined the NPA too. Bontoc is not safe for you either. Are you just tourists?” he asked.

“You can say that indeed,” I smiled as I butted in, “these mountains and its people are so beautiful, so unique, so manmade too these rice terraces that I am sure we could spend several weeks here without getting bored. But,” I said to appease them, “if you think it is dangerous indeed perhaps we should reconsider Jerry because the way these soldiers stormed the bus shows they mean business. They frightened me,” I stressed deliberately to Jerry while ignoring the soldiers looking down on us as they stood and towered above us.

“No, no,” the first soldier hastily said, “we are just checking all on board for weapons. We do not want anything to happen and try to prevent ambushes. This is not a safe trip you are on. The rebels don’t care about who they hit. We have to make sure nobody gets hurt so we check all who are passing by.”

“You better get on to that then,” Jerry spoke like he gave them an order, “talking to us won’t get you very far, but please check us too!”

“This busload looks safe enough,” the commander concluded. As he ordered his men to get out the passengers sighed and the bus moved away. We saw the stacks of green sandbags behind which the soldiers, fully armed, were laying in waiting.

“This looks like a warzone Jerry,” I remarked, “what have we come in to?”

“Yeah,” he commented and sighed impressed by the men with enough firepower to kill hundreds of people. As the bus left the bulwarks behind us we looked on in amazement till they were out of sight. To us this was new, but to the people, primarily tribals, this was not uncommon as one of our fellow passengers told us:

“It all began when Macliing Dulag from Bugnay in Kalinga near Bontoc organized the resistance against the Chico Dam project,” he said, “when the people in great numbers followed his lead, they were held back by the Armed Forces and later they treacherously killed him in his own home in his village. This was the signal for most people to rise and now you see what the result of that is. Later again we joined the new People’s Army and these stupid soldiers were sent to break our resistance. Stupid because they are used; they don’t know anything of these mountains here. They are ordinary lowlanders and don’t know guerilla warfare. We pity them, but not while in combat. You see these macho boys like gun toting and we hate them for that. Yes they are stupid because they are going to be killed because they follow orders blindly yet they act like they own our land. They rape and kill and they are not punished for their vile deeds. I am sure when you go to Sagada where the army is under siege you will know much more about it than I can tell you.”

“We certainly must read up on him then,” I said and for fear of revealing our mission I quickly produced the book on the Kalinga/Apayaos and showed it to him. Jerry looked on as he said:

“Well here it is, the Budbud tribe of the Kalingas. That is Bugnay village but some years ago. It is bigger now and completely under the control of the NPA and Pedro Dungoc is the commander there. No army can enter that village unseen,” he said with pride, “it is a beautiful place and you should go there if you have the chance. I doubt if you get there though,” he chuckled aloud teasing us.

“We have to meet some people in Bontoc,” Jerry said, “but we are not sure when, so we may go around a little. On the map I see Sagada is not far but how about Bugnay how far is that from Bontoc?” he asked.

“Bad luck for you men, because it is not so far. You take a jeep direction Tabuk on the Halsema Highway. Everybody in the jeepney terminal of Bontoc knows about it. It takes about two hours to get there. Bad luck for you!” he smiled.

“If we wanted to go that I would think it is good luck,” Jerry said contradicting him and smiling because of it too.

“Hahahahahahah, you got to be joking. You don’t know what you are talking about and you already want to go. You can’t be as stupid as these Philippine soldiers, these machos who talk big but have a bird brain. Don’t go there, at least not on your own. You may be able to go to Sagada and I advise you to do that,” he said but seriously now.

“Okay, we understand your concern and will take it to heart,” Jerry answered, “I am sure we will not do foolish things. We like some adventure but do not fancy suicide,” he chuckled his characteristic chuckle again. Now with the books around us and the bus not completely filled up other people curiously came to browse through them. Much was recognized and surely they saw their own environments with different eyes. So, we talked and got invited to stay in certain villages along the route and jotted down addresses and names of people to visit should we have the chance. This broke the journey and though we were stopped by military several times we were still seen by most passengers as good omen because no one was beaten up, arrested or worse like anything else that is on a torturers mind. This was a fantastic way of getting to know the people we were reading about at the same time. So, with the land on either side of the road the bus rode over steep mountain passes. The people in the bus plus the stories on them and their past in written from with us in book form, made us feel like we were endowed with a unique exposure. After thee reach long ride we encountered a roadblock near the junction to Sagada. This time not a military block but a landslide. Just beyond the branch off to Sagada was the road to Sagada with the fall out on the road to Bontoc. We were stopped by police because clearing vehicles were busily riding off and on. This gave us the opportunity to look to see the Sagada road climbing up high to disappear out of sight just over the edge of the mountain.

“Beyond that highest point there is Sagada,” said the man who had become our friend, “it is not very far but before entering the village the military camp is on full alert. The soldiers will frisk anyone before you can actually get into the village. I am told that the people are protesting and don’t let any soldier in. They are negotiating now. That is the latest I heard,” he explained as the trucks were moving earth before our noses till our driver got the signal to move out. To continue our journey we jumped on board again. Sagada was indeed not very far and instead of going there about an hour later we rode into Bontoc town which was actually much larger than I had thought.

* Box 2 Macliing Dulag

MACLIING DULAG. Macliing Dulag, a Kalinga tribal leader, was killed by Phil. Army troops on April 24, 1980 due to his staunch opposition to the Chico dam project. His death anniversary is now commemorated as Cordillera Day.

Carrying the torch of Cordillera martyrs From the point of view of the martyrs’ children

MALIBCONG, Abra (May 4) — Banwar ka ti umili (You are peoples’ martyrs) Banwar ti Cordillera (Martyrs in the Cordillera)

This Salidummay for the Cordillera banwar (martyrs) reverberates in the air. As delegates to the 21st Cordillera Day lit torches, they rekindled the principles that these martyrs fought and died for. A solemn moment was held to commemorate these peoples’ martyrs: who fought for the defense of the Cordillera homeland, to their last breath.

Several of the martyrs remembered included Macliing Dulag, Pedro Dungoc Sr., Ama Daniel Ngayaan, Romy Gardo, Matthew Guiniden, Ama Mangatam, Lakay Pocding Pascual, and Delia Mangay-ayam. One of the barangays of Bangilo District of this town, Buanao has at least 12 in the list of martyrs. The commemoration is a yearly tradition in Cordillera Day celebrations and this year’s celebration is equally colorful. Families of the martyrs are among the lists of participants in this year’s well attended occasion.

Dulag Macliing’s son Francis Macliing, a member of the Butbut tribe and now in his 50s, is among the participants from Kalinga province. He is one of the children of pangat (tribal leader) Macliing Dulag, hero of the struggle against the World Bank-funded Chico River dams. The dams could have submerged large tracts of agricultural lands of the i-Kalinga and i-Bontok ancestral domain, Francis relates. He remembers how his father died when Soldiers led by Lt. Leodegario Adalem strafed their house with bullets from high powered firearms. That was in the evening of April 24, 1980. The soldiers’ bullets killed his father while Pedro Dungoc Sr., another anti-Chico dam opposition leader, hid inside Macliing’s house. Francis recalls that Dungoc survived the soldiers’ murderous attack but pursued the struggle by joining the “soldados ti umili,” the New Peoples’ Army (NPA). Francis remembers, too, their quest for justice from the state’s vil (BPO) can facilitate the resumption of their talks with Betwagan.

He is optimistic that these elders will help them objectify in the conflict. He adds that his brother-in-law has been one of the casualties of their on-and-off bodong relations with Betwagan. He is willing to help in the facilitation for the re-establishment of their severed bodong, he said. His father was known for his role in the multi-lateral bodong against the “common enemies” of the people. Multi-lateral bodong, from the traditional bilateral, was first utilized by the Bontoks and Kalingas in solidifying their intertribal unity against the Chico dam project. He holds on to that principle firmly.

Pedro Dungoc’s son I first interviewed Pedro Dungoc Jr. a few years back. That was after the Quezon City Bantayog ng mga Bayani included his father, Pedro Dungoc Sr., in the list of martyrs who opposed the dictatorial rule of then Pres. Ferdinand Marcos. Dungoc Sr. joined the NPA after the murder of Macliing. He died in the Cordillera Mountains. “We are happy about that (Bantayog) news,” he claimed during that first interview over the phone. He anticipated the expectations of him pursuing his father’s unfinished tasks. Though he is not promising anything yet, he is already committed with the Center for the Cordillera Peoples Concerns (CCPC), a Manila based organization of Igorots.

He is now in their hometown in Kalinga while his two younger siblings are attending college. He just graduated and is an intern with the Episcopal Diocese of Northern Philippines which covers the Mountain Province and the Tinglayan, Kalinga churches. Admittedly, he is pursuing his father’s tasks through the institutional programs of the church. His programs cover the municipality of Tinglayan, specifically the Butbut tribe barangays of Ngibat, Buscalan, Bugnay, Basao, Locong, and Butbut proper and Tulgao. He is assisting Father Pablo Buyagan in these areas. His work is focused on evangelization, monitoring church projects, and organizing the Episcopal youth and women. He pointed out that evangelization should focus on spirituality and the applications of the church theories into the daily reality. He thinks that the non-application of these theories into the daily reality could be the reason why some organizations of Episcopal women and youth turned out to be inactive. He adopted the discussion of community issues in their church-related activities.

He admitted that he is supposed to have his internship at the Saint Mary’s the Virgin in Sagada. But the Butbut-Betwagan tribal conflict confined his movement in Tinglayan. He felt this limitation. Despite this however, he continues his church work. This includes the physical establishment of Episcopal churches in the Butbut tribe barangays.

Carrying the torch The commemoration of the banwar rekindles the struggle exemplified by these martyrs in defense of land and resources. Delegates resolved to utilize their organizations and indigenous systems in opposing projects like corporate mining and dams that destroy the land, the very foundation of their existence. The beat of the gongs played every Cordillera Day celebration symbolizes collective words of unity – to carry the torch of the Cordillera martyrs in defending the ancestral homeland. This is the real meaning of the Cordillera Day

After getting off the bus and saying goodbye to the people we had met we headed for the hotel we were assigned to by Julia. No, there was no message for us, the receptionist told us. A little disappointed as we thought things would work like clockwork we realized now we had been slightly too optimistic.

“Now we wait,” Jerry said, “we have checked in so the contact will certainly know we are in Bontoc, but I do not care for waiting around for him or her in the room. Let’s discover this capital of the Bontoc people Frans,” Jerry suggested.

“No use in hanging around and do nothing while a world of news is waiting just outside to be discovered,” I laughed, “ I will freshen up and then shall we go for a stroll, the market perhaps, so we can get something to eat too?” I asked.

“Let’s go. I will go ahead to ask the lobby people a map,” Jerry replied as I moved into the bathroom. Five minutes later I emerged refreshed, got dressed and to go downstairs too. I saw Jerry having a discussion with the receptionist and so when I joined them he already had a route pointed out on a free map made available by the hotel on behalf of the local tourist promotion office.

“There is a lot to see and do around here,” Jerry explained showing me some details, “but I hope we do not get to see them all for it will take three or more days. The main suggestion is to visit Sagada too for a day. The latest is that things have substantially quieted down there and we can freely move around once we are in the village. They have some ancient cave graves there you know,” he said, “but for now let’s got to the market; I just heard there are lots of traditionally dressed Bontoc women there.”

“Good idea, but I want more information on the Sagada people and their culture plus what is actually happening there. I do not want to run into an ambush or risk my life otherwise. We have enough on our minds as it is.”

“That speaks for itself man, our mission comes first, but I feel we we’ll have to wait a long time. And, in that case I like to see something, agreed?”

“Fine then, but usually I am the eager one. Now I am sure when we are going in and will be out of reach of the military but with the NPA we’ll encounter lots of things, culturally too,” I said and nodded, “let’s not overdo ourselves. And, when nobody turns up we still have time to do all we have in mind now. I’ll call the office in Quezon City if we have not been met in say three days?”

“All right, but now let me take a few minutes to freshen up too. I have been stupid not to take a shower. I feel dirty now for some reason. You check that map meanwhile?”

“I don’t know you anymore Jerry; I have never seen you that anxious. Yes, I wait for you here. Let’s have coffee in the market or a beer perhaps?” I laughed as he left in a hurry as I looked at the map he gave me. The friendly receptionist showed me some of the usual highlights, but I was interested in the tribal life so he referred me to a handicraft center and a small museum not very far from the market. Jerry had not taken very long so when he reappeared we left for the market ten minutes later. To our astonishment we must had far too late because the place was practically deserted:

“This is because most people come early morning. They sell their fresh produce and return to their villages shortly afterward,” the lady from a roadside restaurant told us. She had surprised us with native coffee in brewed style. It was a surprise because practically everywhere we were served coffee like this; a cup filled with hot water and on the saucer a packet of powdered instant coffee, a packet of sugar and powdered milk. She asked us what we were doing here and we answered her innocently that we were travelling through to shoot pictures of scenery and people, preferably the people in traditional attires:

“Then you should come early mornings. Till about ten there will be lots of women in their own dress here, some men too,” she explained, “it will be wonderful for you and very colorful it is too!”

“Then tomorrow morning it is,” I said, “provided you will have the same excellently brewed coffee again,” Jerry remarked in laughter.

“But of course and you can have your breakfast here too, a traditional Bontoc one?” she asked teasingly.

“Lovely,” we answered her,” but what else is there to do around here?” Jerry asked.

“Some beer you can drink of course, but there is nothing much else in the evenings. Bontoc is not so big. You will know it in a couple of hours. Country people live here, family life. So, don’t compare it Manila,” she giggled, “if you know what I mean!!!”

“So, when you don’t know anyone there is nothing much to do then?” I asked.

“Not much yeah,” she laughed but not in a bad way and looked at us both, one by one, before continuing, “we have no seedy places here, but you can enjoy some local people and perhaps some bragging military in the bar. If you want to know what is going on then you better go there. No women you will find, but good people who will talk,” she laughed.

“It is a very good idea,” Jerry said and we laughed about her enthusiasm she so happily shared with us then left her to venture into the main street of Bontoc town. She was right the place looked deserted. Primarily a market and administrative town plus of course a military camp nearby there was not much to do but to see a beautiful sunset with striking light on the mountains beyond. We headed for a restaurant to have dinner which was a kind of bar at the same time and landed into a mixture of people, precisely the kind the market lady had described. Though what took me by surprise was that there were ordinary soldiers but equipped with bullet and guns having a beer there too. They looked up immediately and because they did not expect foreigners here this time they came towards us:

“Hey Americano’s what are you doing here?” one of them asked us like he owned the place, “it is not tourist season yet,” he laughed. I took a deep breath but in a way the men would not feel confronted so smiled and answered.

“I was here a couple of years ago and loved it. We may like to go and do some trekking. The mountains are beautiful and this time I like to shoot pictures, but let us get something to eat and have a beer with plenty of pulutan (snacks eaten by beer).”

“As long as you do not snap our camp or any solders you will be all right,” he said, “yes have a beer with us. Where are you from men?”

“Oh I see, we intend to picture the scenery and the people but if you plant your camp in between I am sure we can retouch it from the frame,” I laughed, “and oh are you on duty or on free time? Drinking beer could be dangerous when on duty,” I teased. They found that a good joke but were surprised I put that to them. Obviously according to them we should have shown some immediate respect for them, or for the weapons they carried. So, without losing his temper yet the first soldier said:

“Naaahh, we are off duty but will carry our weapons at all times. There are a lot of guerillas around here. It is not safe right now but a beer or two is okay, but tell me where you are from?”

“Oh we come from Amsterdam, the capital of the Netherlands. Have you heard of it?” Jerry asked now.

“Amsterdam, Amsterdam, is that not somewhere in Europe? I have a few cousins in Europe, contract laborers, export labor as some say, OFW’s we say here. Do you know what that means?” he asked while the other one was fetching the beers.

“No idea, but I am sure you can tell us right?” Jerry answered teasing him a little more.

“It means Overseas Foreign Workers. Many Philippinos do that but some like us stay to defend our country,” he chuckled.

“Oh, that is interesting,” I laughed too now, “so there is a foreign threat here in the mountains then Sir,” I asked him.

“No, no, no, but we have many guerillas. Many Bontoc here don’t agree with what our government wants and we are here to show them they have to. It is democracy here Sir so they have to listen to the government they elected, it is that simple,” he laughed again.

*Box 2 The Cordillera Central is a massive mountain range situated in the northern central part of the island of Luzon, in the Philippines. Several provinces bound it, namely Benguet, Abra, Kalinga, Apayao, Mountain, Ifugao, and a city located entirely within it, which is Baguio City. In the north, it terminates at Pasaleng Bay, Ilocos Norte, where the coastal bridge Patapat Viaduct winds through. It links with the Sierra Madre through the Caraballo mountains in Nueva Vizcaya province. The whole range was formerly termed as Nueva Provincia, or New Province, during the Spanish times.

Its inhabitants are presently Ilocanos, and the Igorot, a loosely-connected federation of tribes belonging to the mountains. Most of them speak English, due to the presence of a former American base in the mountain ranges, John Hay Air Base.

“So rather than the police it is the Armed Forces who protect the Philippinos from their own people,” Jerry smirked knowing this could fire them up. But, the mood was good so he thought teasing them would do us all good. This was not so. Like he was bitten by a snake his face changed dramatically and he sneered with a raised voice;

“Look, you are foreigners here, what the hell do you know about our nation? Who do you think you are that you can judge the Government and the Armed Forces? Do you know we have the power to send you back or arrest you for trespassing or anything we can think of?” he said raising his voice as he spoke, his eyes flaring now. This was an impressive show of verbal force and we could feel it, heck the whole restaurant/bar fell silent till the other soldier returned with the beers asking his mate:

“What is going on man? Are these people troubling us?” he asked looking worried.

“These foreigners think they know better, they criticize us what we are doing here. Who are they to do that? We take orders from our government. We are here for a good reason. You know it, I know it, they know it. What do they know?” he asked in a way he would not expect a contrary answer. So, his mate looked around and noticed the people were stunned just like we were for a moment. His mate did not answer but by moving towards him he physically confirmed his stand, yet convinced he did not look. Jerry and I quickly gained confidence again by smiling to hide our anxiety then this time I said:

“You have the guns, you have your friend and you have frightened people around you. So good man there is no trouble whatsoever about this tease really. Let’s have a beer and toast to each other. Have a good time?” I asked and smiled relaxed. In turn he sized me up then looked at his friend and said:

“You better don’t tease a tense soldier, but okay you are a foreigner and you don’t know anything so you can’t do much harm anyway. Yeah let’s have a beer!”

“Okay,” I laughed and the atmosphere changed. Tension faded fast when I ordered a few more beers for the people around; there were not that many anyway, so it was not a costly gesture. Soon things went back to normal and the overconfident soldier put an arm around me his gun hanging on his shoulder. We toasted and when I felt the situation was relaxed once more I asked him a few things:

“No really man, we don’t have an idea what is going on here. But perhaps you can tell us?” “Yeah, may be you could tell us how dangerous it is if we go for a walk tomorrow? We like to go up that mountain to overlook Bontoc and visit a village,” Jerry contributed.

“If you don’t go too far and only walk to the villages in the vicinity, then you can, but you won’t be escorted by any security. That is not possible, we need every man in our battalion,” he said firmly so it was obvious he had closed off that thought. Jerry and I exchanged a brief look and without a word agreed that it was better to let it rest.

“Cheers,” Jerry exclaimed loud enough for everyone to hear and so lighted up the restaurant. Unfortunately I could not help but tease the soldier one last time and said:

“Next round is on you man! This is what we have come for, to have a beer with a real soldier, one as responsible as you and so to drink with!”

“Okay,” he laughed enjoying the compliment but not realizing it was a tease still. In any case he did not want to give it a further thought and so from now on all went well. The joint became lively again but now that we could look around I astonishingly noticed that besides the wife of the owner there was no other woman in the bar of the restaurant. I walked over to the bar and asked the lady if this was normal.

“Oh well,” she whispered, “with men like this around no Bontoc girl will show herself. They have left the wives of the men too. We do not like them here but if the men leave too they will get angry. They know the Bontoc women are not like the lowlander girls. Here the women don’t sell themselves. You want to walk to a village,” she asked.

“Hopefully we have time to do so,” I said, “we are waiting for some people and when they don’t come tomorrow yes we would like to go up the mountain.”

“Okay there is a trail leading up and when you have come on top beyond it there are a few villages. The people could be a little shy you know. There are not many ‘Americanos’ doing what you want to do. So, when you are in a village be gentle, children may run away when they see you,” she laughed.

“We will do as you advise, it is their village and we shall adapt,” I smiled, “:can we have something to eat? Perhaps a Bontoc dinner?”

“Yes you can and I will make you something right away, for your friend too?” she asked and looked at Jerry, who was wildly gesticulating and talking to soldiers and local Bontocs alike.

“Do you like a Bontoc dinner,” I practically shouted at Jerry, “the lady here told me she will cook for us man!”

“Marvelous,” he shouted back, “yes I would love to taste the Bontoc cuisine,” he laughed and things were moving smoothly from there. We gathered practical information on how to move around and learned there was regular transport to Bitu, Lagawe too, the village where I was once to take notes and do photography on the healing of a broken leg. It was early evening yet but a few beers, a very tasty meal and a few laughs later we called it a day. Most likely we would get up early for the walk up and we had had a long day already on the bus too. But, it took us some time to get away, because now one after the other offered beer. We referred to the soldiers because as Jerry teased them and now that they were fully agreeable Jerry teased:

“They have the money men; they are paid by the government and so by us. In a democracy it is the people’s rule and so they are at your service. Thank you for the kind offer,” Jerry smiled when he turned towards the soldiers offering a warm embrace before actually leaving the restaurant which had much more of a regular bar now. Though early evening the beers and the good meal had made us sleepy.

“It was tense for a while man,” Jerry remarked as we walked back to our hotel, “we better keep a low profile and play along with these soldiers. You never know if they feel compelled to check us out. We cannot afford that. You are easily tempted to go against these people who are under orders and do not think for themselves,” he said and kind of reproaching me.

“Yeah, you could be right there. Perhaps we met them unexpectedly I was very much tempted. Arrogance ruled but not much content to base it on. You are right better we don’t give them reason to question us. Anyway it went well I think?”

“We had a fine meal man,” Jerry laughed deliberately dodging my retort, “oh man I am tired. This Red Horse beer they are drinking here is strong. I feel a little tipsy already,” he said in changing the subject, “I am turning in right away and look forward to go for a good walk tomorrow,” he concluded in a tone like a horse smelling the stables.

The next morning we rose early and because we had slept early we felt refreshed and ready to move. The receptionist had no news for us so we decided to have the breakfast which was promised to us and indeed the lady at the market was delighted to serve us. We then strolled over the now busy market and made mental notes on the produce and handicraft sold by primarily Bontoc ladies. Many wore their traditional attires, colorful garb indeed. I took pictures and the ladies stopped short to produce golden smiles. The cloth and jewelry specifically Bontoc in front of them they were more than willing to show us their wares. We knew we had to return after our trip inside to see if we could buy a few things for ourselves or possibly for exhibition purposes. But, for now it was impossible to carry things along when we could get into the NPA controlled areas. Thinking on that after our visit to the market and having another coffee at the stall of the, who we now called ‘the laughing lady’, we prepared ourselves for the climb up:

“Is there military around over that hill behind Bontoc town?” I asked her, “or is it NPA controlled?”

“The soldiers don’t go there unless they know it is safe,” she smiled, “lots of NPA could be there, but they never stay. They don’t stay in camps but go from village to village. Camps are targets, they can easily be attacked. The NPA will not take that kind of risk,” she said.

“But how does the NPA know about the military coming in for an attack? How do they know where to ambush them?” Jerry asked.

“Oh I am no expert in that. I know a little but you better ask in the villages or when you are in luck you can ask the NPA themselves. They will be happy to tell you,” she said.

“They will reveal their secrets?” Jerry asked and surprised himself but now surprising her too.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “it is really simple. The NPA is a people’s movement. The people resist what the Government of the Philippines is planning to do with them, their land. So, it is the people who inform the NPA, the NPA acts on behalf of the people. The guerillas of the NPA are all people from here. Only the ones training our tribal men and women are from the lowlands and some officers. Have you heard of father Balweg?” she asked.

“Yes, briefly,” I answered, “some people in Manila said he is a Tinggyan from Abra and stationed around here. An elusive man, he is tactical and a priest?” I asked her to see if she could confirm what we had been told.

“Ahhhh, that’s right. He is a celebrity here. He outwits the military. Who knows when you go up you will meet him?” she stated solemnly before she burst out in laughter, “ it is a pity you cannot go to Bugnay. It is not so far from here.”

“Oh Bugnay? We have heard about that village too,” Jerry said with whipped up attention, “is that not Macliing Dulag’s village, the slain leader?”

“Yes, that is him and his village, but you can’t go there. The NPA controls it completely and you cannot contact them. Besides you are tourists they would not want to take that responsibility,” she concluded but smiled still.

Responsibility?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. When you are in the white areas you are their responsibility. You are there because you have requested that and they have decided you are trustworthy enough to come to know what they exactly do and for what reason,” she explained, “they are responsible and will defend you in case of an attack. In combat you would be a liability to them and they have to put men around you to protect you. That has to be organized. So, even when up there in a village you will meet NPA, they might not be bothered with you. They may even ask you to leave, for they do not want to take the responsibility.”

“Oh I see, yeah they have to be careful. I would not want anyone killed just because we are here and are eager to meet the NPA and to learn about their motivation,” Jerry agreed and made an attempt to start the journey on foot, but the lady laughed again saying:

“When you go up you will see lots of villagers. Most of them will not speak English to you. They cannot, but they will be curious and you will be surprised about the poverty. There is a lot to see and feel. We are nice people you know, nice people around,” she giggled. I was puzzled by the emphasis she put on nice people around and giggling about it, so I asked:

“Nice people around, yeah we did not doubt that. What made you think we were?”

“No, no, no, it is a joke,” she laughed louder now, “okay I explain. You know NPA stands for Nice People Around or NO Permanent Address. It means New People’s Army of course but we say to each other do we have nice people around?”

“Hahahaha,” Jerry reacted, “and then the response to ‘are there nice people around is; we have some who have no permanent address right,” he laughed louder now.

“Yesssss, and now you can be on your way,” she smiled and pointed the way out with her finger. The small path up the mountain was not far behind our hotel and soon we realized that walking up takes a lot of energy. Jerry was in a better condition than I and had less trouble. I was compelled to stop several times.

“Good grief man, this is exhausting. I should go in training before doing this,” I exclaimed when we were at what looked like half way up. Sweat dripping from my body and now standing still for a moment I had the opportunity to look beyond to gasp at the splendid view before us, “oh man look this panorama is extends all the way to the other mountain and we can see the fields beautifully,” I said when a man in traditional attire came down with rice on stalks on his shoulder. He stopped to see what we were looking at; obviously to him this was nothing special. He saw that every day. He had is typical Bontoc cap or dark brown hat on made of rattan as he looked at us and asked for a light. Of course we did not understand him but when he produced a stick to smoke from behind his ear we understood and Jerry lighted him up. He smiled but was at loss about who we were and what we were doing here. With communication impossible, but for the bare necessities like gesturing with hands, feet, we smiled as we gazed over the vast area filled with rice fields with scattered houses below us. When he had finished his smoke he waved and went on his way. Rested now, we too moved up and the going was tough, but rewarding. As Jerry effortlessly went up I puffed and sighed instead but did not give up. Content about a stretch of flat surface ahead of us we firmly walked and reached what seemed to be the top. But when there another 100 to 200 meters of height came into view. This time the rice terraces we passed laid beneath us and the view expanded suddenly so much that we saw hundreds of them; only one man in the center was doing his work, it looked like he was busy with weeding. Our gaze away from this man, who looked like a busy ant, a village came into view. Only a few hundred meters now ahead and on flat terrain we soon reach the first houses. There was nobody to be seen yet. The houses were made of materials available from the forest, the roofs made of sturdy leaves. Remarkably we could not detect windows in the dwellings which were built quite near to each other. Suddenly a few children who shocked to see us emerged and who frantically tried to take no notice of us. Right behind them an old man in loincloth with his traditional cap on the head came out of the house and he, not as shy as the children, at first looked at us sternly. It was like he was saying to himself: who are these people, these strangers who look so different and are not from here. The children looked at us from a safe distance and waited for something to happen. I felt shy too and knowing that Jerry not easily makes the first step I thought of breaking silence and said:

“I am sorry we do not speak the Bontoc language, but we will introduce ourselves in English if you don’t mind.”

“That’s all right,” he smiled to our surprise, “I speak a little English, but not too much.”

“Aahhh, very good,” I continued, “we are visitors here. This is Jerry and I am Frans from the Netherlands. I hope we are not intruding. Do foreigners come to visit your village?”

“Some, not many, what are you doing here,” he asked in a gentle and melodic voice.

“Oh in Bontoc town we are waiting for some friends to take us to villages. We are photographers and journalists and came to see for ourselves what is going on,” I said.

“So, you know about the militarization?” he asked.

“Yes, and we have experienced some of it on the way to Bontoc,” Jerry cut in.

“And you know about the Chico Dam we are protesting against,” he asked further, “and the peace pact we have with other villages against the government and that the Cordillera Peoples Alliance, CPA, has been founded to unite our people so we can stand up for our rights?”

“No, not about the CPA but surely we will look that up,” Jerry assured him. The children, relaxed now, played with each other as the old man talked:

“You can take pictures here and you can ask me what you like!”

“What you are using now, the G string and the cap with your jewelry, is that typically Bontoc attire,” Jerry asked.

“Oh yes very Bontoc, no other tribe wears anything like it,” he smiled.

“Are there any soldiers of the Armed Forces coming to your village?” I asked, “and do you mind if I take pictures of you and the village?”

“They come to check if there are NPA around, but they are stupid because why should the NPA be in the village when the soldiers come? That is asking for trouble and we have trouble enough from these soldiers. They can’t be trusted, they are brutal and they look down on us. They are not good people. Oh yes, you can take my picture,” he smiled.

“Thank you very much,” I answered and took a camera, “oh no need to take on a pose, just be yourself while we are talking!”

“Good, good,” he smiled, “but at the house then.”

He sat on the stairs made of stone while talking with Jerry while I took a few pictures, but not happy with the posture and the light I asked him to stretch a leg so I could take them looking up to him showing him as a man of stature, this man in loincloth. He grew in stature when he felt he commanded attention. A faint smile on his lips and the way he sat with his chest out made him look like he was the chief not just of this village but of his tribe. The two children looked on in amazement. The action in full swing now more villagers appeared and from a short distance silently looked on. As I had suddenly finished the old man relaxed as his smile grew on him. Now the other villagers, mostly women and children but there were a few older men among them came forward. The old man quickly explained what was going on and in his own language introduced us. A mother, possibly the one of the children who were still on the side of the house at safe distance, said pleased to meet you in English and asked us how we had been able to find this village. We repeated what we told the older man, the chief to us now, and so she asked with a teasing smile:

“Now tell me honestly, are you here because you hope to meet NPA?”

“No, no not here. Here we are because we were never here and liked to know how you live, to experience your culture. Hopefully you do not find us intruders and are hospitable enough to show us around?” Jerry said.

“Oh yes, the Bontoc are a hospitable people, but since outsiders have taken advantage of that, I am sure you understand we must be careful?” she answered and asked.

“Very understandable indeed,” I replied, “but what made you think we want to meet the NPA?”I asked.

“Oh that is simple, hardly a foreigner comes here. They go to the villages where they can really see our culture and listen to our songs and dances. And, there is no road up, tourists have to walk but find it hard to do so. They can travel by car to the other villages. So, when you are here I thought you wanted something else. Since we don’t have much to offer and there is a lot of army around, I think you liked to see what is behind the lines of the soldiers.”

“Yeah you are deducting well. This is organized by the people themselves, you, and we may never have ventured out to meet you here if we did not have to wait for friends. Your village is as big a surprise to us and we are to you,” Jerry laughed.

“You are not with the Armed Forces of the Philippines and you know about the conflict here. Then you must know that we have guerillas from this village in the NPA,” she said.

“Well,” I smiled to her, “I see your people here and the younger men between 20 and 40 are missing, or at least they are not represented. So, are you telling us that those men, your husband for instance are in the NPA?”

“True or not I cannot tell you that, but one thing is certain, most men are working on the land right now. What they do there exactly I do not know,” she smiled enigmatically.

“Understood,” Jerry smiled with her in getting her point, “it is very dangerous of course if anyone would know and informs the other side,” he concluded.

“That is one of the reasons,” she laughed and then translated the talk between us in her own language. The still growing crowd on her last point laughed out then too and looked at Jerry. So, among the people here, people with a rich culture but with restricted means and practically under occupation, there were NPA members. Because she was already more or less admitting the NPA was among them I was thinking of a way to open up more, but decided that this idea could backfire. Jerry did not quite know how to continue either and now that we had perhaps a dozen pair of eyes on us, villagers were waiting for us to continue, silence set in.

“This suspense is hard to take,” I nervously broke silence. All eyes on me but the lady smiled and waited for me to continue, “well, I am eager to know if there are any present now, though I realize this is not what you could or should tell me,” I said.

“All are civilians here, but many can change into NPA gear. This is what our men and women do to avoid recognition. So, you can be sure there are a few among us,,,,,,,, sometimes……,” she laughed, “that this is so means that the Armed Forces come into the village to try and wrestle information from us. They do not stop at questioning but will torture too,” she explained but now with a serious face.

“Though I am sure as a precaution you should not entrust us with sensitive information, info which could jeopardize the lives of your friends, you can imagine we would like to know a few of the ones responsible for taking up your plight,” I answered her.

“Of course,” she said now smiling again, “especially when you come for that purpose. Or did you really come to know our culture?”, she asked with a cheeky smile this time, a smile like she had fathomed what we were really after.

“We cannot tell you that,” I said and tried to smile in the same manner. She had obviously seen through us already and when she translated our conversation again, twinkling eyes went up. The children had less reservation and laughed out loud, like it was too funny to talk about.

“I think you can,” she teased me further, “but you will not right?”

“Right,” I laughed with her, “okay since we do not get closer on this topic perhaps you would be so kind to show us around the village. Are there any precious cultural expressions like artifacts, ornaments and cloth in the village, a wood sculpturer or another artist is present?” I asked so changed the subject.

“Yes, I am sorry, because of the other interest I forgot to invite you,” she smiled and pointed to one of the older men and briefly talked with him, “we will go with him. He is he expect of the village here and he is a medicine man. He is a man in close contact with the spirits and our ancestors. He is a man of culture,” she said evoking a twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps you can tell about the rice terraces too. To create them must have been quite an arduous job, to maintain them too. I saw in Ifugao they were made of soil, clay and sometimes of stones, but if I am not mistaken the walls of the terraces here are made of stones right?”

“You are absolutely right,” she complimented me, “now I am thinking you are actually really interested in our culture!” she said with understatement. Jerry then told them what we were doing normally and so we talked about the background of our endeavors in the Philippines and our connections with Indigenous Peoples Organizations. Walking then from house to house we kept on talking about our involvement and shared many a thing like our observations of the inequalities and suppressions in the Philippines while she told us about the way of life, how the people here felt they were looked down upon and pressured. She invited us for a drink we entered her house and sat down:

“Native coffee?” she asked. When she heard we loved that she introduced us to her mother and went off to brew the beverage. A dozen villagers had followed us into her house and the children half a dozen too squatted before us never letting their eyes wandering off elsewhere. When they returned she laughed and said:

“I never thought you were that notorious and knowledgeable about the Philippines. I am sorry I did not take you seriously at first. May this native coffee quench your thirst?”

“Now you must tell us how it is possible you speak English so well,” Jerry asked when he took the mug of sweet native coffee from the hands of her mother, who smiled gently.

“Okay, okay,” she agreed, “I have studied in Baguio. I am one of the few women who could study. I am the daughter of the chief,” she explained. I looked at her and felt like teasing her. After thinking a moment I said:

“Don’t tell me it is only the daughter of a chief who can go out into the world beyond to study. Studying costs a lot of money, do only chiefs have that?”

“Ah no,” she replied and laughed irresistibly, “no, no, I just happened to like learning. I could not work in the fields. I was frail when I was young, easily sick too. So, in a way I was lucky and unlucky at the same time. Only a few of us want to go to the towns of the lowlanders. You know besides learning there are much more things we have to pay attention to.”

“Oh ya?” Jerry said the sound apparently escaping him.

“Yeah, the lowlanders act like they know it all. They behave like they are above us, high above, so we beneath. If you are not strong enough you will become their slave. Tribals like us like to avoid that, but by going to a high school or even university this is unavoidable. I myself had a difficult time there. But, I came through and have a degree. Anywhere I go I am treated right because of it, till they know I am a Bontoc and then I have to pay attention well and good,” she explained defiantly but still with warmth. When she had finished her mother came forward to show some male and female attires,

“Let’s go outside,” he daughter translated for her, “in the right light you will appreciate the colors and fine work on the cloth better,” she said and assigned her younger son to bring out statues like the rice god so she could tell the stories of the belief of the Bontoc before the missionaries came to convert them to Christianity. So, a moment later we were with authentic clothing, with statues, with jewelry; very old things too and though it laid there on a blanket it felt like we were in a museum. This was a tough time for the lady of the house and her mother for now incessantly for something like an hour she had to translate. But good fun it was and quite interesting as the stories hanging on the objects were plentiful. We were invited to stay on for lunch and whatever we did declining to taste a Bontoc delicacy was out of the question. Jerry, a keen connoisseur of foods, had a watery mouth just thinking of the special herbs and things along with fresh sweet potatoes served to us.

“You treat us like Kings and we are commoners just like you,” Jerry remarked.

“Oh no,” she protested, “when tourists stop by here they will take pictures. They don’t talk much and as soon as they are finished they leave, like they are afraid,” she laughed, “that is why the children and some adults don’t know how to behave. The children are afraid but now see you as celebrities, because they can feel you are not peeping toms only!!!”

“We are not celebrities and we do not want to be,” Jerry replied, “when we behave like that we will not be able to relate to the people around. And, already because we are foreign it is not that simple for your people to relate to us, this besides the language problem of course.”

“When you consider the nature of the lowlanders I think you can imagine that they when doing research on culture are less considerate than foreigners,” she stated.

“You could be right,” I contributed, “but I cannot assess that. Just treat us like we are your own people and all will be well?”

“Right then,” she laughed her contagious laugh. We had lunch together with her family while more than a dozen people were looking on. Leisurely talking now we spent an hour or so inside before we felt we were overstaying our welcome. This was considered quite an alien idea once it was understood we wanted to leave because of that.

“You can sleep here too if you like,” she offered to convince us of the contrary. So we were practically obliged to tell why we could not stay, but enigmatically only Jerry said:

“We are sorry but it could be someone is waiting for us already and when that person has come we will be going in.”

“Ah, I see,” she reacted and did not talk of it anymore. She had some young boys accompanying us down again after I had taken some more pictures of the village, the cultural objects and the rice terraces. It was already approaching late afternoon when we reached the same spot where we had met the old man carrying his load of rice stalks and the view, still there, in this afternoon light had dramatically changed for the better.

“There Jerry,” I pointed out, “if no one has come for us today, let’s walk through that valley tomorrow. I can see a few villages there and a few on the hills beyond too. That would be a nice walk too don’t you agree?” I asked.

“Sure thing, but I rather have somebody being there now. I hate this waiting!” he smiled as we went down. Half an hour later we were back in the hotel and heard from the receptionist there was no message nor had anyone come. We were getting a little worried now. What if the communication between those in Manila and the people here had not come through? We would be waiting in vain of course. So, Jerry suggested calling the Manila office to check if things were to turn out all right.

“Better give it one more day,” I answered, “who knows they might think we are too anxious and could be a liability to them? Also it is possible the lines are tapped which would put them under suspicion. Nah, let’s give it a day, perhaps two then we will call, all right?” I said.

“Okay, okay, but I am anxious, yes I am,” he said, “I hate this waiting too in spite of the fine reception we had at the village. In the back of my head plays the idea that what we came for has yet to happen and we have come a long way for it too,” he concluded. In talking to the receptionist we were handed an idea to pass the time with:

“You know I do not understand these people around here,” he, a Bontoc himself, began, “you see for many beer is what they want. They look down on our own drink though that is easily available in the villages and cheaper too?”

“Oh,” Jerry said all ears now, “what kind of drink is it?”

“Rice beer of course,” he laughed, “the succulent rice beer people here use also while walking long distances. It keeps them energetic. But then rice beer is not in fluid form, we carry the fermented rice in bamboo containers,” he explained when he felt he had some interested listeners.

“Don’t the people get drunk on it then?” I asked.

“No, no,” he laughed, “you see when you use a lot of energy, say when you dance all night you don’t get drunk. It is the same with walking, that rice is full of energy so it keeps you going.”

“Lovely and where can we get it? In the bar we were last night we were not offered local brew at all,” Jerry remarked.

“O, I can get it for you. Makes you sleep tight too,” he chuckled.

“Then, if you will be so kind, get it for us,” I reacted enthusiastically and a few moments later he returned with three bottles full of the milky liquid.

“There you are men,” it will only cost you a few pesos if you return the bottles for they are worth some money too,” he laughed again and so we offered him to share with us which he accepted and we had a couple of glasses finishing off one bottle at least. When he wanted to toast to us he added that he wanted to take us out to a Bontoc dinner:

“You ate at the market right,” he said, “that was good for most foreigners would not touch our food. But though she is not bad she caters for everyone and has to adapt the taste and composition of her dishes. No, come with me and we have a real Bontoc dinner,” he offered and we readily agreed that this was an offer we could not refuse.

“I am at the end my shift, so in an hour we can get together, all right?” he suggested.

“Meanwhile we will refresh ourselves,” Jerry announced and grabbed the two remaining bottles to bring up to our room.

“If you want more just tell me,” the receptionist said, “I guarantee you it is healthier than beer,” he said and grinned.

“Sure thing,” Jerry answered from the stairs, “in fact when you have time you can bring a few more bottles. We could do with some deep sleep; walking in the mountains for untrained people like us is not a small thing. We need some exercise!”

“Right on,” he smiled, “I am glad you like our national Bontoc drink!” he happily reacted. In the room we drank a little more while getting ready for a shower and though acknowledging we were lucky still could not get rid of the feeling of being disappointed.

“Tomorrow then perhaps,” I said to get the gloom out of us, “tomorrow is another day and now we have rice beer to cheer us up. Cheers Jerry!”

“Cheers, cheers,” he smiled but not too convincingly. Refreshed now we decided to get us some dinner. We tried another, quieter place, and did not run into anymore soldiers this time. Afraid we might unintentionally reveal our mission when confronted by them we did not move around in town to discover the barely existing nightlife. Who knows, Jerry remarked, the military when smelling we are close to the NPA might track us down. So, to be on the safe side we went back to the hotel to talk, watch the news and finish the rest of the rice wine. Our receptionist had been called away and asked us to postpone our real Bontoc dinner with him till he was sure to be free.

The morning after had not brought us a hangover and quite early, around 6 am, we woke up to start a new day of walking.

“Or could it be our contact will be with us today?” I asked rhetorically.

“Who knows, we might get lucky,” Jerry responded dryly, “let’s get that breakfast at the market and go for a long walk in the valley and up the other side for it bit?”

“That was the idea yesterday. I am glad you are in the mood for it!” I laughed and led the way, “I want some of the deliciously strong native coffee,” I suggested as we went off. Though early morning for us, compared to late afternoon/early evening, the street was much busier now. As we crossed the street to get to the market numerous jeepneys were blowing their horns to attract passengers. When we sat down at the stall of the laughing lady, she in no time organized two big mugs and had pan de sal ready too.

“Some fried eggs boys?” she asked with her enveloping smile.

“Impossible to say no to you,” Jerry laughed.

“Yes please,” I contributed and she whipped up an omelet for fast too. Sipping the fine coffee we looked around to see what was going on and noticed quite a lot. Next to the stalls of vegetables, fruits, meat and fish all sorts of goods were on offer. All sorts of goods here meant lowland goods; from batteries to televisions sets and from clothing to footwear to toys, all was present. Obviously the ‘imported’ goods were sold by lowlanders but the produce of the land and the handicrafts for tourists and traders in cultural objects clearly was in the hands of the highlanders, the women outnumbering the men. Having breakfast I said to the lady when she served the omelet:

“These modern goods clothes, appliances, even building materials are changing the perspective of the people right? They have to pay for the things which in the past they could produce themselves? Where do they get the money from?” I asked.

“Hmmmm, they sell what they can produce for the market. They sell highland rice which is sought after because it is so tasty, vegetables and fruits too but not much more,” she answered and while she talked I suddenly saw a woman with goiter, an enlarged thyroid gland in the neck, and I wondered how this was possible for I knew with ordinary iodine in salt this problem could easily be avoided:

“Oh quite a few women are suffering from this. We do not have enough salt and the salt we have is without iodine,” the lady explained, “the older ladies are suffering from it. The younger women are treated in time nowadays. So, at least we have some advantage of modern life too,” she answered on a positive note. Later while en route and in a long distance jeepneys we encountered quite a few women with this unfortunate growth.

We wanted to have a look of what was on offer from the highlanders, the Bontoc and especially their cultural aspects. Small but significant ornaments were the messing/copper like figurines which had historical and amulet value. A pity it was that the lady selling these could not explain their meaning but we bought a few, for our protection as she assured us. We figured we could ask other people later.

“I feel like walking Frans,” Jerry said, “let’s go back to the hotel to hear the latest. Who knows our contact has arrived and so let’s a leave a note so the person knows we are here all right? I am getting restless, you know.”

“I can imagine,” I laughed, “I feel the same. Biding our time here we are stuck but it is interesting though, very interesting, just not when we have to wait. I cannot focus but keep on thinking what will be ahead. Yes, walking is a good thing, let’s tire ourselves,” I agreed with him and so we went back to the hotel to learn again no message had come and no person had enquired about us. So, off we went and were soon out of Bontoc, this time going on a flat stretch several kilometers long which led right though irrigated rice fields, rice fields which were nearing ripening and were almost ripe enough to be harvested. I took a few pictures of the stalks and the people in the fields who were chasing away birds or doing other work to protect their crop. It was a beautiful day and with the sun rising brightly the yellow stalks were basking. Restless Jerry wanted to walk and got irritated by my suggestions to stop here and there. He did not understand what these pictures were for so while walking I explained:

“Look man, close up, overviews, people working, different light and camera positions all will result in different pictures and all have a purpose. May be not to you but I find it important to express what happens here. Besides by getting irritated we do not get the contact sooner to us. We might as well enjoy what we can do now. What good does it do to get uptight about it?”

“I am not disagreeing with you, but unlike you I cannot just sit idly when something important is about to happen. I keep on thinking they have forgotten about us. I can’t stand that,” he explained.

“Yeah, understandable, but they could have run in to trouble. And because of the military around they may find it difficult to get to us. Or do you think they have taken us for a ride, that they are fooling us. I do not see what reason they could have,” I said, “why should they fool us anyway Jerry, what do they gain from that?”

“I know all that and I agree with you, but it is that eerie feeling Frans. Let’s just go for a good walk, I hate this waiting. All kinds of thoughts jump into my mind. Walking, some physical exercise I know will do me good.”

“Yeah, okay,” I smiled and paced up in a way it made us look like fools. I laughed but walked on, smelled the fresh air. Easy enough for Jerry it wash to catch up with me and so we walked as we looked for about half an hour.

“It is still a long way to the mountain there,” he said, “I don’t feel like pushing it. We don’t know what is there and we can hardly communicate. Let’s take it easy?” he pleaded. I was surprised about this change in him, felt compelled to tease him, but when I saw his puzzled face I refrained. No use to add salt to a wound, I practically said aloud, but could keep it inside. We walked slower and so had a better eye for what was around us. Since aside from the fields and the people in them there was not much else but the mountains in the distance so it did not take very long till we were getting bored.

“Boredom could lead to creativity,” I said.

“Yes inertia is necessary for the creation of fresh ideas,” Jerry smiled, “but I don’t feel lazy or bored. I feel useless, this waiting is eating me Frans.”

“You want to go back now, to check if someone has come?”

“I hate to admit that that is my gut feeling yes,” Jerry answered.

“Don’t worry, no problem we can go whenever you feel like it. I liked to enjoy the countryside, but when anxious about what is to come we are not feeling relaxed enough to appreciate what is around us,” I smiled. Jerry blinked and turned and now in slow pace we trotted off, back to Bontoc town. I took more pictures of the beautiful fields with the looming mountains but still in less than an hour or so at most two we were back at the hotel again now eager to know if our contact had indeed arrived.