The Water Flows in Tubak

I couldn't count how long we rode at the back of a pick-up truck, how many bumps my butt endured and how much dust I inhaled while traversing that tree-canopied rough road when the sight of the jade river winding from a series of waterfalls greeted me that scorching day in Brgy. Tubak, Ampatuan, Maguindanao.

But one thing I knew for sure: a welcoming majestic spectacle such as that signified a passage blessed with more wonders a learning wanderer like me could only hope for.

It was the blackened set of teeth from chewing betel nut of older men and women smiling warmly at me that brought me back from the enchantment of the place when they hailed us as we arrived.

They are the Dulangan Manobo people who foster this land that their ancestors passed down to them since time immemorial. Written on their faces and marked on the tattoos on their legs, were the history and the identity of their people. This is a truth that would always enthral me, a daughter of Ilonggo and Ilocano migrants who was born without much knowledge of my lineage.

But it was deep in their weary eyes, the calluses of their hands and the way their children ran around in their soiled clothes that took away the mystical and gave away the reality. This is their land no more.

Most of these lands were covered by the Integrated Forest Management Agreement (IFMA) which allowed a private company to “manage” the resources therein. On the way, I saw the vast plantation of durian and some mangosteen: cash crops that replaced forests which once served as grounds for hunting, gathering of food as and medicinal herbs. And I couldn’t help but wonder how long they will tolerate this plight. They land were taken away. Leased, if the term taken offended anybody. But it was all the same pattern: those whose lives connect to the land were driven away to give way for “development”.

As I lay awake that night, the sounds of the beating gong that the Dulangan Manobo women played late that afternoon made me afraid to close my eyes. It was a call and I had heard it before: the haunting sounds of forgotten dreams that were robbed by time and by force.

Will I be able to help? Will I be able to wake those dreams alive?

Other people may see Tubak as an idyllic place for a vacation with its foggy mornings and star-filled night sky with crickets chirping throughout the day. For me, it will remain in my memory a forgotten place, lost among the promises of a better and just life for the genuine stewards of the land unless something will be done to change this so.

Alas, there is always hope and it would shine for them soon. I can almost feel it warm and tickle my skin.