Meanwhile, Somewhere

“I don’t think I brought enough,” I thought, as I got off the five-hour bus ride from Manila, the Philippines’ capital. I was on my way up north to an obscure town called Maporak, nestled in the province of Zambales, between other more famed destinations. Lugging a market bag filled with clothes and groceries, I hailed a tricycle and crossed a dried-up river to fulfill a promise I made years ago.

“I wish you had told us you were coming. I would have caught shrimps from the river for lunch! That’s your favorite,” Tatay Rolando, the head of the Tiburcio household, said. Refusing my help in the kitchen, his wife, Nanay Mila, decided to cook the lone papaya from their backyard instead, before I had the chance to politely decline. There was a sense of excitement in the air, not just because neighbors crowded around the TV for their favorite noon time show, but because their anak–their child–had come back.

It had been years since an immersion program at my university led me to meet and spend time with the Tiburcio family as their foster child for a few days. Their warmth towards the idealistic student that I was led me to promise I would return for a mission I haven’t completely figured out yet.

Maporak is one of the remaining patches of land inhabited by an indigenous tribe that founded much of Philippine history. It stands on an expanse of sand and lahar–remnants of Mt. Pinatubo’s eruption in the early nineties. Hills and mountains surround it and trees bearing the nation’s sweetest mangoes stand at every corner of the maze of modest nipa huts locals call their homes.

These tribes continue to desperately protect their culture and ancestral land from institutions promoting irresponsible mining and commercialization. In such circumstances, the typical urban poor might be forced to relocate and settle in another place. However, for indigenous communities in rural towns, migrating from the land that holds so much of what defines them meant taking away all they ever really cared about having.

“Let’s eat, my child,” Tatay Rolando said. “Don’t be shy,” Nanay Mila chimed in. I pacified my grumbling stomach with the savory papaya Nanay Mila served with steamed rice, and tried in vain not to let my guilt spoil it. What I brought to help could only get them through a few weeks at most. Then what?

“Your picture is right there pasted on our wall,” Tatay Rolando shared, “Your Nanay Mila refuses to take it down.” I smiled and remained at a loss. I did not realize how desperately I needed to be seen after all, just like them.

Something had to be fixed, but I would have to find my way back again and again until I figure out what and how. At that moment, peace overcame my muddled thoughts.

Sharing a meal was enough. We were enough. I had to be okay with that. ~

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Written in December 2012