Destination Basilan (2003)

By TENG MANGANSAKAN

“I AM GOING TO BASILAN!” Everyone was speechless. Nobody could reach a logical explanation why a newly hired, less experienced writer should be sent to Basilan for an important story. It was a job usually assigned to senior writers, but one you should never refuse especially if you are new in the organization. After all, this is an opportunity to show what stuff you are made of. Fear can always trail behind you like an unwanted chaperone.

I arrived at the Zamboanga pier a quarter before six in the morning. I knew I was getting late. My colleague Jehanne’s text messages were getting frantic.

“Wer r u? Evrybody is boarding. The boat livs in 5mins. Do u knw how to get hr?”

“I am very close. Walking towards the jetty. Please wait.”

It was my first time in Zamboanga. I flew in from Davao the previous day. Although my hotel was only a half kilometer from the pier, navigating the city’s narrow streets confused me. To make matters worse, I could barely speak Chavacano, the local dialect, which is basically a corrupted form of Spanish peppered with Bisaya and other dialects.

I saw Jehanne standing next to the boat. She motioned at me to walk faster.

“I got lost,” I apologized profusely. I was panting. She handed me my ticket and we boarded the boat.

After an hour, we reached Isabela –the capital of Basilan. As the boat was docking, the passenger to my right, a bespectacled teenager wearing a skullcap and a loose kameez, sensing that it was first time to visit the Basilan, offered me a bit of trivia.

“Dyan galing si Kumander Robot,” he said, pointing to a small island. The leader of the notorious Abu Sayyaf Group grew up there.

“Talaga?” It was undeniably for real. Basilan –home to a large number of ASG members— saw massive combat operations between the government and the infamous group the previous year.

“Are we going to that island?” I asked Jehanne, who was now joined by two more colleagues.

“We should ask Jun,” she answered.

“No, Tuburan is on the other side of Basilan,” Jun informed us, “our office does not have a project in that island.” Jun is the area head for Western Mindanao of our office’s program that provides technical assistance to members of the Moro National Liberation Front who have laid down their arms after the signing of a peace agreement between the government and the MNLF in 1996.

“But if you want to find out more about the island, you can ask Nasil here,” Jun pointed to the fourth member of our entourage, “he is our man in Basilan.”

“Salam, Nasil,” I greeted him, “my name is Teng, I am the new communication specialist.”

“Welcome to Basilan!”

I encountered Basilan for the first time when I was in sixth grade through my youngest sister Farah. Arriving home one afternoon, she announced that she joined our school dance troupe and they were going to perform ‘Basilan dance.’

“Ano?” I asked. Back then, the only dances that I was familiar with were tinikling, singkil, pandango, conga—the Gloria Estefan version—and the one that Bellestar Dancers performed as an opening act for GMA Supershow. Instead of explaining the dance to me, which I believe she really had no idea to begin with, my sister positioned herself in front of me and showed me the dance steps. For the next three years, Basilan to me was a dance of serpentine grace.

It was only in junior high when I found out that Basilan was a small island province off Zamboanga Peninsula. It took me another twelve years, that morning in January 2003, to finally set foot on the island.

We repaired to a small, quiet eatery near the gate of the Isabela pier. Nur, an MNLF commander in the area, was waiting for us there. He would be escorting us to our destination.

For a first time visitor, Nur suggested that I try kahawa, their local coffee. To prepare kahawa, mix a teaspoon of coffee in hot water, add sugar to taste, and wait five minutes for the coffee granules to settle at the bottom of the cup. It had a rich flavor with just the right dose of caffeine to perk up your day. I smiled at Nur in gratitude. We would surely get along well.

Thirty minutes later, we were driving along the streets of Isabela where old colonial houses maintained their aristocratic sophistication. It was a welcome treat that, despite the countless battles the island had to endure, remnants of our colorful history were not yet served their demolition notice.

“May kailangan pa ba tayo?” asked Jun. It was going to be a long journey penetrating into the heart of Basilan. We would have to walk hours, under the blinding heat of the sun, just to find a store.

“Water,” Jehanne and I chorused.

Nur stopped in a grocery. The merchant, a middle-aged Chinese in a pompadour, was still pushing the accordion gates of the store. It made a creaking sound that pierced my eardrum.

From Isabela, the trip to the town of Lamitan took us an hour. In the past, the journey took two hours because of the rugged limestone road. During rainy season, it turned into a sea of mud. Then American soldiers came to the island the previous year for joint military exercises with their Filipino counterparts and, to demonstrate their government’s altruism, they also conducted medical missions, improved roads and other infrastructure, and funded livelihood projects for the people of Basilan.

Lamitan is the second largest town in Basilan next to its capital. Business was brisk. Agricultural products –seaweed, corn, rice, cassava—were brought here from the villages. The town made headline news when patients and staff of the town hospital were taken hostage by the ASG in 2002. The peaceful town became a battlefield overnight.

We stopped in a small house at the poblacion. Nur had to verify the security condition in Tuburan –our final destination. As we waited in the jeep, a man in his 30s was looking at us curiously from a sari-sari store in the distance.

“I am going down,” I announced. “I’ll check the store.”

“Be careful,” Jehanne reminded me.

As I was checking for some goods in the store, the curious man started to chat me up.

“Media ba kayo?”

I don’t know what to say so I said no. He seemed disappointed by my answer.

“Akala ko kasi media kayo. Mga media lang kasi ang pumupunta dito sa amin.” With the province’s bad image, no tourist in his right frame of mind would go here. Only journalists wanting a scoop.

From Lamitan, we rode an outrigger to Tuburan. The trip lasted more than an hour. The sea was raging. Nasil told us that the waters were infested by sharks so I held on to the boat, tightly. As we reached the shore, the sight of local folk fishing along the shallow waters greeted me. To my left, a mangrove forest lined the beach. On the opposite side, there was a teeming community of stilt houses beside the pier leading to an old mosque. I was told that it was built in the 1950s, standing as a silent witness to what the town had experienced through the years.

For nearly two decades, Tuburan was a battleground between the government and the MNLF. As a result, the town’s largely agricultural economy was disrupted. Most of its residents transferred elsewhere to seek normal lives.

After the 1996 peace agreement, the residents who opted to remain hoped that economic activity would be revived. Development, however, came at a slow pace. Access to the town is very difficult. Its rugged terrain and isolated location makes it a favorable haven for various armed groups, including the ASG.

“There is a big MNLF community here,” Jun briefed me. “For the past few months, our office has been providing them assistance to farm seaweed. In a few weeks, they will be harvesting the seaweed.”

Nur gestured at us to get moving. He led us to a section of town thick with bamboo trees. Some men were cutting down bamboo.

“What is the bamboo for?” I asked. The leader of the men approached us.

“Para saan ho yung kawayan?” I repeated my question.

“Soral dryer,” the man answered. They would be constructing stilt-type solar dryers for the seaweed. A few minutes into the conversation, I learned that the man was Hayin Anjalin, a former MNLF fighter.

While fishing and coconut farming remain the chief source of livelihood for the residents of Tuburan, they are counting on agar-agar, the local term for seaweed, to boost their livelihood. The coastal waters are conducive for this type of produce.

Seaweed is then processed into carrageenan, a gelling agent that has high demand in local and international markets. It is used in pharmaceutical, food, cosmetic, medical, and microchip industries.

Hayin invited us to his house. Kahawa time, I whispered to myself.

“Pasensya na kayo sa bahay namin,” Hayin said shyly as we entered his house. He then asked his wife to bring in some coffee. The people of Basilan are hospitable and, despite the hardship and misery, their spirits are indestructible.

On our way to the pier for our trip back to Lamitan, then to Isabela and back to Zamboanga, we passed by the old mosque. I told them to spare me a minute. I wanted to take a photograph.

As Nur, Jun, Nasil and Jehanne said their goodbyes to Hayin, I walked to the end of the pier. The sea was calmer now.

“I’ll take your picture,” Jehanne offered.

It was the singular photograph of myself in Basilan. It was nothing special: just me standing against the vastness of the sea.