community integration for CD 100 class: Carahome
This was a reflection paper for a class, I think in 2001 or 2002 when I first shifted to CD.
At first my reaction was one of irritation. I had critiques and concepts to write, assignments to do. I needed the weekend to write, write, and write. Things that I needed to do that weekdays wouldn't spare me the time to do them in. And other things besides. I had learned that we would be going to a Dumagat community for an integration. The previous week I had to skip classes because I had to go to a summit that we had organized for the weekend. The whole affair had me helping conduct workshops, discussions, and conceptualizing and writing for the summit. And so I expected my next weekend to be free, if for no other reason than to relax, or to catch up on unfinished projects. But my CD 100 class, under Ma'am Marion Tan, had other plans. It would now be two weeks straight that I'd be gone from home.
The night before the immersion, I had to go to a party of one of my organizations, one that I haven't been visiting lately, therefore I was obliged. I left early, though, and rushed to Mercury, Philcoa to buy some supplies for the travel on the morrow. When I arrived home, I read for a while, and slept past midnight.
The next morning, Saturday, had my CD 100 class gathered at Jollibee. The usual conversations mixed with the familiar Philcoa sounds from other Jollibee customers and the traffic outside. I bought soap and a can of film.
The trip had the class split into two groups on the first leg. Then we all met and hired a jeep at SM Fairview to Tungkong Mangga. When our guide arrived, I think that was when the journey started for most of us. I had been to these parts before. The road was not so kind, especially to the ones hanging at the back of the jeepney. But the mood was merry, no sense of foreboding or anything. The trip seemed long, prompting me to joke that the people we were seeking were nomads, and finding them would be 'tyempuhan.'
And we arrived at Carahome. The first thing that struck me was the sense of beauty that a rural scene always evoked in me. We went past this clay road and clay houses (which we later found out were poultry houses). From the more or less decent pavement we realized that we were treading on muddy ground to a small house overlooking a river far below. I thought it would only be a first stop on a longer journey through mountains and rivers. Which was partly true. We had lunch at this house. But before that, we had to fetch water and scout for banana leaves to serve as our communal plate. The meal was nice, coming as it was from our canned goods, along with rice. This was food for the stomach. The situationer was nutrition for a critical and need-to-be-enlightened mind.
To most people, Manny Villar is known for sipag at tiyaga. For our Dumagat community, he is known as a landgrabber. Our hosts narrated how armed guards would harass the community and uproot trees that their master would later be obliged to pay for. They had other stories besides. The Dumagat community had been there before land titles and developers, but their way of life is being threatened by the greediness of those in power. The narrators told us so many things that for me concretized the realities of oppression and social inequality being further widened by those willing to bulldoze the poor person's right to life.
On my part, I chose to listen to the stories of the hosts and my classmates. I consciously avoided talking. I was comfortable observing my classmates emerging to share their initial thoughts on the situation. One mustn't be so ready to contribute one's piece of mind when flowers were starting to bloom. It sounds Zen-like, but I saw leaders coming out of their shell, when in class I thought my role was to animate them to speak their thoughts. I think this has been my philosophy in every class I attend, if I myself had the confidence. Besides, I'd rather keep silent and think. Thinking people, after all, don't talk much.
The class was split into groups, and we had to trek around slippery slopes and a river. My group consisted of five people, and we were settled at Nanay Mina's house. This was a hut that comprised a kitchen and two bedrooms. The other one, basically a bed of bamboo slats, was where five of us slept and ate. Near the house was flowing water and there was a comfort room at the back. It didn't really count as a room, being covered only in plastic and corrugated iron. Despite all, I think it was the best place, for the other groups did not have such amenities. The running water was handy for removing mud from our foot coverings.
Nanay Mina is more than eighty. She remembers her fear of the Japanese during the second world war. Incidentally, our class had Japanese students, Yuka and Emiko. But of course, the war had passed decades ago. She has children and grand-grandchildren. Her son visited on Sunday. She grows her own food around the house. This consisted of gabi, along with rice and corn.
There was not much for an old woman to do. So the Saturday afternoon, our group of integrees went to the river and took a bath. The night was spent with the community elders narrating the Dumagat's situation. I learned a lot but I must confess that I had started to doze off even though the topic was interesting. I'm sure my classmates would be more authoritative in carrying the details. I guess that in the end, the whole class realized the need to struggle and unite with the Dumagat in their plight. Then we had to escort the girls who were housed in the farthest part of the community. And we had to fight the whole way back to our own lodging through mud and bloody bruises. Before going to sleep, however, we told scary stories to each other. I suspect Nanay Mina was kept awake much later than her usual routine.
The next morning had us awake by nine o'clock. Which was very late for Nanay Mina, who had been scouting for our food much earlier than that. We ate, then trekked to the river and four falls (We were teased earlier for rejecting a dare to go down a slope to the falls which some of the girls had gone through). We took some time because the water was fun. I even jumped twice from a high rock to the water below the falls. After that, we had lunch. Then we said goodbye to Nanay Mina and proceeded with the cultural presentations at the central house. The class bid farewell, shot a few photographs and headed home.
I enjoyed the integration, not only for the fun of the falls but also for the things that we learned there. Life is fuller when you realize that theoretical studies have their correspondence in the everyday struggle of everyday people. An intellectual must be kept reminded of the simple things that living in an urban setting often denies. My apologies for not treating this as a longer treatise on the situation of the Dumagat and other oppressed sectors. But the spirit is there. Let me just note that my resolve is further strengthened to continue with the struggle to create a better future, especially for the oppressed and the marginalized in society.
At first my reaction was one of irritation. I had critiques and concepts to write, assignments to do. I needed the weekend to write, write, and write. Things that I needed to do that weekdays wouldn't spare me the time to do them in. And other things besides. I had learned that we would be going to a Dumagat community for an integration. The previous week I had to skip classes because I had to go to a summit that we had organized for the weekend. The whole affair had me helping conduct workshops, discussions, and conceptualizing and writing for the summit. And so I expected my next weekend to be free, if for no other reason than to relax, or to catch up on unfinished projects. But my CD 100 class, under Ma'am Marion Tan, had other plans. It would now be two weeks straight that I'd be gone from home.
The night before the immersion, I had to go to a party of one of my organizations, one that I haven't been visiting lately, therefore I was obliged. I left early, though, and rushed to Mercury, Philcoa to buy some supplies for the travel on the morrow. When I arrived home, I read for a while, and slept past midnight.
The next morning, Saturday, had my CD 100 class gathered at Jollibee. The usual conversations mixed with the familiar Philcoa sounds from other Jollibee customers and the traffic outside. I bought soap and a can of film.
The trip had the class split into two groups on the first leg. Then we all met and hired a jeep at SM Fairview to Tungkong Mangga. When our guide arrived, I think that was when the journey started for most of us. I had been to these parts before. The road was not so kind, especially to the ones hanging at the back of the jeepney. But the mood was merry, no sense of foreboding or anything. The trip seemed long, prompting me to joke that the people we were seeking were nomads, and finding them would be 'tyempuhan.'
And we arrived at Carahome. The first thing that struck me was the sense of beauty that a rural scene always evoked in me. We went past this clay road and clay houses (which we later found out were poultry houses). From the more or less decent pavement we realized that we were treading on muddy ground to a small house overlooking a river far below. I thought it would only be a first stop on a longer journey through mountains and rivers. Which was partly true. We had lunch at this house. But before that, we had to fetch water and scout for banana leaves to serve as our communal plate. The meal was nice, coming as it was from our canned goods, along with rice. This was food for the stomach. The situationer was nutrition for a critical and need-to-be-enlightened mind.
To most people, Manny Villar is known for sipag at tiyaga. For our Dumagat community, he is known as a landgrabber. Our hosts narrated how armed guards would harass the community and uproot trees that their master would later be obliged to pay for. They had other stories besides. The Dumagat community had been there before land titles and developers, but their way of life is being threatened by the greediness of those in power. The narrators told us so many things that for me concretized the realities of oppression and social inequality being further widened by those willing to bulldoze the poor person's right to life.
On my part, I chose to listen to the stories of the hosts and my classmates. I consciously avoided talking. I was comfortable observing my classmates emerging to share their initial thoughts on the situation. One mustn't be so ready to contribute one's piece of mind when flowers were starting to bloom. It sounds Zen-like, but I saw leaders coming out of their shell, when in class I thought my role was to animate them to speak their thoughts. I think this has been my philosophy in every class I attend, if I myself had the confidence. Besides, I'd rather keep silent and think. Thinking people, after all, don't talk much.
The class was split into groups, and we had to trek around slippery slopes and a river. My group consisted of five people, and we were settled at Nanay Mina's house. This was a hut that comprised a kitchen and two bedrooms. The other one, basically a bed of bamboo slats, was where five of us slept and ate. Near the house was flowing water and there was a comfort room at the back. It didn't really count as a room, being covered only in plastic and corrugated iron. Despite all, I think it was the best place, for the other groups did not have such amenities. The running water was handy for removing mud from our foot coverings.
Nanay Mina is more than eighty. She remembers her fear of the Japanese during the second world war. Incidentally, our class had Japanese students, Yuka and Emiko. But of course, the war had passed decades ago. She has children and grand-grandchildren. Her son visited on Sunday. She grows her own food around the house. This consisted of gabi, along with rice and corn.
There was not much for an old woman to do. So the Saturday afternoon, our group of integrees went to the river and took a bath. The night was spent with the community elders narrating the Dumagat's situation. I learned a lot but I must confess that I had started to doze off even though the topic was interesting. I'm sure my classmates would be more authoritative in carrying the details. I guess that in the end, the whole class realized the need to struggle and unite with the Dumagat in their plight. Then we had to escort the girls who were housed in the farthest part of the community. And we had to fight the whole way back to our own lodging through mud and bloody bruises. Before going to sleep, however, we told scary stories to each other. I suspect Nanay Mina was kept awake much later than her usual routine.
The next morning had us awake by nine o'clock. Which was very late for Nanay Mina, who had been scouting for our food much earlier than that. We ate, then trekked to the river and four falls (We were teased earlier for rejecting a dare to go down a slope to the falls which some of the girls had gone through). We took some time because the water was fun. I even jumped twice from a high rock to the water below the falls. After that, we had lunch. Then we said goodbye to Nanay Mina and proceeded with the cultural presentations at the central house. The class bid farewell, shot a few photographs and headed home.
I enjoyed the integration, not only for the fun of the falls but also for the things that we learned there. Life is fuller when you realize that theoretical studies have their correspondence in the everyday struggle of everyday people. An intellectual must be kept reminded of the simple things that living in an urban setting often denies. My apologies for not treating this as a longer treatise on the situation of the Dumagat and other oppressed sectors. But the spirit is there. Let me just note that my resolve is further strengthened to continue with the struggle to create a better future, especially for the oppressed and the marginalized in society.
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