I believe that backpacking is a way of seeing extraordinary beauty in ordinary places. To see beauty that is visible is always quite an experience, but to see beauty amidst devastation – that is hope.
Infanta, Quezon – a paradise to many – was visited by a strong typhoon last December 2004. Time stood still for many as catastrophic mudslides ruined lives. Infanta has always been on my Philippines-backpacking list. That year, however, I felt called to do a different kind of backpacking and volunteered to help in relief operations.
Like most of my travel sojourns, it was almost a trip not meant to be. From a group of about five volunteers, I received word at 10pm that all others could no longer make it. I was apparently the only one left among those who confirmed. This was the night of December 21, a day before all who volunteered to help in relief operations were supposed to make an early start to Infanta, Quezon. I told Bruce – the ‘harassed’ friend who was coordinating all this – that if possible, I still wished to push through. As usual, providence started pouring in. Since I was already in Alaminos, Laguna, he got me in touch with a colleague who was coming from Liliw, Laguna and was bringing an ambulance to Infanta the next day. So that was how I found myself early noon of December 22, ensconced for the first time in an ambulance, and on my way also for the first time to Infanta.
From Sta. Cruz, Laguna, we made our way towards Famy and went uphill towards Real, then Infanta, Quezon. It was a good day for traveling, passing through verdant ricefields in Laguna and the beautiful old archway of Pagsanjan, and then through a zigzag road reminiscent of the road to Sagada from Baguio.
Upon reaching Real, I was struck by the pockets of small children lined up along the road extending cups, presumably for coins, to passing motorists. I hardly saw any adults accompanying them. At a certain bend was a row of what used to be beach resorts but are now seemingly abandoned. I saw hundreds of logs just lolling with the waves in quite a long shoreline. Every now and then, I saw sides of the mountain that appeared to be scooped out of soil and trees that fell on the road; some already bulldozed to the side, others still waiting to be cleared. This began my slow but concrete glimpses into signs of the devastation in Quezon province wrought by the December typhoons.
Mud, wet and dry, some ankle-high or more, greeted me in Infanta. I saw small streets closed down; filled with soft, drying mud that was at times as tall as the second story of a house. All kinds of furniture salvaged from the typhoon were literally outside most of the poblacion homes. People, young and old, either walked barefoot or in boots. Those who I saw sitting outside their homes appeared to me pensive and faraway. What few cars I saw in garages were filled with thick, drying mud, inside and out. Ricefields were transformed into mudfields, some sticking out with a number of cars and jeepneys and small nipa hut homes swept away by the flashfloods. It was already the third week after being hit hard by the typhoon.
We arrived in time for a late afternoon evaluation meeting of ICDAI, the NGO that has been coordinating relief efforts for Sagip-Buhay Network (a coalition of NGOs and corporate foundations that are working on relief and rehabilitation operations for Infanta and other areas in Quezon). ICDAI’s office, situated beside the parish church and within the prelature’s compound, became both a working area by day and sleeping quarters at night.
Work began as three heavy-duty trucks filled with relief goods arrived. All these were to be stored at the high school also within the church compound. We set about arranging selected rooms to give space to the sacks that would be coming in. I ended up in the middle of a dimly-lit hallway, with a pen and torn cardboard, categorizing, counting and pointing to where all incoming sacks, plastics and other relief goods should be placed. It was a school literally transformed into a warehouse, where sacks of relief goods appeared like small mountains inside classrooms. The male volunteers, all locals, did the grunt work – the literally back- breaking work of carrying one sack after another. In the middle of the night as they shuttled back and forth unloading the trucks, the work was done with little rest and yet, much humor – all the way to about 2am when we finished.
During the community meals, I learned more about and from the local volunteers, several of whom were also hit hard by the typhoons. Amidst stories of flooded homes, waking up on a floating bed, saving family pictures, awaiting rescue on top of their roofs, and now living at evacuation centers, they still volunteered to help in relief operations. As an outside volunteer staying only for a few days, I was shown real volunteerism that I haven’t seen in a long while.
Sometimes when asked about what volunteerism entails, I never could answer with much detail. From experience, I learned that one just has to do what is needed for the moment and creatively get involved without having to be an added burden. More often than not, it is being prepared and taking the initiative to do what may appear to be the most ordinary and mundane tasks. For instance, reading aloud the names of beneficiaries (from 36 barangays) while someone encodes them for database purposes, or cutting relief stubs for distribution, or simply listening to each one’s story whether it be of loss, survival or both.
During my brief stay, I met a plant and seed pathologist with whom I tagged along as he took soil samples from ricefields that had varying levels of mud and silt. As I had a clear view of the southern Sierra Madre providing the backdrop for miles and miles of ricefields, I began to understand why most locals, when asked about what the typhoons did to Infanta, would always begin by saying that Infanta used to be paradise.
At various stops, farmers and their wives would approach us. Although they shared about future harvests now lost to them, hope still bloomed as they asked about how they may continue to work the fields despite the mud and silt. One story struck me in particular as I saw remnants of a home swept away three kilometers from where it stood. I was told that the family looked for it, and was somehow still able to salvage the sofa and bamboo bed. I wondered how that family was now faring and what gives them hope. In circumstances such as this, how does one not give up hope? And where does Christmas fit in all this?
Interestingly, an Assumption brother who was a French journalist came to write an article about how Christmas is celebrated in Infanta. In previous years, he was sent to areas where there was famine or severe political instability; areas that were sites of genocide or ravaged by war. This was how he has been celebrating Christmas for the past five years. With no respite from a long flight that began in Paris, he went directly to Infanta and arrived two days before Christmas. To say that Infanta is a long way from Paris was definitely an understatement. I could not help but wonder how he would write his article and my musings probably led me to this lengthy reflection.
I may not have stayed in Infanta on Christmas eve nor spent Christmas day there but I was certainly reminded about what Christmas should be all about during my brief stay.
Christmas cannot be just within a close circle of family; it has to include, almost quite literally, our close circle of humanity. Only then could the hope of Christmas begin.
December 2004
Infanta, Quezon
Philippines
