The Tainted Treasures of Mindanao

Mindanao has been known throughout the Philippines for its perilous corners. One day, you’re enjoying the beach, your head under a palm tree; next you’re in a wet place, groggy and with your head in a sack. Every Filipinos’ thoughts of Mindanao is wrapped around trepidations that lead us to believe it’s a breeding ground for terrorists and that frequent bombing threats are what rules the headlines of every newspaper there. Due to that belief, Mindanao’s tainted treasures remain unexplored, preserved and utterly beautiful like the lost treasures in a shark infested sea.
Upon arriving in Davao—since we didn’t get a direct flight to General Santos due to our indecisiveness—we were then greeted by dancers donning durian inspired costumes that were appetizing because of the fact that I only had coffee for breakfast—I was having pre-travel syndrome—and it was almost 12 noon. We were then picked-up by our friend’s parents and then we cruise the undeviating highway of the south. Almost all of us dozed-off on the ride to GenSan, we only stopped to eat a good meal and by that time it was already past one in the afternoon.
In the same day, we were chauffeured to their family farm which housed lots of cows and an expensive goat—amongst the less expensive goats. We were having a fun time in there; if you are one of my friends in Snapchat, I was documenting almost all the crazy things we did there because of having met Gigi Hadid, Kendall Jenner and Cara Delevingne just to name a few—oh my gosh I’m cracking up, ha ha. The day retired and so did our bodies, we then settled to our assigned bedrooms and then sleep embraced us.

The sunrise signaled a new day to commence, on the second day we went to the bottom tip of the Philippines—Gumasa. When we first arrived in there, it was such a mystery because the beach was obstructed by the resort’s establishment, obscuring the view of the beauty that was about to unfold. I was completely taken aback by the time we got to the beach; my expectation was devoured by reality. It boasted a stretch of white sand when I thought it would be black. We made a good use of the already propped volleyball net; we were digging the ball hard, catapulting sands into our eyes and mouth. By the time we got to the beach, the blue waters were alluring, inviting us with the soft whispers of its breeze and we took a dip. The seabed was not adorned with sharp corals or the seashore with sharp seashells, which gave it its name the “Boracay of the South”. A fun fact: my #KINDANNONATSU post was shot in Gumasa. 

We went home and after an hour, or so, we found ourselves packing bundles of joy for the activity scheduled the next day which was to have an outreach program. We made a pastel—it is the natives’ version of packed-lunch—it is prepared by cutting banana leaves into portions and then it is cleaned, stuffed with rice and food and folded into rectangles. Banana leaves are known here in the Philippines as a flavor enhancer, when the hot rice and food is wrapped in a banana leaf, it mixes with the aroma of the leaf giving the meal a whole new taste dimension, magically letting your stomach give an extra space for another pastel to come—or two.

My body became in synced with the rise and fall of the sun granting the fact that  I did not trust my alarm clock to wake me up, I let my biological clock do the work—with of course a little kick on the bed from my friends to really shook me up. We were set on an early adventure because our destination is four hours away from the GenSan city proper. Some of my friends and I were perched on the back of a pickup truck seated in ways uncomfortable to what our limbs are accustomed to, but all seemed normal because we were having fun looking at the scenery and having occasional activities like holding out our sarongs to act like parachutes. On our way to the B’laan tribe we’re expected to meet, we were astonished as to how the farms were properly treated with an up and running irrigation system quenching the thirsty of sundried plants. It was a lot more greener than what we are used to, considering the fact that some parts of our country are in a state of calamity because of the unmerciful El Niño taking effect on the innocent fields.

As we arrived in our destination, I spotted a small nipa hut that really captivated me—there was nothing much about it, it was made up of soft wood materials that can be easily destroyed by a punch—it was pretty much mundane-looking but I felt a drawing connection to it. After unloading the truck we were then ushered to that very same nipa hut, we were filling up the spaces of the living room/dining room/bed room; and then the priest that brought us there introduced us to their “church”—their church consisted of their traditional garments which is adorned with beads and tribal printed fabrics crafted to perfection, it was a beauty of its own and it took my breath away.

We were then asked to hold this relic that was donned with heavily beaded accessories—there was even a Chanel one, which garnered a few comical looks from my friends—and then the woman, who was also donning the same ensemble displayed on their altar, said a few prayers in B’laan and I was all ears even though I don’t understand a single thing. I felt freedom after that welcome ceremony held inside the nipa hut; I was refreshed and washed with this new sense of meaning in my life. We then went trekking to their cold spring, took a dip and ate our pastels in there.

We then proceed to the main reason why we were there: giving out bundles of joy. We met different locals, ranging from young to old; and I was touched when an old woman, with a red wrap-around skirt pictured above, came to me after I took their picture, held my hand and shook it to thank me I then grab the chance to show respect and bowed down to let my forehead touch the back of her hand—then again, the uplifting feeling settled in. 

The locals gave us coconuts as thank-you gifts and we drank it straight from its shell. Our physical and spiritual thirst was quenched with the experience we got in that place.

On the Sunday, we went to church to hear the words of God. We then went to our friend’s family shipyard which was very vast and housed 20—or more—shipping vessels. We got into a ship named after our friend’s sister: Princess Maia, and we were then sailed out to the sea and get an unobstructed view of the fish port of GenSan. Another fun fact: I shot my #BLUECOAST post while on the boat. On the fifth day, we didn’t do that much: we just went to SM General Santos to watch Batman vs. Superman, then to KCC mall to grab some lunch and then to Veranza to shop some t-shirts we could wear and give out as souvenirs.

On the sixth day, which was also the last day, was the most awaited part of our adventure. Before we arrived in Lake Sebu, we went first to the Divine Mercy and lighted a few candles and said our prayers. We were then chauffeured to Lake Sebu. We enjoyed a tour around the vast lake; we had lunch there and were entertained by dancing natives. We rode the highest zipline in Southeast Asia which boasts an unparalleled view of the seven falls of Lake Sebu. Adrenaline was pumping in our bloods and all that we have left to do was say our silent prayers wishing that these cables will not snap while we’re on it. I didn’t really much enjoy the falls because I thought we could bathe in it, well, all I could give off was a nod for understanding because the falls had murky waters that hides the bottom part of it, giving off this scary vibe of what might hide from underneath. But Lake Sebu was a stunner, one you might see in a travel magazine.

Having known Mindanao in the news, told me that it is not safe in there but having experienced Mindanao in my own senses made me disregard its notoriety. In our every adventure there, our fears were dissipated by its beauty.  The highlight of our trip, for me, was meeting the B’laan tribe because it made me appreciate my Filipino roots more. Before that, I was completely dislodged from my own history because I was appreciating one that is not of my own. I practiced cultures away from where I live, listened to their music and breathed the air they breathe; but ever since that encounter, I was revived. The tainted treasures of Mindanao is not what I thought they would be: surrounded with suspicious people, lush forests hiding NPAs—“Nice People Around” as what me and my friends dubbed New People’s Army—but it was an unspoiled beauty drowned by fears. After all, Mindanao is not the one that is tainted but our minds.

Special mention to the friend who brought us there: Jim Damalerio. Thank you so much Jim for inviting us to your home town, we thank your family for welcoming us with open arms, for taking care of us making sure we eat three meals a day and for allowing us to make use of your "labhanan"--a place for washing clothes--every night so that we can clean our clothes. Thank you so much for everything, it was such a pleasant experience for us all and we wouldn't trade it for anything else!