Cherished Volunteer Moments

(The worst thing that can happen when one is writing a speech is when the printer malfunctions.  I had to handwrite bullet points).

Cherished Volunteer Moments
(Volunteers and IYV+10)

By: Aveen Acuña-Gulo
Former National UN Volunteer for Communications and Culture of Peace Advocacy
GOP-UN Multi-Donor Programme, 2001-2004

Mt Apo, Philippines
17 February 2011

Good morning fellow volunteers.  Assalamu alaikum. Peace be upon all of us.

When people ask me what a volunteer is, or what volunteerism is, I have a ready answer:

A volunteer is the one who has the ability to present him/ or herself unconditionally to get a job done ASAP.  S/he asks questions along the way in order to do the ASAP faster.  Volunteerism is not about asking questions first then presenting oneself afterward.

(It's nice to learn something new today, and thanks to Girlie Amarillo: that the Tagalog word for volunteer is laong-laan).

* * * * *
When Akiko sent out the message toward the end of last year that the IYV+10 will be celebrated in 2011, I was excited to be part of it because I was able to participate in the celebration of IYV in 2001.

For this kick-off activity, I will share our experiences as national UN Volunteers under the GOP-UN-Multi-Donor Program.  I hope I will give justice to the other 67 who are not here.

The GOP-UN-MDP started in 1997 right after the signing of the GRP-MNLF Final Peace Agreement.  It evolved into three phases before it became known now as ACT4PEACE or Action for Community Transformation for Peace.  As you are aware, ACT4PEACE (which is actually the the fourth phase of the MDP) was completed only last December 31, 2010.

During those first three phases of the UN Multi-Donor-Program, there were:

37 UNVs for Community Development
11 for Reproductive Health
5 for Relief and Rehabilitation
5 for Agriculture and Sustainable Farming Systems
3 Field Workers
2 for Gender Awareness

1 each for --
Commodity Delivery,
Management Facilitation for LGUs,
Human Resources Development,
Governance,
Education, and
Communications.

I hope I did not miss out anybody.

All these volunteer efforts were geared toward peace-building and conflict transformation in the conflict-affected communities.  As far as I know, this was so far the biggest deployment, (Akiko can correct me), of UN Volunteers here in the Philippines for just one program.

As volunteers we worked on the aforementioned themes in places now known as PDCs or Peace and Development Communities.  These PDCs are scattered around the Special Zone for Peace and Area (SZOPAD): from Maguindanao, Sultan Kudarat, Sarangani, North and South Cotabato; the two Lanaos and Davao del Sur, to the island provinces of Basilan Sulu and Tawi-tawi; Zamboanga Peninsula and Palawan.

My task as UN Volunteer for Communications was the promotion of the Culture of Peace.  It used several approaches through several levels: print media, broadcast (radio and tv), internet, community/face-to-face dialogues.  While many parts of Mindanao were known to be in an armed conflict situation, we learned that conflict is actually divided into six (6) themes.  These are:

a) Militarization or dismantling the Culture of War;
b) Living with Compassion and Justice
c) Promoting Human Rights and Responsibility
d) Living in Harmony with the Earth
e) Building Cultural Respect, reconciliation and solidarity
f) Nurturing inner peace

Promoting the Culture of Peace using all means possible seemed a difficult task.  But I was happy because once again I affirmed to myself in the course of my work that indeed, peace is built-in, innate in every person we met and every community we visited.

It was also through this work that I also got the opportunity to work with what I now call the 3Ms - - Media, Military, Moro Fronts (particularly the MNLF).  We thought that if these stakeholders figured largely in the conflict, it is possible too, that they figure largely in the resolution of the conflict.  It was in this stage of the peacebuilding work that we saw how these 3Ms can be brought together in one table and ask one another the question: are you really the face of my enemy?  And ended up having more reasons to be united than divided.

As volunteer I was also able to participate in a whole discussion among Mindanao media practitioners asking, “Ito ba talaga ang nangyayari sa lupang ipinangako?" Is this really what’s happening in the Land of Promise? This consciousness led to the formation of the Mindanao Media Forum, and the signing of the Mindanao Media Covenant, which vowed “to play a crucial role in charting the future of Mindanao with realistic, balanced and truthful reporting of a land that has its own initiatives, relationships, issues, pains, dreams and triumphs” -- distinct from what is portrayed by relatively conventional media especially at that time.

Fast forward to 2011:  Many things have happened since then.  I’m now working with the United Nations World Food Programme.  I still see the same volunteer spirit that moved peacebuilding work in Mindanao, this time in another dimension.  Volunteerism may have different forms; but it still carries that same positive force that presents itself to get a job done ASAP.  (As we joke among ourselves, if you’re with WFP and you’re told to deliver ASAP, you should deliver 30 minutes ago).

We still work in the same conflict affected areas of NCOT, MAG, SK, LDS/N through Emergency School Feeding; Supplementary Feeding for mothers and babies; Food-for-Work/Food-for-Training/Food-for-Assets in order to create livelihood opportunities around agriculture and environmental concerns, the latter being especially true now that the threats to Food Security and warnings of natural disasters 10-20 years ago are already on our doorsteps with increasing frequency and magnitude.

I climbed Mt Apo in 2003 to join the Evaluation Climb together with the UNV Programme Officer Beatriz Fernandez at that time; and fellow UN Volunteers Rudy Tuya and Iharyf Sucol who’s with us now (he’s right there).

We tried to see then whether this revered place of Apo Sandawa was ready to be opened again to the public after some years of closure.  As we all know, it became to be the highest garbage dump in the country after years of abuse and careless waste disposal by climbers.  That year we also celebrated the International Year of the Mountains.  We planted a tree each for Beatriz, for UN Secretary General Kofi Anan and for UNV Executive Director Sharon Capeling Alakija who just passed away due to a lingering illness.

I came back in November 2009 together with my husband Jun and daughter Angeline, to grant her birthday wish to climb Mt Apo.  Not only did she get her wish, she was also able to plant tinikaran trees as her gift to Mt Apo.

I’m back for the third time this year to join the kick-off activities of the IYV+10.  I bring the best wishes of the Mindanao Humanitarian Team which is composed of UN, IMT and other Humanitarian Agencies.  Many of them expressed they would have wanted to join.  I also bring the messages and spirit of peace of both our Country Director Mr Stephen Anderson and Deputy Country Director Mr Asaka Nyangara, plus 94 more colleagues nationwide.

Thank you, Akiko for inviting us.  Thank you, John for the monumental task of organizing and coordinating.  IYV+10 would indeed be filled with meaningful activities ahead, for Mt Apo, for Mother Earth, and for all of us.

Wassalam!

*****

Disclaimer: The speaker is a Senior Programme Assistant at the UN World Food Programme in Mindanao.  The foregoing is a personal account and sole responsibility of the author and can in no way be taken to reflect the view of the UN WFP.

The One I Love

"...oooh...i hear laughter in the rain
walking hand in hand with the one i love..."

Saturday evening was one of those weekend nights that I spend deconstructing my mind of the outgoing weeks' negative energies.


"What would be a nice present for the one I love?"  I thought.  Father's Day was just four hours away.

* * * * * *

I scanned my portable backup disc for some pictures.  I find a handful taken by Jo Henry last year.  I just came from a harrowing week evaluating food-for-work projects and there was water everywhere.  As if I did not have my fill of assessing floods, we went to see how things were going in the Delta Bridge.  It seems that the Delta Bridge has become, next to water hyacinths, the symbol of Cotabato City floods.

There was a lot of activity -- people were chopping up and chainsawing the water hyacinth islands into manageable pieces so it would flow into the bucana (mouth of Rio Grande).  The Special Forces used the massive fans of their airboats to sweep these chunks out to sea.  Haven't I seen this scene a dozen times? 

Jun and I strolled the span and found some more friends and familiar faces.  Two young men eat rice out of a black kaldero with some instant noodles.  How that would be enough for physical work in the next couple of hours is beyond me.  We talk to a volunteer who gives off advice on how the flooding in Cotabato City could be minimized.  With the way he ticks off facts and figures of what he saw the past few days, I felt I must have been the 17th person he talked to just that morning.  Needless to say he sounded dissatisfied with how government was addressing the problem.  He's not the first person I heard talking that way.

I chose the picture where Jun and I were shot by Jo from a distance.  I was waving at her with both arms.

"This is nice," I tell myself.  The day looked gloomy and rain clouds were forming in the background.  Our smiles sort of lighted up the surroundings.  I upload it on Facebook and looked for Neil Sedaka on YouTube.

It's 2012 and the rains are back.  News of inundated houses and displaced people once again fill our collective consciousness.  But it's a special day.  It's always a good opportunity to give thanks that I'm blessed with the one I love.  He stood by me through thick and thin.

I hear laughter in the rain.

* * * * *
Cotabato City
17 June 2012

Kinship: Brotherhood & Sisterhood Rolled Into One

“We the peoples of Mindanao have our own indigenous ways of resolving conflict.  Ipakaylap nato[1].”

These were the words that hit me strongly throughout the ceremony.  It was a declaration, because it seems that we have forgotten that long before the Spaniards came to colonize us, we had ways of resolving issues that affect our everyday lives. 

I use the word “us” because I was born in Malaybalay, Bukidnon to settler-parents; parents who found the land of Mindanao so fertile anything would grow on it.  I use the word “us” because I am a child of Mindanao, even if it was only very recently that I learned that one of my ancestors is Governor General Bravo de Acuña who was also instrumental in opening the Galleon Trade between the Philippines and Mexico.  It came as a pleasant surprise that on this occasion, MILF Alternate Representative for IPs Datu Antonio Kinoc recognizes the name as that of a governor general.  I wonder if that gives me bragging rights to say I may be somewhere within the 14^th generation of poor cousins. 

I use the word “us” because I gave birth to three wonderful Cotabatenos having married a person who made me realize that there is such a tribe called Maguindanaons.  Gulo is the Maguindanaon word for 'teacher', similar to the Tagalog or M'ranao word 'guro'.  Maguindanaons of yore could not pronounce letter R.  Through time the word 'gulo' was Arabicized into 'ustadz'.  

I use the word “us” because everywhere I go in Mindanao I feel I belong, I feel welcome.  In short, I use the word “us” for a million reasons.  On second thought, it really did not matter whether people accepted me or not – what is important is that I feel loved in their presence.

It was already twilight when we reached Talaandig Ancestral Territory, 262 kilometers east-northwest of the delta city of Cotabato.  While most of the roads were already either concrete or being constructed, the slippery 200-meter inroad cooperated with Mujahidat, my reliable 7-year old KIA Avella which I think was the only hutchback that reached the bosom of Mt Kitanglad so far.  I squeezed it in between rows of vehicles that streamed from various points in Mindanao in the last twelve hours. We walked towards the Hall of Peace stage where testimonials of kinship were being shared.  I saw a lot of hugs being exchanged -- maybe it spoke more than handshakes because no hugs came without igniting a smile on a person’s face.

The chants, kulintangs and drums that interspersed the testimonials almost sent me to a trance had we not been told by hosts that either dinner is ready or that we need to get settled in the house where a family will share some space for the night.

Lengleng from the Secretariat assigned us to the home of Allan who works in a banana plantation nearby.  He and his wife Roxanne together with children Colleen, Tommy and Brian all move to one room of the house so that Froilyn, Jun and I can take the only other room.  Allan’s clan (mga dumagat[2]) comes from the coastal town of Opol in Misamis Oriental but they were allowed to stay in the ancestral territory by the Talaandig Tribal Chief Datu Migketay “Vic” Saway. 

Allan’s sister Bebeng comes with a colourful mat.  We unpack our sleeping bags and dozed off for the cold night while the others were still left in the Hall of Peace stage for more drumbeats, music and chanting. 

* * * * *

Yang Kapian

By break of dawn we walk back to the Hall of Peace grounds.  The last mists of the night were slowly lifting and I see calla lily (Zantedeschia aethiopica) plants surround several houses.  Everyone gathers to agree on what to do for the Kinship Ritual which would start after breakfast.  We were given each a leaf of the “kilala[3]” plant, the hybrid of which is known in the lowlands as Baston de San Jose.  In many video documentaries the same leaf being used by Ifugaos and Igorots in their rituals. 

Constant reminders were being announced that the ceremony will be solemn, and everyone was requested to turn their cellphones to silent mode, and refrain from talking.  When the masters of ceremonies say, “Yang kapian”, that’s the time everybody claps their hands.

The sacred ground was carpeted with moss and surrounded by hardwood trees, indicating that the elevation of the place was high[4], estimating that we were halfway up the mountain.  On one side of the ground was the Datu Kinulintang Hall, and the on the other was the Talaandig School for Living Traditions.  On the highest part of the ground was a 20-foot monument, a sculpted jar or “tibud”, a replica of the clay article where, according to Datu Simbalon of Malitbog, agreements in ancient times were put for safekeeping.

The first datu who shared their story was the eldest brother of Datu Migketay.  He asked permission from the crowd that he had to use the Cebuano/Bisayan language as it is understood by the majority.  He relayed the story of a great flood (lunop) which left dry land only as high as the tanglad (lemon grass), thus the name Kitanglad.  The flood washed away many people, leaving Apu Agbibilin who later found a woman floating on a “kalatung” (drum) on another mountain. 

They had eight (8) children, some of whom went west and became the ancestors of the M’ranaos; the other children who went south became the ancestors of the Maguindanaos.  I may have missed the account, but I presume there were also children who either stayed put or went north and east. 

Apu Agbibilin warned that time will come when they will be many, and like hair they would entangle.  So as part of their ways to resolve their conflict, they would use coconut oil in order to, again like hair, be smoothened out again.

Other tribal representatives also shared their stories.  The T’durays shared the story of the two brothers, Tabunaway and Mamalu.  While Tabunaway converted to Islam upon the coming of Shariff Kabunsuan, Mamalu chose to stick to his indigenous belief.  Tabunaway became the father of the Islamized tribes; while Mamalu became the father of the indigenous tribes.  It did not bother me that the accounts were varied; I am comfortable with the idea that everything they said, happened; and that the other element that need to be factored into each event was time: as to when did each event happen. 

Through the centuries leaders of the different tribes met to resolve their issues; and the most recent one was done 492 years ago, shortly before the Spaniards came to colonize what is known today as the Philippines.  A durian tree was said to have been planted in Sitio Tikalaan to symbolize the peace pact.  For this reaffirmation ceremony, a monument was erected.

Result of various consultations

The Moro-IP Kinship Reaffirmation Ceremony was a result of various consultations conducted among Moro and IP groups in 8 provinces relative to the ongoing GPH-MILF Peace Talks.  The Mindanao People’s Caucus (MPC) and the Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil Society (CBCS) were requested to be the organizers/secretariat. 

After a couple of postponements having to synchronize schedules and resources, it was finally set on March 8, 2012.  According to the MPC, the aim is to awaken the kinship relations among the early inhabitants that resulted to traditional peace pacts, known as but not limited to the Tampuda, Dyandi, Pakang and Sapa.  The group is open by saying that this is an attempt to influence the outcome of the current peace process by considering how peace pacts were practiced and respected before.

Many organizations were invited to witness the ceremony.  Though the GPH Panel did not send a representative, the MILF was there, led by Prof. Abhoud Syed Lingga.  Accordingly, the GPH gave way to the MILF to be the main witness.  ARMM OIC Governor Mujiv Hataman was said to have sent a representative (though I did not see the person nor remember the name).  Bukidnon Provincial Governor Alex Calingasan sent a representative; and NCIP X and XII were also represented.  Ifugao Congressman Teddy Baguilat, Chair of the Congressional Committee on Cultural Communities was also present.  He said he will file a bill proposing March 8 to be Mindanao Kinship Day.  Historian Rudy “Ompong” Rodil was also present; as well as representatives from the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) and the International Monitoring Team (IMT).  Media practitioners were also present, and needless to say several CSOs.

Moro tribes that were represented were the Maguindanao, Maranao, Tausug, Kagan, Iranun and Yakan.  The IP tribes[5] aside from the Talaandig were the Higaonon, T’duray, B’laan, T’boli, Dulangan Manobo and Arumanen Manobo.  Aside from the members of the CBCS and MPC, around 500 participants registered.

The ceremony was a reaffirmation of kinship and shared ancestry, which apparently had been buried in the Mindanawon’s collective memory having had to struggle with colonizers and strong foreign influence in the last five centuries.  It was also a reaffirmation that as a people we had traditional ways of resolving disputes and these were honoured and respected; and I think it should not be difficult to adapt as compassion and fairness has always been part of our nature.  While the versions of the stories were varied, it had common points like a common belief of a creator/powerful being; someone as the father of each tribe; and that each tribe was characterized by its special skills.  It was also an assertion of presence, a strong message saying “don’t exclude us in the peace talks”.  

Principles of Kinship

There was also a call to focus on the similarities and not the differences; and that there was no need to be afraid of the reaffirmation ceremony because, according to a M’ranao representative, “it is good for everybody.” 

The tribes committed to five (5) pillars of kinship, namely:  kilalahâ or mutual recognition and respect; sayudâ or mutual sharing of information; buligâ or cooperation; uyagâ or mutual protection and preservation of life; and pagbatunbatunâ or mutual obligation to help the needy.

A young male carabao and several chickens were slaughtered on the sacred ground in front of the monument.  Both Moro and IP leaders offered prayers (sumbalî) to the spirits before the actual slashing of the throats.  It is believed that the fresh blood of the animals (pabugwas) would cleanse the land and heal the wounds.  Participants dipped their kilala leaves on the spilled blood. I chose to dip my leaf on chicken blood and tucked it on the breast pocket of my maong jacket. 

An exchange of tokens followed.  The tokens from the Moro included kris (sword), tubao (scarf), kupya (cap), dudol (sticky rice cakes), agong, and a replica of a vinta (boat).  Tokens from the IPs included the traditional dress, kalapî (sling bags), lambitan (sword) and indigenous handicrafts.

An anointing of coconut oil on the forehead was also done, a re-enactment of Apu Saulana being the woman who served as peacemaker for her brothers in ancient times. 

I purposely interviewed Bae Linandang, whose westernized name is Delia Sinahon Hinganan, because she was wearing the only blouse that I found unique among the rest: it had intricate needlework.  Although there was a big hole left by rodents on the left sleeve, she managed to patch it with red cloth to preserve the whole blouse. 

According to her, the blouse is 200 years old, having been passed down to her by her mother who inherited it from her own mother and up the line.  According to her son Romnick, who seemed to be more articulate than Bae Linandang, the embroidery is called pinagsuy and requires sixty (60) needles to finish.  It is a technique where you have to overlap the threaded needles as you go along.  It should be exciting to see how it’s done.

Bae Katipunan, Bae Linandang’s sister, is worried that pinagsuy is a dying art and that they want to revive it.  Only that up to this time they don’t know how to get financial help so they could proceed.  Without committing anything, I get her contact numbers just in case it will come in handy.  She says it will take at least a month for several women to finish the whole get up (blouse, skirt, side bag that is sewn to the skirt and kaolokapli (headdress) which they sell for at least p5000.   

Yes, I saw the real thing – rituals that are not packaged for tourists nor staged for commercial purposes.  No pretenses.  It was come-as-you-are; you’re not a guest but a family member.  There’s a place to sleep, there’s food, there’s water.  The air conditioning cannot be turned off and is even full-blast outside.  Everything is yours for the asking.  You’ll be fine. 

The entire ceremony was done shortly after noon.  Lunch was served and most of the participants gradually left for home.  We gathered our things from our host family and expressed our gratitude to Roxanne.  Six-month old Bryan was being lulled to sleep by Ate Colleen in his duyan (hammock); while two-year old Tommy stood in his crib looking at us with his big eyes as if to ask us to bring him and make “pasyal” (stroll). 

We transferred to the tulugan or Hall of Peace, a two-storey structure approximately 25 x 15 meters wide on each floor, which by now was almost empty except for a few members of the secretariat.  We now had time to examine and take pictures of the Talaandig Soil Paintings that line the walls.  It was amazing to note how soil can indeed be mixed to produce an array of colors.   

We made use of the rest of the day by exploring the School for Living Traditions.  More soil paintings, more handicrafts.  The wood fired stove which is the center of a Talaandig home is moved to the side to accommodate a long table which served as the Secretariat’s nerve center.  I think the school is in a dire need for support and maintenance. 

We went to see the barangay.  In a house along the highway two men were sorting newly harvested carrots for the market.  We bought a few kilos.  We also took pictures of the surroundings, and tried to get our orientations considering that this was our first time in the bosom of Kitanglad Range.   Kalatungan Peak was now towards the west, while Dulang-dulang Peak was nowhere to be seen – could it be that we were standing on it? Kitanglad Peak now seemed to be at arm’s length.

Vehicles in all shapes and sizes carry farm products or aggregates.  To say that there are big trucks in this plateau province of Bukidnon is an understatement.  For lack of better term, let me call them lorries, and they consist a significant number of traffic hereabouts that at one time the province was lauded to have the highest ratio of trucks to people.  

Lantapan is no exception.  “Tinuod jud diay nga daghang milyonaryo sa Bukidnon,” I mumbled to myself.  “Mao tingali nga lisud makit-an nga naay pobre.”  (I think it’s true that there are so many millionaires in Bukidnon it’s hard to see where the poor people are).

Though it is impressive to know that Lantapan is Bukidnon’s vegetable and fruit basket, it is heart-rending on the other hand to see that it is also a haven for commercial agriculture and chemical inputs.  Herbicide companies proudly brandish their products on the roadsides, promising to annihilate grasses as if these were the most dreaded creature in modern civilization.  Wide swathes of land are actually fields of corn, pineapples, sugar cane and bananas; and long tin-roofed buildings that dot the hillsides to the point of encroaching protected areas indicate that contract growing for swine and poultry is a thriving industry.  I am afraid that Lantapan is going to be the next Benguet where landslide is king. 

Connecting the spirits

We had separate conversations with Datu Simbalon, Bae Adela Saway and Bae Magagaw (which means tig-apud-apud or one who shares).  Datu Simbalon says he would be very happy if I could send him the pictures I took of him; so he gave me his address.  Bae Adela always made sure that we ate our meals and we had a place to sleep.  Her pretty daughters helped her around and I had my picture taken with them in their finery.  Bae Magagaw always made sure that there was always something cooking in the kitchens.  And by kitchens I mean wood-fired stoves with big pots in different locations.  (On hindsight, I notice that the rice was cooked just right all throughout, unlike many big gatherings where the rice always seemed either undercooked or overcooked or “nanimahong angtod” – smells of smoke). 

It was now nearing twilight and Bae Magagaw was collecting plastic mineral water bottles left by the participants.  She said she will give these bottles to the other members of the community, because it serves very well as containers or storage items.  One specific use for it would be for rice that a mother saves for rainy days.  According to her, a wise mother should know how to save.  For example, every time she cooks rice, she should get just a handful and store it somewhere.  She makes it a habit thus it is off her conscious mind all this time that she is setting aside the rice.  When lean season comes, she would still have some rice for cooking. 

Healthy bath water

Mary Ann calls it “Extra Challenge Part 2”, which means having morning baths with ice-cold water that comes from a tap.  Well, all you need is to cross the boundary by pouring the first “kabô” (dipper) while taking deep breaths and shouting to your heart’s content.  Having spent my childhood in Bukidnon was not a guarantee for me to get used to icy bath water either.  Somewhere in the middle it makes me think of just not rinsing completely bahala’g nagkasabon pa (even if I'm still sudsy) just to get rid of the cold.  But then I remember my mother and an aunt telling me that cold mountain bathwater is healthier because it increases blood circulation.  True enough, as children we did not rely too much on warm clothing even if there was fog.  Any person who felt cold for the rest of the day was teased with “way ligô” (did not take a bath).   

Oral tradition is alive

Having listened to a number of people in the last couple of days made me amazed on how they could spontaneously relate in detail what they know, what has been accordingly passed down through generations.  I just wondered whether we, supposedly the schooled, could have the same memory recall without any aid.  Could we say their accounts are accurate?  Or could we say that the details are just representation of some bigger truth?  What is the bigger truth?  Isn’t it also possible to share these stories further without being identified with any political affiliation or ideology?  Just ourselves, no labels? 

I know there are already efforts to document these stories in written form, and it is a race against time as those who hold it are already advancing in years and may soon be gone.  As it is said, history generally belongs to those who write it.      

We bid farewell to everyone; Wingwing gives me a dozen planting materials of calla lily.  The young man blushes when I said I will always remember him every time it will bloom. 

The long drive was not exhausting: the spirits of the dead and the living have energized us.  We came as observers.  We saw the Moro and the IP reaffirm each other’s kinship.  And, if you are neither Moro nor IP, aren’t you glad they did?

Sungko, Lantapan, Bukidnon
10 March 2012

* * * * *    

The author is the Project Manager of IPDEV, an EU-funded project for IPs in the ARMM, implemented by the consortium of the Institute for Autonomy and Governance (IAG), Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (KAS) and Development Consultants (DEVCON).  The article is a personal account and the responsibility of the author and can in no way be taken to reflect the view of the European Union and IAG-KAS-DEVCON.   

She is also the convenor of Vetiver Forum, a volunteer-driven citizen action towards environmental disaster risk reduction with the use of Vetiver Grass Technology.

---

[1] Kaylap – Cebuano word for spread, usually referring to fire; ipakaylap – spread wide; nato – let us; ipakaylap nato – let us spread wide.

[2] Root word: dagat, meaning sea

[3] Cordyline fruticosa

[4] Approx. 4000 feet

[5] There are 18 ethnolinguistic tribes in Mindanao http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hilltribes_of_Mindanao

Write…!

The words still echo in my mind to this day.  I knew it was an order – no, a strong nudge – for me to believe in what I can do. 

This was 2007 and seventeen months have passed since my last article.  My work at that time in a UN agency was relatively new territory and I did not want to engage in anything outside it. As I was highly opinionated, I was extra wary that anything I do, including writing, would be misconstrued as conflict of interest. 

“Yes Father; I will pray about it,” was my feeble reply.

Father Alfonso Carino, OMI casually talked to me – giving corrections, proposing options – about my weekly articles on the Editorial Page of the Mindanao Cross where I wrote since 1991.

One time in 2003 I submitted an article about a friend who was gunned down because of some transparency and accountability issues in their office.  On that particular day we were just coming from the field with colleagues distributing relief goods somewhere in the Liguasan Marsh.  We passed through a military checkpoint where a convoy was just ambushed an hour earlier.  These were indeed difficult times in Maguindanao and Cotabato.

Surprisingly I did not shed a tear seeing my friend, a devoted worker -- bloodied and lifeless in the hospital morgue.  I thanked him for the friendship and the dedication he had shown in making sure that humanitarian assistance reached their intended beneficiaries.

I rushed to beat my deadline with the Mindanao Cross.  I had my topic ready for the day, but I needed to pay tribute to my fallen friend by writing another article. The experience must have rendered me incapable of churning out comprehensible sentences.  The editor did not have time to check my article thoroughly as well, and all of us realized it only when it saw print:  it lacked a concluding paragraph.


“This is ugly,” was the only thing Father Al told me. But it was clear to me that I should come up with either better excuses or better articles next time.  Emotions would have to take a back seat if I have to make one good tribute.

Over and above the grammatical corrections, or views on certain issues, he told me my articles were “down-to-earth”.  I think it was an affirmation of how I wanted my articles to turn out: simple, easy to understand.  With all the information overload, I made sure I understand an issue first before I pass on my confusion to readers.  I cannot pretend to be scholarly when I'm not.  

"How can I improve, Father?"  I ask often ask for his guidance.

"Just continue with what you’re doing,” was always the curt reply.

I was somewhere in the Zamboanga Peninsula when I got news that he was in the ICU, and I can only murmur my prayers and speak to him through the wind.  He went ahead, and I got to visit him in his wake at the OMI Spiritual Center in Tamontaka, Maguindanao shortly afterwards. 

"Write." I hear him in my head, from behind the glass pane of his coffin.

As fate would have it, my work sent me to Basilan and Sulu on the day of his burial.  Every time I visit his grass-covered grave at the Lourdes Grotto I still hear his voice reminding me to write.

In God's time, I will, Father.

* * * * *

Postscript:

I wrote this article on 10 October 2010 after Notre Dame University blessed the Fr Alfonso Carino Building.  With breakthroughs on social networking, I think it's high time I slowly heed my mentor's message.  AMDG.