WE FEAR WHAT WE DON'T KNOW
The Road to Jamindan
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JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
There were mixed feelings of relief and disappointment when I finally made it out of that jungle ( see previous blogs) and was handed over to some friendlies who were to guide me to an airport north from Mindanao where I was told I would have a “restful transit point” before making my final exit. For one thing , I wouldn’t have to take those darn chloroquine tablets that was recommended when entering a malaria-endemic area. So much the better for my liver. The other thing was I would be missing some new found friends. The saying went in the area that if things got tough and there really was fierce fighting, your best friends would be the marines. But when the conflict was low intensity and your concern was just getting in and greeting friends and getting out without encountering potential hostage-takers, your best buddies had to be the Scout Rangers from SOCOM. I just hope they would be the same familiar faces to greet when and if a next time comes.
So I landed in this small but decent airport in a Visayan Island that was known for its Ati-Atihan Festival, which was a mixture of Christian religious and local folklore. There were also stories about the locals here…crazy stories probably made up to scare strangers, but it was bruited about that anyone who hailed from that place was most likely a vampire. Didn’t really bother me none. All I had to do was act like Wesley Snipes in his “Blade” movies…and run.
Anyway, I was told that I just missed the Festival, which included a cop that went on a rampage and shot several onlookers. Pretty neat timing for me, I must say. Anyway, I really wasn’t suppose to visit the Festival site, which was in the town of Kalibo. Another unit agreed to host their long-lost “brother”, but I had to make it to their camp. I just went straight to this guide who had my name written on a signboard at the arrival area. I just followed him after he confirmed my identity and smiled.
He hopped on the open back of a four-wheeler and I followed surprisingly together with a number of men, women and kids who I exchanged smiles with wondering all the time who they were. I wanted to ask the guide how long the ride would be and what kind of a place we would be going to, but I didn’t want the conversation to reveal to the other locals that it was my first visit, so I spent most of the bumpy two-hour ride in smiles and in silence.
What really made the ride longer was the unknown. Unknown terrain. Unknown culture. Unknown everything. There were just ricefields after ricefields and in some hilly curves, this nagging feeling that came to me whenever there were field training exercises. You know, you see two grassy hills on each side up ahead and it reminded you of those simulated exercises that told you to beware of “killing zones”. I was trying to look into my guide’s eyes who stood after the two women seated before me, hoping he would get the question burning in my brain at the time.”This is a safe place, right ??”, I wanted so much to ask him. Reflexly, my eyes just darted to some corners at the back of the truck looking for possible spots I could jump or escape into just in case. So, I’m combat-supportive and I might as well have painted my back in yellow stripes with the words “chicken little”, but there’s something about approaching a hilly foliage in an open truck that scares the hell out of me . I could only grope for my laptop bag and act like the people around me – like it was an ordinary day.
Out of what seemed like a never ending scenario of ricefields came trees then more trees.They weren’t just coconut trees as in the south but a mixture of other hardwood and bamboo. I spotted one trunk with the nailed signboard,” To Camp Jamindan”. What a relief that was. The dirt road had transformed into asphalted ones with manicured hedges on the side lined by white-painted stones. At the turn of the bend, the Camp’s welcome sign greeted. No incidents. No ambuscades. Just fear of the Unknown. It was a safe place after all.
The Camp was huge. How many acres or hectares, I failed to recall. I only remember being told it was the size of one of the northern island’s (Luzon) larger provinces. It had its own rice granary and farming community and the buildings were built wide apart in sprawling fashion. It somehow reminded me of Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, only much bigger. There was even a wide area serving as a fruit and vegetable garden. Who would expect this oasis in the middle of an island filled with ricefields ?
What greeted me that evening was equally surprising. After a sumptuous dinner and rest, majority of their staff gathered and held an impromptu program before a videoke screen and everyone rendered one Filipino love song (kundiman) after another. In between, there were more inputs on their politics, what they called ‘militics’ and their economy. I must’ve sent their O-Club crashing with my rendition of a number I had earlier noted and selected, Billy Joel’s “It’s Really Rock and Roll To Me”. Sorry Guys, but I really couldn’t resist it after going thru that grueling uncertain ride. But how was that for a cultural exchange?
“So, this was my restful transit point?”, I asked aloud, praising them for their hospitality.
“No”, the senior official replied. “That’s for tomorrow.”
I guess it's natural to fear the unknown. When others play on our fears to manipulate us, we either inhibit ourselves from knowing and learning further and continue living in fear or seek out the truth for ourselves to overcome this fear. When we hit the crossroads,our choices decide what the rest of our lives will be.
