Around the second week of August 2012, the kids had
been living in my house a total of four months.
From the start we had this minor language barrier in the fact they knew
too little English while I knew too little Cebuano. Still, we were managing a basic form of
communication without resorting to sign language or symbols. Most of the time, Diana would be the
translator, but by this time, they were becoming more accustomed to
English…..at least more so than I was to Cebuano. We had been discussing the walk across Iowa
that Brad and I had done in 2003 and again in 2004. Clarisse and Toy thought it was cool and thus
I subtly suggested we could walk from Binalbagan to Bacolod as a family. Toy and Clarisse thought that was a great
idea whereas Santiago said nothing. Five
year Charissa Mae was all for walking the “distance”, but I knew after a
kilometer she would be whining that someone would need to carry her, so she was
not a consideration.
We discussed possible dates and finally settled on the
following Monday (A long holiday weekend), a mere handful of days away. There would be no practice walks in
preparation and furthermore, the children had not a clue what real distance
was. In their minds, that trek would
only take a couple of hours at the most and they definitely had no idea how
long twelve kilometers was.
Which brings me to the story of my father and me
walking to Webster City, Iowa (a distance of twenty-four miles) in the summer
of 1962. I was ten years old at that
time and I had always told my forty-eight year old father that since it only
took us thirty minutes to travel by car from our home in Fort Dodge to
grandma’s house in Webster City that I was quite sure we could easily walk it
in a few hours or maybe even three. Man,
was I naïve then. In September of that
year, we made the trek and it took us the entire day to reach grandma’s
home. What I remembered most about that
trip was that my feet burned. I tried to
cool them off in a stream that passed under the gravel road we were walking
upon, but it didn’t help. My father,
being the stronger person, never ever commented on what aches and pains he had
to have encountered from that jaunt. After
I had grown up and had children of my own, I tried for years to get my two
oldest sons to walk with me to Webster City, but they were relatively street
wise and always declined. Finally in
1979, my fourteen year old niece Alaire took up the offer and lasted all the
way to Duncombe, Iowa (about twelve miles) before backing out, which required
me to complete the walk without her. In my
youthful years I roamed the land out of curiosity as well as an adventure into
the unknown, but after I had matured, walking to those distant locations would
become a challenge to me. However, I am digressing
from the tale at hand.
I stressed to the family that on Monday we needed to
be walking to the bus stop by 5:30 a.m., but I kept forgetting that this
country (as well as my adopted children) operated on Philippine Time and not an
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| The family ready to ride the bus to Binalbagan |
actual schedule. Hence we were off by
6:45 a.m. and aboard a transport a little after 7:00 a.m. Now, I don’t know about the kids, but I for
one was excited. It wasn’t the undertaking
which drove me that day as it was the opportunity to share a new experience
with my Filipino Children. Well, not all
of the children was happy. I realize now
that Santiago only went along because of his older brother and sister, and as I
review the photos taken that day, you could see that he was determined not to
have a good time. Or perhaps, his mind
was set that way.
We arrived in Binalbagan at around 7:45 a.m. and
started our group walk from there. We
took side streets through the town, avoiding highway traffic until reaching the
eastern edge. From there we walked
single file like a line of ducks with mama duck in the lead, papa duck in the
rear and the ducklings in between, bodies bobbing and weaving as we ambled
along the shoulder of the busy highway. The
skies were partly cloudy as we started out that day, however there were to be lengthy
periods when we glided along under a cloudless canopy of blue, giving the sun
an opportunity to scorch our little clan mercilessly.
The first two kilometers seemed effortless, but it was
already hot and humid or just plain uncomfortable as we reached the Welcome to
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| The family at the mini-plaza at Binalbagan |
Binalbagan mini-plaza at the edge of town.
Toy, Clarisse, and Diana were all in good spirits as we walked up the
steps to the concrete platform. However,
I knew we might be in trouble as soon as Santiago grumbled, “Are we there yet?” If the look on his face of dissatisfaction
was noticeable in Himamaylan City, it was downright spiteful at hearing we had
only begun.
I motioned Diana to the side and hinted to her that
she might have to quit the walk and at some point take Santiago home on the
bus. She looked at Santiago for a few
moments and then turned to me.
“He will make it.
He may complain, but he won’t quit,” she softly replied.
Sometimes, a mother knows the capabilities of her
children better than anyone. Before the
family had moved to Himamaylan, I had a discussion with their mother, Diana,
about Santiago. You see, that child was
a little strong willed, and he really loved living in Owak and especially loved
to fish there. So, one evening I
confessed that I felt the kids would easily adapt to their new life on the
island of Negros, but I feared that Santiago would not last a year and ask to be
returned to Cebu and live with his grandparents. What I didn’t consider was the cohesiveness
of this quartet. They had survived life,
by banding together as a close knit unit and where one went, all was sure to
follow.
After about fifteen minutes, we formed our single file
line again and started moving along the highway toward Hinigaran. This was the test that would challenge the
unity of our little group.
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| The road heading out of Binalbagan |
The terrain during the first six kilometers was flat
with only a couple rises where there existed bridges. The hikers were light on their feet with Toy
and Clarisse teasing each other as they all looked about them at the changes in
the scenery for the first time. In this
part of Negros, Sugar Cane was King whereas in Cebu, rice fields dominated.
The air was becoming stagnant as the morning
progressed. Old Sol was playing his part
well during this stretch with no clouds to impede his demonic habit of burning
the already tanned skin of these sojourners.
The Binalbagan River, less than two kilometers from its outlet into the
Sulu Sea, was a murky brown as our quintet cautiously crossed on a narrow
ledge. Although traffic was relatively
light that day, a couple of semi’s roared over the concrete span taking little
notice or heed to our “family line” which hung to the railing for stability as
well as safety
Back on the grassy siding once again, we rounded a
curve and began our three kilometer stretch through open land, bordered by
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| A flat and endless road |
seemingly
endless fields of sugar cane. To the
left of us was a path which paralleled the highway and had once been the
railway used to transport sugar cane from the fields to the plants. Now, it rested idly under a layer of grass along
with the intermittent nipa built atop its neglected ballast. Farmers would occasionally tie their Carabao
(Water Buffalo) atop that rail bed as there was plenty of vegetation and were a
safe distance from the nearby highway.
After we passed the last Nipa, Toy decided to walk that long abandoned
line. Since it was littered with Carabao
flops (dung), he called out that we no longer had to go to Goldilocks to buy
birthday cakes as there were plenty here!
And with that, he would find one and say, “Happy Birthday to you Ate
(Aw-tay (which means older sister), “ or “Here is a Carabao Cake for you
Santiago.” In fact, we were all told
that our cakes awaited us when the time came.
Our first rest stop was two more kilometers down the
road at a waiting shade that I had used quite often. It was situated atop the old rail bed and
surrounded by sugar cane. Although it
was hot, the shade provided some relief from the relentless sun, who waited
with delight for our band of hapless victims to re-emerge from the cooling shade
of the shelter and back into the searing light of day
A little further on I noticed that a dark rain cloud
was situated a little more than a kilometer ahead of us and I could clearly see
a heavy downpour ahead as we continued up the road. In a way I was glad to see the rain as it
would cool us off for a bit, but it would also leave us drenched as well as
very uncomfortable when the sun finally returned. Yet, as we got within a couple hundred meters
of that wet pavement, the raincloud mysteriously dissipated and was replaced by
that fiery orb which had been tormenting us now for over an hour. Rising steam created from the unrelenting sun
quickly evaporated the water on the pavement making the moisture laden air even
more humid. I ultimately came to the
conclusion that this overwhelming heat was going to plague us the rest of the
way to our destination.
The road eventually curved to the north as a line of shade
trees, thick
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| Toy holding Pataluca flowers |
shrubs, and bamboo homes gave us a little respite from the
sun. Flowers lined the road while
curious heads both young and old
peered out the windows of their Nipas probably
wondering why the old foreigner was walking with a bunch of youngsters. Suddenly, the kids came across some unusual
flowers and Diana asked the woman who was standing in the doorway of her home
what their name was. She replied that
they were native flowers and called Portulaca.
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| Inquisitive eyes of a youngster |
While the two women briefly chatted, one of her youngsters peeked around
the end of a bamboo fence; his eyes filled with inquisitiveness and perhaps a touch
of fear as I snapped a picture with my camera.
For the next couple of kilometers we walked within the
shade of towering vegetation and palm trees.
The simple homes were set
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| Children crossing a bridge on the shaded portion of the walk |
aback from the highway, their age being determined
by the condition of the material. An all
bamboo structure will normally last between two and three years. If you mix in
wood, perhaps a little longer. If you
are wealthy enough to afford at least a cement foundation and partial block
wall, then the longevity is greatly enhanced. Still, from what I could observe, the
inhabitants seemed content with their station in life. Sometimes when everyone is fated to live
under the same conditions, then having little or nothing isn’t all that
bad. I am confident that my Filipino
children could relate to those basic conditions, but they never commented to
that fact.
From the start of this journey our quintet was quite
lively, but by now the heat of the morning along with running out of bottled
water was having its deteriorating effect on us all. Talking had had become sparse and whereas the
walking was rather animated at times, it now looked as if we had been
transformed into a line of Zombies plodding down the highway (without
outstretched arms). At that moment, I
think it had finally dawned on them that this was not just a walk to the market
and back.
Eventually, we returned to the land of bright sunlight
and sugar cane fields and were now stopping at every waiting shade. Whenever we
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| Locals at Sari Sari store staring at the foreigner & his family |
happened upon a Sari Sari store,
we inquired whether they had any bottled water.
To our disappointment, it was always the same reply, they only carried warm
pop, beer, and Tanduay Rum. I was
surprised that those establishments did not have bottled water of any size for
sale, but then I considered the economic situation of the local residents. Alcohol and cigarettes were so inexpensive as
well as so abundant that even the poorest could afford those addictive
products. I have constantly warned my
Filipino children of the destructive ends those vices might have on their
futures. Still, in the end, I accept the
fact that it will ultimately be up to them to decide what they feel is necessary
in their lives….which may include
drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes and all of the hardships associated
with it.
I will acknowledge that the last three kilometers were
extremely challenging for me. Without
water, my desire to continue dropped
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| Pretty exhausted with less than three kilometers to go |
dramatically. The relentless sun smiled gleefully knowing
that it was wearing down our little pack.
We were all becoming dehydrated as we progressively walked slower during
that final stretch. Idle conversations
had ceased altogether, yet everyone continued to put one foot in front of the
other as they eyed the line of shade trees in the near distance.
What seemed like an inordinate length of time, the
shade trees of Hinigaran came to our rescue, partially relieving us from our
misery. Curving around a corner, past
the Hinigaran National High School and leading into the town, we came upon a
water dispenser and broke out the pesos in the excitement of finding that life
sustaining elixir. How the dispenser
worked was that you placed a small plastic baglet under the outlet, tossed in a
peso coin and watched the chilled water empty from a bottled water container on
the top of the machine. Within minutes
all of us were sated by the refreshing liquid. Talking resumed as a somewhat lively spring
returned to our legs. We were finally
less than a kilometer from our destination which was the Ceres Liner bus
depot.
In a very short time, we were sitting in seats at the
depot awaiting
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| The journey has ended |
our bus to arrive and carry us back home. I bought us all ice cream drum sticks at the
station and for the most part, they were excited about their
accomplishment…..well all except for Santiago, who was not going to be happy
about the adventure no matter what.
During the evening meal, we talked about the
walk. Many good things were brought up,
at the interesting sights each had witnessed.
I was amazed at the enthusiasm Toy and Clarisse showed in their observations. However, Santiago said nothing. He scowled at his plate of food as we talked
energetically about the trek completed.
After a while, I asked the children if they wanted to continue the walk
from Hinigaran to Pontevedra. The
conversation suddenly ceased. Toy looked
at Clarisse as Santiago continued staring down at the plate before him. Again, I asked the three if they were up to hiking
from Hinigaran to Pontevedra. This
time they all looked at me and then said in a low voice, in unison, “no”. It seemed that this was more than enough
adventure for my Filipino trio.
For myself I learned several things about my adopted
family from this sojourn between towns. I
have always written that I adopted the children, but in actuality, they had
adopted me as their father. When we first
met, for whatever reason, they had determined right then and there that I was
going to be their papa. Those children
had no ulterior motive or agenda, it was just that they had found a papa with
which they could give complete love and trust to. They sensed…
no, they knew from the very beginning
I would not abandon them….and they were right.
It has been that way from the very beginning and I know….I
know, that it will be that way until the end of my days. When we hiked
to Hinigaran, we didn’t do it as three children, their mother, and the foreigner, but it was done as a
single unit. As a complete family and what was more amazing was that they never gave
up. Even when I began to falter due to
the heat, they were there to support as well as encourage their papa to
continue on. In the beginning, I was the
leader and figurehead, but as we neared the end, Toy and Clarisse made sure one
of them was by my side the last kilometer into town. Families can be strong with a good bond
between all of its members or families can be weak with no
guidance or reason to gravitate toward the center. I am proud to say that this is a super glued
family as it should always be.
Bounder…
December 4, 2015
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