Chapter 11 - This One's For the Movies...But What A Scary Experience.
Our house in the village of Calaitan lies
alongside the road that connects the city of Bayugan to some towns of Surigao
del Sur due east traversing through a lumber-rich mountainous forest. It is a
proposed national highway but during the mid 80s, it was still a private road
owned and maintained by the logging company that operated in the area. During
this time, I was teaching at the state university in Marawi and my two brothers
were working as radio broadcasters in Davao City. Only my younger sisters, a
nephew and a niece were in the house with my parents.
Let me quote what I have written earlier
titled ‘Mother’s Day Musings:’ “In those days, no public transport reached
our place. But the mobility problem of the farmer residents was somehow eased
by the generosity of the company drivers who gave rides to people they pass by
hiking on the side of the road or waiting at some designated areas. On many
instances you can see a comical but scary sight of dozens of people sitting on
top of logs or on top of mounds of gravel of trucks racing at breakneck speed
along the unpaved winding road risking lives and limbs. Seat belts were unheard
of in our village.”
On the morning of July 12, 1987, an Army
sergeant passed by hiking. He was accompanied by a civilian paramilitary man
which also served as his close-in security aide. About one kilometer away from our house, the
duo was ambushed by a band of communist rebels. Though they were wounded they
were able to return fire and radioed their base in Bayugan for
re-enforcement. The base assured them
that re-enforcement is coming shortly. A helicopter gunship was also dispatched
from the 4th ID headquarters in Cagayan de Oro toward our place.
On the opposite side of the road fronting
our house was a water canal that became so deep at the passing of time due to
erosion caused by the constant flow of water in a sloping terrain towards the
river below. At that time the canal was
already around 7 feet deep covered with vegetation on the sides. Without the
knowledge of my parents and our neighbors, dozens of communist rebels were
hiding there that day. They were part of the larger group that ambushed the sergeant
an hour earlier.
When the army soldiers arrived, the rebels
engaged them to a firefight right in front of our house. My family dove into
the foxhole under our house. That foxhole was dug by my father solely for
protection in the event something like this happens. When the helicopter
gunship arrived, the rebels scattered and retreated to higher grounds toward
the banana plantation and the wooded wilderness beyond where they were
methodically and surgically cut down by the helicopter’s automatic fire.
After the gunbattle, my father checked
everyone and thankfully no one was harmed. But our family dog was missing. I
forgot the name of that dog now. Perhaps my nephew, Inggo, can help me jog my
memory.
After three days, you could smell the
stench of rotting and decaying human flesh from the direction of the banana
plantation and beyond. Then they saw our dog weakly coming up from the
direction of the river. He looked so emaciated, shivering and was dripping wet.
Looking back through those tumultuous
years, I cannot help but be amazed at times at how my family suffered and
survived. I lost a brother, almost lost my mother and a sister. I even almost
lost my two other brothers. Each of these episodes have their own story, some
are yet to be written.
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