Green Sanctuary

Antonio Enriquez
Zamboanga/Misamis Oriental

Pikit was the oldest town in Cotobato, they said. And the townsfolk said
too that hundreds of years ago, a Spanish ship had dropped anchor in the
Pulanggi River, and while the awed Moros watched, Spanish soldiers in iron
clothes (mail coat) came down her gangplank and discovered the town behind
the cogon grass and under the great Balete trees. The Spanish soldiers’ faces
were white as paper, with straight high noses and glistening, unstained teeth
which bore no reddish stain from the juice of mama (betelnut chew). The
Spaniards apparently had not stayed long in Pikit, for Alberto had not seen a
mestizo or mestiza in town since his arrival some three months ago. This was
not all like his hometown, Zamboanga, where the Spanish conquistadores (and
licentious friars) had sown so many seeds that mestizos bloomed vividly like
bougainvillea flowers, and the old spoke fluent Castellano and the streets
were named after saints or places in Spain.

Not so long ago the commercial bus never stopped in Pikit; not even long
enough for its cloud of dust to settle back on the highway. Instead, it disgorged
its passengers at the nearest small village, and they had to walk about two
kilometers to the town proper carrying their baggage on their backs. Those who
refused to get off, or asked for a fare refund, were kicked off the bus by the
conductors, divested of their luggage or cargo, and were forced to walk
barefoot to the nearest barrio where they brought slippers or rubber shoes.
If a bus stopped in Pikit, they said the Moros there deflated the tires with
their wooden clubs, smashed the lights and windshields to smithereens. Then
market-goers and store-owners stripped off its wooden parts and burned them
for fuel; the townsfolk dismantled the chassis and engine and sold the metal by
the kilo in Cotobato City over a hundred kilometers away. Only the skeleton
of the bus was left on the road to rust and corrode under the sun and rain, and
for the naked children to play all sorts of games on. But what the children loved
to play most was being grown-ups, replaying the parts the townsfolk had in
dismantling the bus.

Up along the road and just before the market-place, an abandoned truckchassis, or
what was left of it, was covered with vines and climbers whose tentacles wound
round and intertwined with its steel and iron frame. They grew thick and luxuriously
green, and here and there flowers bloomed as though on abandoned and forgotten
grave. The flowers were orange, yellow, and red, and early in the morning their tiny
petals glistened under beads of dew and were wonderful to look at. Long before the
Cerdeza Surveying Company men came, they said the bus had been hastily
abandoned on the highway when a datu from Matalam ordered the Christians down
and raked the side of the bus with bullets. The automatic carbine went tat-tat-tat-tat
and made holes on the side of the bus as big as thumbs. A four-year-old child
abandoned by the mother died there on the bus, his head blown-off and his scalp
plastered on the wooden backrest of his chair.

At six o’clock every evening, the sari -sari stores and carinderias along the
road were closed and barred with wooden boards. No one walked there
after this hour, and the policeman on beat changed his uniform into civilian
clothes and drank with his buddies in one of the tuba stores far from the
town proper. And then the rats and tomcats emerged from their hiding, and
the dogs scavenged the garbage dumps for crumbs. Only Datu Mantel, they
said, walked the main, his 45-calibre handgun hanging low form his hip.
One night a drunkard lost his way home, and on the main street Datu
Mantel shot him neatly between his eyes. Like the bodies of other murdered
men, the drunkards corpse was not found the next day, and the chief of police
did not send policeman after the datu. Because one evening, a week before
the murder, while two of them were drinking in a bar, Datu Mantel slapped
him across the face and challenged him to draw his gun. The chief of
police knew that with one hand Datu Mantel could draw and at the same time
cock his 45-calibre handgun while it was still in its holster, as though it were a
toy gun. Said DatuMantel to chief ofthe police, “NowI amthe chief ofthe police.”That
was how,they said, Datu Mantel became unofficially the chief of police of Pikit
without an appointment from the governor. And the next day, the townsfolk
saw him wearing the khaki uniform of the police chief, although he never wore
a badge.

There was no place to go in Pikit after nightfall, and the one movie house
opened in the morning and closed in the afternoon. It showed double-program
war features. In one film, Fernando Poe Jr., the Golden Boy of action pictures,
with automatic machine gun, mowed hundreds of Moros on a slope. Upon
seeing this massacre on the picture screen, Datu Mantel stood up from his
wooden bench, drew his .45- calibre gun, and promptly perforated the picture
seen. “There!” he said to one in particular, “you are now dead!” Everyone scampered
forsafetyandthemoviehouseownerstoppedshowing films again in Pikit; thereafter
they said, he showed only American war movies. When the fans of Fernando
Poe Jr. demanded to see their movie idol, the owner of the movie house said
they all knew he was shot dead by Datu Mantel and now lay buried in the hills
of Pulanggi.

“I Higaonon”
By Telesforo Sungkit Jr | 1 March 2018
I.
I you called pagan,
you say pagan is bad people.
You say you is Christian
and Christian is good people.
You laugh I kneel on big rock
or I pray before big tree.
You angry I call Migbaya,
you say my God is devil.
I not laugh you kneel on dead tree
or you pray to hanging God there.
I not angry you call your God,
and I not call Him devil.
I angry you get my lands,
I angry you get my golds,
I angry you burn my wood books,
but you say I should love enemy.
You say love enemy
 but you killed grandpa baylan,
you killed grandma bae,
you killed uncle bagani,
you killed even dog talamuod.
II.
I you called savage
you say savage is bad people.
You say you is civilized
and civilized is good people.
You laugh I speak wrong your tongue
or I not knowing you say.
You angry I speak my tongue,
you say I silent I not speak your tongue.
I not laugh you speak in your noses
or you kalamura speak my tongue.
I not angry you speak your tongue,
I not say you silent you not speak my tongue.
I angry you kill my datus,
I angry you burn my house,
I angry you get my honey,
I angry you get my sakop,
but you say I should know democracy.
You say know democracy
but you commanding all
you telling I not speak
you forcing I live near plantations
You making all us sakop
you killing my brothers not liking you.
III.
I you called brother
you say brother skin also brown.
You say you is my brother
and brother is good people.
You laugh I kneel on big rock
or I pray before big tree.
You laugh I speak wrong your tongue
or I not knowing you say.
You angry I call Migbaya,
you say my God is devil.
You angry I speak my tongue,
you say I silent I not speak your tongue.
I not laugh you kneel on dead tree
or you pray to hanging God there.
I not angry you call your God,
and I not call Him devil.
I not laugh you speak in your teeth
or you kalamura speak my tongue.
I not angry you speak your tongue,
I not say you silent you not speak my tongue.
I angry you get my lands,
I angry you get my golds,
I angry you dishonor my sisters,
but you say I should love brother, skin also brown.
You say love brother, skin also brown
but you help kill grandpa baylan,
 you help kill grandma bae,
you help kill uncle bagani,
you help kill dog talamuod,
you help kill even my balangkawitan rooster.
I angry you help kill my datus,
I angry you help burn my house,
I angry you help steal my honey,
I angry you paying cheap my abaka, coffee, coconut, banana, etc.
but you say I should know government.
You say know government
but you commanding all
you telling I not speak
you forcing I live near plantations
you making us all sakop
you killing us not liking you.
IV.
I pagan?
I savage?
I brother?
V.
I knowing gooder, I knowing bad.
I knowing badder, I knowing good.
I knowing brother, I knowing stranger.
I knowing things yesterday, today, tomorrow.
I ancient.
I Higaonon.
Telesforo Sungkit Jr is a Higaonon poet and novelist. He is the author of Batbat hi
Udan, a novel in Filipino. He won the National Commission for Culture and the Arts
(NCCA) Writers' Prize 2007 for his Cebuano novel Mga Gapnod sa Kamad-an and the
NCCA Writers' Prize 2011 for his Cebuano Novel Ang Agalon sa mga Balod. He is also a
recipient of the National Book Development Board Trust Fund for Writers for his Cebuano
novel Mga Tigmo sa Balagbatbat. His novel Driftwood on Dry Land was published by
University of Santo Tomas Publishing House in 2013. He writes in Higaonon, Cebuano,
Filipino and English.
This poem was first published in Dagmay, the literary journal of the Davao Writers’
Guild. It was also included in Philippine PEN’s Peace Mindanao anthology published
in 2013.