Prologue
We were a team of five boy scout explorers—young
and inexperienced—who ventured for a week into the jungles of Manay in Davao
Oriental, Philippines. Sixth graders on a mission to experience life in the
real world. This is where it all began, 20 years ago circa December 1999.
Baptism of fire.
Day 1. An improvised sacolina tent was our
makeshift shelter, calling it an “Indian” tent at that, only to be ravished by
a heavy downpour on our 1st night. It was our heaviest night, I can remember.
We were soaking and wet, all our belongings included. Grabbing whatever
materials to make us dry, I was laughing my way through the ordeal upon
realizing that a frying pan is my only comfort to keep my body and belongings
dry- covering my head with that greasy, charcoal laden pan.
I couldn’t do anything against the pouring rain. The five of us—foot squatting—were staring at each other like cubs abandoned by their mother, snarling and couldn’t roar. Past midnight when the rain had stopped, we tried pacifying ourselves to sleep.
As we positioned ourselves back to the muddy earth, we were left in consolation seeing tiny lights poking through the holes of what remains to be our tent. It was already starry outside, so we thought. Daylight came, everyone woke up dry and spirits still high.
Adventure trail.
Day 3. Our mission on the third day was to reach the mouth of
the infamous ‘Mabaho’ cave. Living up to its name, we would inhale the strong
fruity odor from the inside, thanks to the native bats resting in the cave’s
heart. Their excrement are what gave that distinct smell. En route back, the
stinky experience was our banter to each other while traversing into the jungles,
passing through the small rivers, and meeting local people going about their
normal lives. In between those, we would stop for a quick break to eat and
rest.
While down to our last bivouac near a hilly area, somebody from the other team was running and shouting towards us, “Taboan!” (-local big bees that attack in groups) In an instant, we ran aimlessly, I slipped downhill sliding through my behind. I could hear the dreaded swarms of Taboan buzzing over, “stay still and they will not attack” another one shouted. They did not when I remained still. It was a sigh of relief.
At the base camp, everyone talked about that mishap and later one of the boys from the other team surfaced with his swelling eyes. He accidentally ran into the hive disturbing the legendary Taboan. He lived to tell the tale.
Elementary survival.
Day 5. “Why are we not bringing the cooked rice, but the raw
rice instead?” Our puzzled minds tried to figure out the task from our scout
master. I thought it was ridiculous carrying two kilos of uncooked rice and
canned goods for lunch in the middle of the jungle. “Keep following the river upstream”,
his final instruction and we set foot to the hinterland early morning dawn.
Gripping to the hanging vines and roots of old trees, jumping and gliding through big rocks like monkeys, we kept ascending the river streams, stretched in several kilometers.
At exactly noon we arrived in the heartland, as I could tell by the absence of my shadow in the background. Still tired, we settled ourselves near the river and began unpacking our food rations. Alas, we need to cook our rice! Our scout master instructed us to cook it “in” the river. Madness! Albeit clueless, we brought whatever we had carried so we can cook the rice “off” the land. That was the dreaded challenge, so we realized.
At such a tender age, our survival instincts kicked in, harnessing whatever available materials we could find—dead twigs, fallen dried coconut and banana leaves—even our clothes were not spared. From the tripod of poles, we had to build a fire while in the river to cook the rice. It was a race against time as our scout master would taunt on splashing water towards us. “Alisto, alisto yang kalayo”, mustering our courage to protect the fire base.
Our despair had soon dissipated after the rice is already half cooked. Thrilled us even more knowing it’s cooked. We could only shout for joy. And I was in disbelief. While settled under a coconut tree, I ate my lunch with the rationed biscuit I managed to slip in my bag faced with reality that the rice after all is (half)cooked.
It was our first major victory.
