Summer of 1982, right after 2nd College. Just for the fun of it, JunTabs and I decided to volunteer “didto sa lugar nga walay gusto moadto”—anyplace where no one wanted to go—for our summer apostolate.
Whatever it was that prodded us to volunteer, we didn’t bother to dig deep into our movitations. It was probably a desire for adventure or perhaps a silent protest against those who were picky about their assignments, preferring the large, affluent parishes. It could also be youthful idealism, or just plaint pride to show everyone that we had what it takes to tackle even the most difficult assignment. For isn’t that what we were supposed to do, to be a follower of Christ?
Well, we got our wish. We were assigned to Inabanga—not just Inabanga but a remote barrio of Inabanga called Kanbituon (or Cambitoon). Kanbituon was the birthplace of the legendary Francisco Dagohoy, known as “Dagun sa Hoyoyoy” (or Amulet of the Gentle Wind), who led the longest revolt in the country. It was so remote that to get there it was easier and faster to go by way of Sagbayan. It was not only a “bituon” (or heavenly star). But it was a “kan-bituon“. The word “kan” was attached to names of places that were so remote. During that time, there was no public mode of transportation. Walking was the only way of getting there, we found out.
A day before we were to leave Inabanga for Kanbituon, we heard news about a recent encounter between the government troops and rebels in a sitio near Kanbituon. It bothered us, of course. But we were undeterred.
The next day, we took a jeep to Sagbayan and waited for our ride at the house belonging to a friend of Fr Anana. From there a motorcycle took us to a barrio at the edge of Sagbayan. It was dusk when the host, the barangay captain, who didn’t seem enthusiastic to see us, accommodated us in his tiny house. We stayed there for the night.
Early the following day, as the first streaks of light started to filter through the bamboo walls, we were on our way, after a breakfast of coffee and bread, anticipating a long hike ahead. There were no motorized means of transportation. We had to walk to reach our destination. How far? Nobody could tell us except with a “pout” of a mouth. It was the practice to point with the finger places that were nearby and to point with the lips places that were far. They pointed to Kanbituon with their lips. So, we knew it was way out there.
The sun was merciless. The gravel road rough. The fields on both sides were wide, flat and empty. There were occasional houses visible from the road. The place was barren, except for some coconut trees that broke the monotony of a brown plain. There were some fields plowed. But what I remember most about the place was that it was so quiet. So peaceful. The road we took was at a high elevation, higher than the coastal town of Inabanga. We could feel it in the cool and gentle wind.
We must have looked out of place in the area, with our small bags and leisurely pace. But nobody noticed, for we never encountered a single soul during our long walk. It was more than an hour when we chanced upon--actually overtook--a pison going towards the direction of Kanbituon. Above the din of diesel engine and grinding of stones, we asked the driver if we could hitch a ride. He was probably glad that we asked, after driving alone for hours by himself. He didn't even stop. He just signaled for us to hop in. So we rode the DPWH (Department of Public Works and Highways) pison, beaming proud for this once-in-a-lifetime experience. It was a slow drive, and the vibration and the noise was so jarring. We wondered how the driver was able to endure hours of that endless torture. Nevertheless, we savored every minute of it, until the road forked and we had to proceed on foot again. The driver pointed to us the road that led to Kanbituon.
We disembarked and, as the pison receded from view, everything became quiet again. The road we took was narrower this time. And It had more trees and shrubs growing by the roadside, but didn’t really help in providing us any shade. Still we walked with leisurely abandon, unmindful of the sun or the passage of time.
All throughout, Juntabs and I shared our dreams and aspirations. The serenity of the place must have prompted us to dream of missionary life or even of monastic life. We exchanged stories and humorous memories along the way, expressing our deepest hopes and our corniest jokes. JunTabs wanted to be writer. I wanted to travel to remote and distant places. We both wanted the solitude and the solitary life.
Finally we reached a solitary sari-sari store that—although it was open, merchandise in little sachets were hang against the wall, and bottles of frothing tuba were displayed on the shelf—looked deserted. We called out, asking if there was anybody there. An old woman answered us, squinting and shielding her eyes against the glare. She wasn't expecting strangers at that time of the day for it was almost noon. We asked her for directions, and she told us that it was Kanbituon.
We looked around and saw that there were no houses nearby. We walked farther down the road and saw a small clearing with around five houses around it, including the small kapilya and a hut that we learned later was the barangay captain’s house. The clearing was deserted. And there was humay spread out on the ground for drying. There were a few chicken here and there, and we wondered where the people were.
We went to the largest house in the area to inquire. It was the barangay captain's house. Good thing that they were informed beforehand that we were coming. Soon, we settled at the captain’s house, which was entirely made of wood and nipa. It was clean and decent.
From Kanbituon, Bohol Channel and Cebu island could be seen from certain spots nearby. Houses were widely spread out, but probably within hearing distance from the kapilya. For people would gather when they heard the bell. Rarely had a priest come to visit them, we were told. And they would tell us of those rare visits the way they would tell of myths told by their grandparents. “Sa una pa kadto. Bata pa ko. . .” (It was a long time ago, when I was still a child. . .)
Our visit was a special occasion for the people. They said so. They were honored to have hosted two visitors from the city. Taga-Tagbilaran. Mga city boys. The barangay captain was especially pleased to know that my mother was the DPWH head at that time whom he had the occasion of discussing some civil works in the area, and that JunTabs' family owned the Flying A gas station which he would pass by oftentimes whenever he visited the city.
They were grateful to have two sotana-wearing seminarians in their midst who would would gather them in the kapilya to conduct adult catechism. The pews were always be filled with people, as they took time off from their work in the fields, and they were very attentive to the lessons. Separate sessions were also conducted for the children. In the afternoon, the kids and the youth would attend the Flores de Mayo. But the rest of the time, we would spend it enjoying the serenity of the place, visiting people in their homes, watching the distant glimmering waters of Bohol straight from a landlocked barrio. One a cold morning, we attended a mananita, enjoying the hot sikwate served by the celebrant.
We stayed only for two weeks there. Then it was time for us to leave.
When we left that early morning, it was still dark. There were no people to bid us good-bye. In the same manner as when we arrived, we quietly left. We stopped by the same sari-sari store that greeted us when we arrived. It was still closed. We heard a few roosters starting to crow as the rays of the sun breached the sky. We paused for a moment to reflect and wonder: “Anus-a kaha ta makabalik aning lugara ha?” (When do you think will we be able to return to this place?) We smiled to each other and started walking on the lonely road that stretched in front of us.
ooOoo
It was more than ten years later when one of us, JunTabs, was able to return Kanbituon for one brief visit. By then married and with family, JunTabs penetrated the remote place to deliver brandy in his delivery truck. He came to the same sari-sari store where we asked for directions, though he didn't meet the old lady anymore. He asked around if any seminarian had visited them. People he asked recalled with fondness the last visit saying, “Wala na sukad niadtong mianhi kadtong anak ni Tabel ug kadtong si Arcamo." (Not since the time when that son of Tabel and that Arcamo guy came.) Memories of that visit had lingered in their memories. And they told tales of that visit in the same way as they would tell of myths told by their grandparents.
They didn’t even recognize JunTabs anymore who was asking them the question. (nox arcamo)
