Going back, after 15 yrs.

I was 7 years old the last time I went to Manay, Davao Oriental -- the birthplace of my mother. That was when she was still alive.

Last Thursday, at the crack of dawn, the quarter moon and the necklace of stars still hanging in the sky, I trekked the trail towards the still-dark compound of nipa huts of our relatives together with my cousins, aunts and uncles and 2 siblings. We left Davao aboard a run-down rented van at 12 midnight and arrived at a dangerous bend 5 hours later which required us to walk kilometers. The crickets were still noisy and faint lights of gas lamps from the windows of few nipa houses were still lit.

Our visit was a surprise considering that there are no cellphones or that signals won’t reach that part of the area. Kuya Dodot, my uncle who took care of us shortly when we were kids and after Mama died, was the first to meet us on his motorbike while he was on the way up. Although there was no sun and our faces weren’t visible yet, he knew it was me and immediately grabbed my tummy and hugged me as if I was the kid whom he used to carry on his back. We immediately met with Lolo Gabin and Lola Sitang, Mama’s second father and mother, whose faces I don’t even remember the slightest. After our cousin Macky called us their ‘surprise’, lolo and lola stood there speechless and lolo just hugged me and kissed me in the neck as if I was the grandson he’d left on the wharf as he sent me to some unknown place. It was weird and all, being welcomed that way. But it was authentic and an honest feeling of being loved and a sense of belongingness one cannot fully contain at the moment.

Of course we talked about a lot of stuff and we were introduced to some of the other far relatives who came also to pay a visit. It turned out that it was lola’s birthday.

When I was able to make a clear view of everything, I stood outside the newly-built shed and did a 360. The grounds were surrounded by hills and coconut trees were everywhere. There were coco shells and husks piled up on some of the place. I later learned that this is really where they get their livelihood; the common term is copras, a harvesting done every 3 months, according to Kuya Dodong.

Kuya Dodong was one of lolo and lola’s sons. He was also the one who accompanied me all the way while the entire group crossed streams and trekked the mountain trails. I couldn’t even estimate the number of kilometers we hiked but I’m sure we crossed about 5 streams which are actually one but separated only by land masses. There was this waist-deep stream with a strong current that broke our line and send one of us hurling towards the bend.

He pointed one stream which drowned lola, Mama’s original mother. It was sort of scary and all. Then we trekked some more encountering a few more relatives and stepping on cow and horse dung on the way. We climbed a steep and rocky hill and down towards a magnificent waterfall. We found another fall on the lower end as we climbed down. The smaller one is kind of a hidden fall and the place is usually infested by snakes. We were lucky we didn’t encounter one that time.

Coming on a long way back, I didn’t realize I cut myself twice on my right foot. I walked barefoot on some parts where sharp stones and sticks could have done my feet good. While we were talking along the trek, what struck me most though is not the scorching heat of the sun, but by the generosity of Kuya Dodong who has lent me his sturdy slippers, because I kept breaking mine, while his feet endured cuts itself and the heat of big sun-exposed stones, and the simple life that they have managed to get through.

We spent the next day in White Sand Beach, which pretty much explains. I drank a lot of tuba, emperador and Red Horse that day until I puked and bloated myself with ice water to relieve myself moments before we left, past midnight. We had to leave early because the 3-month old baby of my cousin was convulsing with fever.

I later learned from one of my cousins that lola didn’t show up while the rest of use were leaving because she can’t take the sight of it. The last time my cousins were there, she cried and cried. It was a fulfilling to have reconnected with them though we have to leave right away. Upon boarding the van, lolo said how happy he was to have seen us and that he might as well be contended when he died. I chuckled so as to stop him from thinking such, because I definitely would like to come back soon. Perhaps sooner.