We decided to let TREK
remain an informal organization. It
remained a non-membership and volunteer-led group with an expedition or team
leader elected for each project.
This time, a co-founder,
Jong, joined me in the recon.
Kalinga is a landlocked
province in the mountains of Cordillera Autonomous Region. It is also located north of Manila. Jong's first visit to Kalinga was on a whitewater
expedition on its famed and premier tourist attraction, the Chico River.
We were fearless and
excited. We targeted Lobo, based on recommendations from friends from
Kalinga. We found out there was limited public transportation to Lobo, but
there is one that leaves after lunch to Seet, half way to Lobo. We almost took
that and just walk the rest of the way.
Good thing we met Nats Dalanao, the leader of the local
mountaineering organization, who suggested we go with him the following day.
When we did, we saw how crazy our original plan was.
The first part of the trip
was easy, with only very few rough roads and really magnificent views of the
hills and mountains of Tabuk. After three hours, we had a stopover at Seet, in
a place locals call Jollibee.
The road ahead was rough,
muddy and long. Nats was right. It was a bad idea to walk from Seet to our
destination. After another three hours,
we arrived at the jump-off point. There were convenient stores at the jump-off.
Some men were drinking and they offered us a few shots. From there, we could
already see our destination, the village of Lobo, nestled in the middle of rice terraces.
Lobo looked so quaint, so
postcard perfect. The trek all the way down to the school was quite easy. Nats
took advantage of this time to brief us about the place where he used to spend
most of his summer.
Upon arriving at the
village, we dropped our things at the house of Nats' uncle, who adopted us for
the night. Jong was prepared with a list of items we might be able to donate
and some information about the group. Nats used this to explain our group to
his uncle.
Nats was really helpful.
There was a language barrier, which we couldn't have hurdled without Nats help.
Nats told us about their
hospitality and we were careful not to offend our hosts. We toured the village
and must have taken more than five cups of coffee and servings of rice with
chicken from every home we visit. I was not eating meat at that time, but I
decided to eat the native chicken, which they boiled and served with salt mixed
with chili. Despite their obvious hardships, they chose to serve us what they
have and I appreciated that.
After visiting a few homes,
we went to the center of the village. There was a huge outcrop in the middle of
that village. Our host went up there with a few of the village elders. They
asked us to go up the rock. Later, we found out that was a place of honor and
not everyone can go up there and address the village. Nats' uncle had the
privilege being our host.
A single oil lamp lighted
that village meeting, so Jong brought out a butane lamp. He introduced the two
of us. They asked for a few words from me and I ended up saying a few
sentences, realizing that they don't fully understand me anyway. One of the
village elders welcomed us and opened the discussion. They huddled about our
mission and what the school needs.
After the town meeting, we
went back to Nats' uncle's place and we
found out more sad truths about Lobo. The village had sanitation problems. We
were lucky to stay in a place which has one of the only four restrooms there in
the village of about 3,000 residents. That is why diarrhea and other hygiene
related problems were abundant. It was difficult for me to imagine high school
girls who are going through their monthly period not having a comfort room to
use.
That, we thought was the
most immediate concern that we wanted to address. That alongside bringing
school supplies, books and other educational materials the schools need to
regain their tradition of excellence.
The following day, we took
the first trip back to Tabuk. That was again a six-hour bumpy ride back to
Tabuk. We cleaned up at Nats’ place and
caught the last bus to Manila.
Not always a paved path
Before each activity, we
conduct a pre-climb meeting, where we
brief our participants on our project including the itinerary, what to expect,
what to bring and some of our do’s and don’ts. This is actually a practice among
mountaineers.
We told our participants our
trek would only be for an hour. We ended
up trekking for more than eight hours after the truck we rented broke down and
we were left with no other option but to continue on foot, lugging our
backpacks and carrying whatever donations we could take.
We arrived at the jump-off
site nighttime. We decided to start our trek to the village the next day. Most
of the participants went straight to bed, without dinner. The homeowners at the
jump-off point lent us their rooms. I
often say how good the people who live in the mountains are. I say it again.
While the rest of us were
preparing our food and having some conversations with the locals, we could
already hear the distant sounds of gongs playing from the village.
We woke up early the
following day. The sound of the gongs continued and that must have sped up our pace.
We arrived to a delightful plethora of costumes and colors. A big colorful parachute tent was set-up in
the middle of the fields. The children
were lined up according to their grade level, donning traditional Kalinga
costume. In the classrooms, the parents
and teachers were busy preparing meals.
On stage, the community officials were running through the program.
We were directed to the
classrooms, which were designated as our sleeping areas. One of the classrooms
was used as the kitchen. Pigs were slaughtered, which made non-meat eaters like
me cringed. The villagers knew of my diet preference so they presented
alternative viands, which made even my carnivorous friends envious. That
included a traditional dish only served during their harvest thanksgiving
rites.
After eating, we went to the
stage area for the program, which started off with a prayer and some welcome
remarks.
The elementary and high school students showed us their traditional dances, with the males beating their gongs and the females raising their hands to shoulder level while moving to the beat. Some of the parents also danced.

After that, one of the
village elders wrote a poem of thanks to the members of TREK.
Some of the mothers also
composed a thank you song for us, which
left most of us teary-eyed and made us forget our aching legs and our longing
for a good bath.
The villagers kept the
festivities going with other song numbers. We took that as our chance to bond
and play with the children.
The following day, a Sunday,
we attended the mass at the church up in the village. The village must have
been alerted as even the priest also acknowledged us during the mass. The
unusual thing we saw was that instead of money, the mass goers there donated produce.
After the mass, we had a
meeting with the members of the parents and teachers’ association to decide the
division of the donations. During that time, most of the donations were still
in transit. We decided, later on, to
leave the decisions to the heads of the Parent Teacher Association.
We packed our bags that same
afternoon and headed back to Tabuk. We saw the donations being hand carried
down to the school on our way up to the jump-off point. We arrived in Tabuk just in time for those
who have work the following day to catch the last bus to Manila.
That was another successful
TREK project.
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