It was Wednesday afternoon and a beautiful day. The domestic scene was
typical of rural Butuan. We had a meeting with barrio folks to implement
a livelihood pilot project financed by a Canadian charity foundation. With
presupposed knowledge of the meeting, about two hundred people came. The
unexpected attendance compelled us to use the Catholic chapel instead,
rather than the prearranged barangay hall.
The atmosphere was festive. All seats were taken. There were people
standing outside. The event was remarkable. They were toying with the
idea that this meeting may help shape their destiny. This gave me
discomfort. Gazing at the people who came in, I noticed that they
were the poorest of the poor. They were mostly barefooted and some
were wearing worn out clothes. They exemplified peasant stratum of
rural society.
There was absolute silence when I went to the podium. I shared my
thoughts. In that moment, I could have my best moment in public
speaking. I failed. My emotion shrouded my speech.
I looked down from the podium and sensed their expectation. They
listened to every word I said with fervent hope that it meant
something to ease out their suffering. It was the most difficult
speech I ever delivered. My mind wondered why these things happened.
In a place so green and verdant where a seed thrown to the soil grew
freely, I can't justify any reason why the barrio people hardly had
three square meals a day. It was ironic and even illogical.
What makes the people of the rural areas to deserve this kind of
hardship eludes my thinking. They are hard working people and
therefore indolence is not the cause. Their livelihood is from
mother earth hence blame could be in the governance of agricultural.
One local official said that there had been so many government pilot
projects in his barangay. He continued saying that few more of these
pilots and they could already fly. He meant it literally in sarcasm.
I was born and raised with these kinds of people. My whole world was
the barrio and I thought then that all people on the planet lived the
same as myself. There was no benchmark for comparison. I spent my
boyhood years happily and contented being unaware of what went on
outside my little sphere of comfort.
But time changes. The barrio I knew is no longer the same. The city
is rapidly encroaching into the farmland. The once serene and isolated
little hamlet is now an adjoining part of a polluted city. It is not
an isolated case. It's about the same throughout. Factories, piggeries
and chicken poultries cause tremendous ruin to the environment. Infestation
of flies and other carriers of disease from these establishments
rampantly pester the inhabitants. It's no longer a good place to stay
let alone to raise families.
It is difficult to talk about enmities of the barrio without dragging
the issues of the city. The administration of the city has been
continually afflicted with bad vision. Looking it from the hindsight
attests that it has been going haywire and at times harmful.
We used to go hunting paddling a baroto around the swamp at the mouth
of the big river. This was a unique place created into being by
centuries of natural evolution. During high tide, some parts of the
swamp were under water that we could navigate around under thick
canopy of swamp vegetation. The presence of wildlife was quite
abundant. It was a big area. The beauty and size of this can be compared
to the present Bayou of Louisiana. Through blatant insanity, the swamp
was allowed to be demolished, destroyed, totally obliterated to give
way to series of ponds to raise shrimps.
Remember those big banga palm trees at Guingona Park? These has been
standing tall and proud for generations. They chopped them all down
and replaced it by planting little trees. This again exemplified the
kind of shortsightedness the city had in the management of our
environment. Butuan has a population close to half a million people,
yet it has only one peony little park. It is not a good way to define
progress.
The third largest river of the country runs through the city. Yet,
water supply source is by installing series of huge pumps sucking out
underground water east of the river. This has been going on for a
number of years that it is already dangerously compromising the
underground water level. When we add up bottling companies, factories
in Taguibo and neighboring places, commercial piggeries and chicken
poultries, which all use underground water of their own, plus continuos
drilling of wells for domestic barrio usage, the foreseeable future is
catastrophic.
This area is not far from the sea and when the water level caused by
this method is lower than sea level, a reversed underground flow may
eventually take place and sea water rushes inland. Imagine the
consequences to agriculture and drinking water of the people in
Tiniwisan, Cabcabon, Bobon, Ampayon and localities nearby.
There is little we can do but hope that sobriety somehow would eventually
come to the minds of those that fashion our destiny. However, taking a
glimpse on past performances prevent us to be highly optimistic.
Back in that barrio chapel a decision had to be made on the list of
possible recipients. Balanced with the available budget of the
foundation, only seventy-five families would be considered. Local
recommendation was not accommodated fully. It was indeed a difficult
dilemma. Families were ranked according to basic needs as food,
clothing and shelter. I felt numbed on those who were excluded. They
too had barely three meals a day. I craved for better economy.
My heart sank as I watched people that were not chosen. They sadly
went out the chapel and walked home disappointed. I talked to some
and extended my regrets. They politely accepted. But it did not
lighten up my feelings. I felt so helpless as they gained distance
away from the chapel. I knew that in the privacy of their thoughts,
they shed in anguish painful teardrops of the poor.
Merry Christmas.
