This one’s for the movies... but what a scary experience for my family

    Monday, December 2, 2019.  Our house in the village of Calaitan lies alongside the road that connects the city of Bayugan to some towns of Surigao del Sur due east traversing through a lumber-rich mountainous forest. It is a proposed national highway but during the mid 80s, it was still a private road owned and maintained by the logging company that operated in the area. During this time, I was teaching at the state university in Marawi and my two brothers were working as radio broadcasters in Davao City. Only my younger sisters, a nephew and a niece were in the house with my parents.

     Let me quote what I have written earlier titled ‘Mother’s Day Musings:’ “In those days, no public transport reached our place. But the mobility problem of the farmer residents was somehow eased by the generosity of the company drivers who gave rides to people they pass by hiking on the side of the road or waiting at some designated areas. On many instances you can see a comical but scary sight of dozens of people sitting on top of logs or on top of mounds of gravel of trucks racing at breakneck speed along the unpaved winding road risking lives and limbs. Seat belts were unheard of in our village.”

     One day, an Army sergeant passed by hiking. He was accompanied by a civilian paramilitary man which also served as his close-in security aide.  About one kilometer away from our house, the duo was ambushed by a band of communist rebels. Though they were wounded they were able to return fire and radioed their base in Bayugan for re-enforcement.  The base assured them that re enforcement is coming shortly. A helicopter gunship was also dispatched from the 4th ID headquarters in Cagayan de Oro toward our place.

     On the opposite side of the road fronting our house was a water canal that became so deep at the passing of time due to erosion caused by the constant flow of water in a sloping terrain towards the river below.  At that time the canal was already around 7 feet deep covered with vegetation on the sides. Without the knowledge of my parents and our neighbors, dozens of communist rebels were hiding there that day. They were part of the larger group that ambushed the sergeant an hour earlier.

     When the army soldiers arrived, the rebels engaged them to a firefight right in front of our house. My family dove into the foxhole under our house. That foxhole was dug by my father solely for protection in the event something like this happens. When the helicopter gunship arrived, the rebels scattered and retreated to higher grounds toward the banana plantation and the wooded wilderness beyond where they were methodically and surgically cut down by the helicopter’s automatic fire.

     After the gunbattle, my father checked everyone and thankfully no one was harmed. But our family dog was missing. I forgot the name of that dog now. Perhaps my nephew, Inggo, can help me jog my memory.

     After three days, you could smell the stench of rotting and decaying human flesh from the direction of the banana plantation and beyond. Then they saw our dog weakly coming up from the direction of the river. He looked so emaciated, shivering and was dripping wet.

     Looking back through those tumultuous years, I cannot help but be amazed at times at how my family suffered and survived. I lost a brother, almost lost my mother and a sister. I even almost lost my two other brothers. Each of these episodes have their own story, some are yet to be written.