Can You Call Your Life, The Ultimate Safari?

I wish I could say that I am thankful I did not experience the things that the characters experienced in the story. The truth is, I know how people feel when they are fleeing from their own homes and from their own villages because I was once like them — fleeing from my own village and scared for my family’s safety. 

I was eight years old when I, together with my three younger siblings and an eleven-year old cousin, left our small village somewhere in San Roque, Northern Samar, Philippines.  The instructions in the letter we received were clear: (1) we should not bring anything so that no one would notice that we were leaving the village and  (2) we should wear one garment on top of another since we would not be coming back home to get our clothes. 

We had to walk the three-kilometer distance from our village to another village where my mother was waiting for us (She was not allowed to go to that small village where we lived). The previous night, she and my father were arrested by  some members of the military while buying groceries in the poblacion (town proper of San Roque).  It was the first instance that both our parents were away from us for one whole night.  

That night when my parents did not come home, we were confused why they left us without any notice.  My cousin and I were worried for my one-year old brother because we could not let him stop from crying no matter how we consoled him. 

The following morning, a neighbor who saw my parents being arrested by the military informed us about what had happened the previous night.  We later learned from my mother that they were accused of being supporters of the New People’s Army (NPA).  My father, an employee of the Municipal Local Government and Community Development (now the Department of Interiror and Local Government), was beaten by those who arrested him because of his failure to immediately inform the military about the nightly meetings held by the NPAs in our village.  He was only released when we, his family, arrived in the poblacion.

The walk that we did from our village to the other village was, in some ways, as difficult as the journey that the characters of The Ultimate Safari did. Our walk was slow and uncomfortable under the sweltering sun.  I had to attend to my two younger siblings aged four and five while my cousin carried my one-year old brother.  The only consolation we had was that our mother was waiting for us in the next village. 

Every time I read stories involving war and political turmoil, I always get affected because of this phase in my young life.  The meeting with our parents does not end the story.  It was only the beginning of a very difficult life.  Our small village was declared a “no man’s land”; hence, we never returned there.  The memories of our cozy bungalow-type house stayed in my mind while we stayed in the parish church, which was converted into an evacuation center. How I longed for the comfort and the warmth of our home while we slept on the cold floor of the church.  Amidst the crying of other children in the middle of the night, I found myself imagining that I was once again back in my small village quietly chasing dragonflies.

Not long after we rented a house in the poblacion, my eleven-year old cousin was molested by the town’s Chief of Police.  Our life was never peaceful from that time on because of the death threats that my father received since my parents filed a case against that person. Because of all the things that my family went through, I cannot say that I had a happy childhood.  Just like the characters’ journey in the story, ours can never be called The Ultimate Safari. 

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Related Articles by Rhodora Bande:

Losing My Innocence

Returning to my Childhood Home

Communicating in English: The Filipino Way