Canada, I would like to introduce you to Licuan-Baay.

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Lately I have been having a recurring nightmare that I have to fight a big, dangerous mining company trying to come into Stanley. Typically it starts with me driving in from Nashwaak Bridge and images of the houses along Route 107, of Terry's and of the intersection flash in my mind. I find out somehow while I am driving that the mine is going to come that day, without any real warning, as if it where a hurricane. I look for people to help me barricade the road, but Stanley is a ghost town. At this point in the dream the color starts to fade from the images and it starts to get cold and cloudy. Panic hits me like a weight in my stomach and not like the scream I would have expected. I am suddenly on a dirt road in an area full of old farm houses and pine trees. There is nothing descriptive around me but I could easily be on Limekiln Road, or in Red Rock or Napadogen. I am completely alone, trying to barricade the road, my mind buzzing with the understanding that I am the only thing standing in the way of complete destruction of my hometown. This is when I wake up. I always lay in my bed for a few minutes feeling sick and defeated. I hate the mornings that I wake up from that nightmare. I hate feeling the sharp fear and the pain of fighting for survival against a monolithic force, and I hate the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realize that I might fail to save Stanley. On those mornings I guiltily thank God that I am from North American and will never have to actually face that situation in my own home; that I will always be fighting development aggression as an outsider. I thank God for this even though I know that my friends in Licuan-Baay have to wake up every morning feeling this way.

If Olympus is able to open their large scale gold mine in Licuan-Baay it is the people my age who will loose the most. It is the youth who are farming their parents rice terraces, talking about marriage and thinking about building their own homes out of bamboo, open brick and narra wood who will become the landless farmers, mine workers and migrants to Baguio's squatter communities. These youth are my friends. The most emotionally difficult part of Cordillera Day for me was realizing that I care about people who are being put in danger by my own countrymen. I want to introduce you to some of the local youth I have come to care about in Licuan-Baay.

Marcus* is 17 and slight even for a Filipino. He always wears over sized tee-shirts and is so lost in the material that he has to roll his sleeves up to work, making his arms look even skinnier and his size more diminutive. But when he is invariably chosen to climb up on the bamboo to work he walks with a delicacy and precision impossible for a larger man. He is quiet and gentle, not speaking much, normally sitting at the edge of a room watching the action. His face is typically a little bit sad, but in a split second it can break into a wide and expressive smile that always reaches his eyes. He always volunteers first for work, shouldering a burden inequivalent to his size. This inevitably leads to a playful teasing from the other boys that you have to assume he was seeking. He rarely spoke to me, asking from time to time to borrow my lighter and always offering me some of the coffee he had put on for the group with a hurried and nervous “sister, kape?”. I learned later that he had asked one of the English speaking volunteers to teach him how to say these things to me in my own language. He blushed every time I responded to him with more then just a “yes, thank you”, but always seemed to sit close to me in a room. I never saw him dance to the gongs, but it was always assumed that he would play, an honor he accepted humbly in contrast to his obvious talent.

Alex* is tall for a Filipino man, probably 5'10. He carries his hight with a mixture of awkwardness and pride that suggests he has just realized that it is an asset. But his demeanor is unvaryingly proud and unafraid. His body is lean and taught; natural muscles move intuitively under skin the color of rich, dark soil when he sprints up precarious rice terrace steps or balances cavans of rice against the back of his neck. His dedication to hard work is comidically limited to areas where women will be watching. His over expressive Malaysian features combine with purely Asian hair that stands on end to produce a face that is practically a caricature. He is saved, however, by an easy and suggestive grin full of white teeth and eyes that snap quickly between innocent and mischievous, and could even be described as hansom. When he dances the tadook (his tribes traditional courtship dance) he doesn't give his partner space, but swoops towards her from all angles, forcing her to swirl and jump away as quickly as she can. Bending low and stretching to his full hight he positions his outstretched hand in places his partner will never reach, teasing her. The whole time he wears the wolfish grin of a young man who really would like to catch the pretty girl he is dancing with.

Johnny* and Alex hang off each other; hands on shoulders, arms across knees; with a familiarity and physical comfort that is as natural to Filipino boys as it is to puppies. Johnny is shorter, with lighter skin, but with a lean body that belies years of swimming, hunting and playing basketball for hours on end. He has a lopsided and crooked toothed grin, the constant attempts to unsuccessfully grown a mustache and a high, scratchy voice; none of which does justice to his energy for life and his drive for fun. He is the first to slip away from work to play the gongs, but when work really needs to be done he is the first to pick up an axe or a machete with determination. As Alex's less attractive best friend his lapses in confidence at times leads to fights and sulking. But once he has a gong in his hand Johnny is his own alpha male, leading the beat, directing the male dancers and harmonizing his moves to the women following his beat. The afternoon before Cordillera Day started, while waiting for delegations to arrive with packs to carry, Johnny lead the local young men to the gongs. Tired, I slumped down onto a piece of bamboo in the venue to watch them. Without hesitation Johnny lead the line of gong players to where I sat, circling around me, bringing their gongs and paddles closer and closer to my bare legs, until I finally gave in a danced with them. Johnny grinned the whole time in a way that surpassed the language barrier. He spoke to me sparingly, but did ask me my name numerous times out of sheer desire to speak to me in my language.

Jane* is from the community and doesn't speak much English, although she calls me Ate Nicole with perfect clarity. She is tall and thin and always looks clean and fresh despite the permeating dust, mud and sweat in the mountains. She is loud, with a scratchy voice and a laugh that finds the border between high and husky - somehow the voice of a smoker in a healthy young girl. But she is full of life. While she tells stories she stands with her feel together and firmly planted to the ground but moves her hips sharply left to right, as if she is dancing to the beat of her own words. When work is being done she is often missing: napping, doing her laundry or gossiping with the other girls. But when they need to practice anything cultural she is there, steadfast and dedicated to singing, dancing or acting the lead role. She called me to dance with the girls the first time, letting me stay close to her to follow her steps. After that, like her apprentice, she involved me in all of the dances she coordinated. She seemed proud of my interest and my ability to learn the indigenous dances. Later, during the Cordillera Day events, when she would call the girls who where good dancers to dance the patong for Abra she would always call me too.

Kelly* is just like any vibrant 21 year old girl in Canada. Her jeans are always a little too tight and her uniform of fitted polo shirts show the remainder of her baby fat, even though she would insist that she is already a women. She is a girl through and through, working in the kitchen and taking care of the younger children, but her personality is strong and she has a spice that comes out when she teases the other girls or flirts with the boys. Though her English is very good for a girl raised in the countryside and she can quickly pull together sentences in social situations she was intimidated by the idea of translating anything for me. She loved teaching me to sing the indigenous songs and always assumed I would sit with her and the other girls, even when they where gossiping in Illocano around me.


*the names have been changed

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Comments

[Edward E.]

I Couldn't Contain my Admiration
Nicole, you are a whiff of fresh air in a travel site populated by jet-setting people whose main concern is to see the place. But you are more than that. You really have 'lived' in and I know that you are 'feeling" the place more than anybody else. I could boldly tell that you've got more balls than a lot of men. Your posts have given this site one more good reason for its existence: social responsibility. It is something that everyone, not just tourists/travellers have to be aware of. Please take good care of yourself.