Deep South

In this huge universe, a cluster of green and white islands float, or rather, are buoyed up by the Sulu Sea that’s Tawi-Tawi.

And here is something unique. It’s people the Samals call Orang Laut who continue to prefer living over water than land. Happy even among hundreds of turtles. I refer to the seven Turtle Islands — Sibaung, Boan, Lihiman, Great Bakkungan, Langaan, Taganak and Baguan islands. While some find turtles slow and burdensome, therefore unlucky, to work efficiently with the weight on their backs, Malaysians and Indonesians believe turtles are lucky to own because they carry heavy loads successfully. I purchased two 9th-century turtle rings from Johore and Borobudur. 

Beside these isles is Bihinawan in “Cagayan de Tawi-Tawi,” where the Exxon Mobil has embarked on petroleum exploration, spending $1 million daily, so the rumors abound. If Exxon discovers not just gas on this 8,200-sq.km. island but oil, Tawi-Tawi will be a heavyweight.

During full moon and low tide there is an intriguing site. The Orang Laut or Sea Nomads witness a migration of wild boar from Sibutu. The boars swim, walk, and float their heads, resting on the back of each boar’s buttocks forming a line to Tambisan, Sabah where the Malaysians have their Parola or “Search Lights.” These pigs swim as far as Sapurma, Sabah and have sadly been killed by fishermen and authorities who use them as target practice! And all they want to do is forage for kamote — cassava, corn and guava and — I just realized, ruin the farmers’ crops.

Luzonites (my new word) are lucky if their Philippine peso will be acceptable in these ringgit-dominated islands that sell Indonesians gummies named “Ting-Ting DJAHE.” If you dare go with Samal’s and Taosug’s you’ll arrive in Labuan in just 40 minutes. They visit relatives on speedboats, shop for groceries and clothes to sell in the crowded Bongao market. 

That market is a heaven-sent mess that proves their economy is revolving round and round from labor to dining tables and back to sea journeys at dawn to fish and bring in ukay-ukay items. A few cars and jeeps and motorbikes fight for supremacy spewing smoke on wiggling fish, talakituks, tawilis, tuna, and salmon. My meal, in fact. Fishermen use dynamite for a successful catch, killing oysters who produce natural pearls and corals. By the way, I have a police officer who submerged his pistol in the sea and fired it. As a result, he felt electric current in his arm as the bullet exploded under the sea. Sparks flew in the air from his pistol. That effect is comparable to dynamite blasting under the sea, which produces shock waves that kill defenseless fish.

I’ve romanticized Tawi-Tawi reading about mischievous pirates in their lair. Time was when these sailors were profiteers of human trading, capturing Christians from the North and Visayas and selling them to Southeast Asia countries. Speeding in wooden boats called Praos or Salisipans, 40 rowers doubled time while Spaniards gave chase. Me, I’ve preferred my taller wooden hulled vessel. Sitting next to the captain, I’ve never questioned his expertise in spite of his lack of a college degree. No compass, just glancing at the stars and the moon. It’s fascinating to listen to the shouts of men with instructions on disengaging ropes from its bollard while balancing on both feet as the boat bumps roughly against rubber wheels on its portside tied to the pier’s posts and contending with a hole on the floor for a toilet. No yacht was my boat and never is. A historian or ethnographic researcher’s life is never comfortable and discoveries make me feel I’ve struck gold, such as this rare legend:

There was a mountain called Bud Ayos in Tawi-Tawi where a couple lived on top. The Samal husband would fish with hook on one side while his wife would go to the other side of the mountain to get some food. One day the wife said, “How do you expect me to go to the other side of the mountain today? I will fall down.” So her husband brought out his penis to serve as a bridge, and she was able to cross to the other side of the mountain. The husband continued fishing and suddenly the hook caught a stingray. He was dragged by the stingray down the hills. His scrotum scraped the whole side of the mountain, which is why until today Bud Ayos is dry on one side but has vegetation on the other side. 

I have known of only two other haka-hakas in 24 years of my Moro research and both have to do with the sexual organ. I’ve proposed that since the Samals have fewer possessions, what is important to them is their manhood. The size of their penis stresses masculinity, superiority and leadership. They have few possessions so their virility is what counts and their wives birthing in a bangka, no matter where, prove that.

Their nomadic sea life must necessarily make me more mobile, to keep up with their appearances and disappearances. Nevertheless, what a balm for a weary body and soul Tawi-Tawi is, just going house to house to sleep or eat and maintain old friends. Be it at Ismael “Pochong” Abubakar’s, Congressman Nur Jafaar’s or Governor Sadikul Sahali’s residence or Beng Matba’s and Sulay Halipa and the Catholic Parish Council president Bong Avendan. 

Every one of them has colliding principles but all have two aspects in common: embracing hearts and open homes. Forget about your telephones and schedules. Don’t bother with makeup. The only paper work is writing down field notes with a pencil and breathing in nature and appreciating life!

For goodness sake, the little curious children who once touched my hair and felt my arms and my legs in Bongao and Tumbaga-an are 30 years old today, making a living in Tawi-Tawi, the gateway to the Philippines, and still dreaming of an international airport. A wonderful dream to what could be a nightmare for these children now grown-up men was the virgin flight in October of Air Philippines with a 70-seater plane that flies to Tawi-Tawi daily. I prodded Cesar Chiong with Jules Mendoza accompanying me to the office of Air Philippines convincing Cesar to allow Air Philippines to fly to Jolo, Sulu and Bongao, Tawi-Tawi. 

Cesar’s astute judgment brought progress to these two provinces aside from being a patriotic decision and the second the smell of income. From 1984 to 1989 to 1990 till 2010 it was for me, sailing on a launch or flying Philippine Airlines, then Sea Air, but all had erratic schedules. Now I can have lunch in Tawi-Tawi and fly on Air Philippines for breakfast in Zamboanga.

Surely, a boat from Jolo can carry me to the same destination, Zamboanga City, but time is always of the essence. I will miss the eternal wondrous sky when I lie down, stare upward, cold on the deck. I can’t recall when I watched twinkling planets moving along with me playing a game of hide and seek and somber clouds engulfed me. It’s been so long ago, what a crime. 

But I will always be excited about the funny inconveniences I overcame to satisfy my restless spirit while imagining a rich, elegant, glorious Moro life in the 1840s with Nuyla as my friend. She, sailing with the commander of a thousand pirates, her husband Panglima Taupan, and his sea raiders in their balanghais to kidnap Christians with rope, rattan and krises on the shores of Bicol, Quezon and Ilocos Norte. 

Actually, women were hardly allowed on board. It was a man’s game. So she and I were just dreaming of being at sea with a beloved. I think that’s a more exciting dream than what Peping lived. As a boy after World War II his family, bound for America, boarded a ship. It took them a month and a half to reach New York and all he ate on board was consommé soup so he wouldn’t throw up.