Life Along the Abra River

The boatmen and many other residents near the riverbanks wonder if it is only the rains that have been causing the river to rise up so high. They note how the expanse of the river is heavily affected by siltation brought about by mining.

BY ABI TAGUBA BENGWAYAN
NORTHERN DISPATCH
Posted by Bulatlat

Barges like this are the only means of reaching many of Abra’s towns 

BANGUED, Abra – Tatang Julio* sits in his cogon shed and gazes out to the Abra river, murky from the rains of the previous night. He mumbles, saying the water will eventually clear up.

Tatang Julio is one of the 30 boatmen along the banks of the Abra river in Barangay (village) Calaba, ferrying vehicles and people to and from the banks of Bangued and La Paz towns in a makeshift boat called balsa. We took a ride in one and met Tatang Julio and some of the people who live along the Abra River.

One of his companions, Manong Reggie, proudly tells with us that the balsa, which is 5x4 meters in size, can carry four jeepneys, six motorbikes and six tricycles, all laden with odds and ends, including passengers.

“Narigat ti biag mi ditoy… ket agan-anos tay’ latta a” (Life here is difficult. Still, we have to go on and make do with a living), Tatang Julio tells us. Income from ferrying, according to him, is meager. “Nu agbagyo ket awan ti agbyahe ta ngumato ti danum, delikado metten. Isunga awan met ti pangalaan mi ti sapulen mi” (Nobody dares to cross the river on bad weather, especially during typhoons. It is dangerous for the passengers and us. Thus, for that time, we also do not have income), he laments.

He excuses himself to join his companions to build a small barricade near the old bridge which used to join the two towns. Only half of the bridge remains with parts of the structure having been washed away by floodwaters that rise every time the river swells.

“50-50”

Manong Poli invites us in the shed as we board the balsa. Behind us, the mechanic has  his hands on the engine, ensuring it would run well while smoke spews from the jeeps and the motor. We are almost shouting at each other to make ourselves heard above the noise of the motors.  

Manong Poli has been on this job for over 10 years. He says the local government has no intention of improving their conditions since the job of ferrying passengers is a private endeavor.

He explains how their wage is divided: The week’s earnings are divided among some 30 boatmen – but only after 50 percent has been deducted and given to the balsa owners.

At Manong Poli’s feet are two small aluminum pots properly sealed and carefully wrapped in plastic. “Balon” (packed meals), he tells us smiling, for the 24-hour job.

Earlier, Tatang Julio said that his income is only enough for immediate household needs and his children’s school fare. “Ti birok mi ditoy ket umanay laeng a pagplete dagiti agbasa nga annak… para iti dadduma pay a masapul iti balay…asin ken bagoong.” (We just want to earn for our schoolchildren, salt and fish paste and other household needs).

During typhoons, the boatmen help each other fasten the balsa and smaller boats to higher ground. “Iyaw-awid mi pay dagitoy nu agbagyo ta mai-anod met” (We have to take these home during typhoons because the waves will sweep them away), says Manong Poli.

At the other side

Finally, the balsa docks into the banks of La Paz. A woman, called Manang Conchie by the other passengers, climbs aboard with her basketful of adaleg. On her way to market in the heart of Bangued, a boatman buys a cup from her.

Not far from where the balsa docked in the village of Calaba, Nanang Lydia is busy cooking pansit (dry noodles) in her cogon carinderia. Family and friends stay on to chat or help with the dishes. As we roll the camera, Nanang Lydia is curious if her pansit, smelling good with the generous ingredients, is being recorded. “Ket makitkitam garud daytoy lutlutoek kon?” (So can you now see the dish I am cooking) she asks.

Her house rests some 25 meters from her store, six meters from the bridge leading down the riverbank. Whenever the river rises, her family’s options are to temporarily evacuate or brave the typhoon and hold on to their belongings.

Life from the river

Despite the conditions besetting the Abra River now, Abreños still earn their living from it.

An Environmental Investigatory Mission (EIM) conducted by the Save the Abra River Movement (STARM) in 2003 identified large-scale mining operations by the Lepanto Consolidated Mining Company (LCMCo) as the main culprit in the pollution of the Abra river. This in turn caused the decline of aquatic life and death of plants and animals that rely on the river for survival. Diseases were even reported among residents who frequent the river for livelihood.

The boatmen and many other residents near the riverbanks wonder if it is only the rains that have been causing the river to rise up so high. They note how the expanse of the river is heavily affected by siltation.

Near Nanang Lydia’s house, a bulldozer rescues a platform that sank due to floods and siltation. “Wen a, idi ket adu pay ti lames ngem ita, awanen. Awanen unay” (There used to be abundant fish here, but now they’re gone.) Nanang Lydia says, shaking her head.

We try the buri (shopping bag made of native abaca) they are selling before leaving. It is nearly noon. Manong Poli asks us to spend the rest of the afternoon with them. They obviously have more stories to tell — about their lives and the river. Bulatlat

*Not his real name

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