Peter billeted me into a hotel. Had I not been reserved a room, I would have had no place to stay.
“Tomorrow,” Peter said as he escorted me to my room after dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, “someone will come to brief you on the situation and make the next arrangements.”
That someone turned out to be a Ka Filiw. Using only his nom de guerre, Ka Filiw is the spokesperson of the NPAs of the Cordillera Mountains. “Ka” is short for the Filipino word kasama which means comrade in English. He belongs to a command in the area which is one of the 128 fronts of the NPA dotting the whole Philippine Islands. He said that my fraternity brother could not see me but he had been sent to answer any question I might be able to use for my planned article. He then proceeded to explain the whys and wherefores of the protracted people’s war they are waging.
After our interview and photo session which lasted around two hours, he said that he had already made arrangements for me to go inside a rebel camp. “I hope you can handle walking ‘Ws’,” he said.
“Ws?”
Like Charles in Baguio City, Ka Filiw smiled. “Someone will pick you up in two days,” he said. “Meanwhile be a tourist. See the sites.”
That I did. I blended with the tourists out there for the Hanging Coffins, mummies, and echo mountains that Sagada is noted for.
On the prearranged hour after two days, a certain long-haired woman in her early 20s approached me as I was having brunch. At first I thought she was just one of the waitresses checking if my food was okay or if I needed anything else.
“I am with Ka Filiw,” she said. She then instructed me to be at a waiting shed at the town center across the town hall at exactly noon. “You’ll proceed from there. Bring already all your things.”
I did exactly as I was told.
At the shed, a burly man sat beside me. He gave me a friendly smile and then handed me what appeared to be a note. “When you reach the barrio you are going to, give this to Delfin,” he said.
I just smiled and nodded pocketing the note.
Then a rickety passenger jeep eased up in front of the shed.
“Take this trip,” the man said.
I clambered up behind the jeep which was already full of passengers. At the aisle of the 16 passenger jeep were sacks of rice, banana bundles, and chickens, among the other baggage that I had to squeeze my feet into. As I cramped myself between an old man and woman nursing a baby, I saw the burly man talking to the driver out front. The driver was nodding as he threw glances at me. The burly man then winked at me as the jeep proceeded to wherever it was going.
The trip to Sagada from Baguio was nothing compared to this. For four hours, it was a stomach swirling bumpy ride on pure dirt and dusty hairpin winding road. There was no respite on the jolts that I could hardly stand at the end of the trip which I thought would never end.
But this would still be the easy part compared to what I would be undertaking in the following days.
At our destination, the driver dropped me off at a house within a barrio. The house was at a promontory where one can view nothing but seas of undulating mountains in the horizons. A couple in their 60s and their two daughters welcomed me. “Eat,” the mother said. “You will need it. Your escort will be here soon. I understand you will proceed as soon as it gets darker.” They acted like their house was a normal transit place for NPAs and their visitors.
While I was in the middle of my meal (to my surprise, in the hinterland, the woman served me spaghetti), a Delfin and Ka Rex arrived. I handed the note to Delfin, who after reading it nodded. “Yes, we know this already,” he said of whatever was written on the note. “We received the text message early this morning that is why we are here to meet you. Rex here will carry your bags for you. You should reach the camp tomorrow afternoon or evening.” Delfin winked at Rex.
Like Charles and Ka Filiw, Delfin and Rex smiled.
I was about to find out what “Ws” mean.
When the sun hid behind the mountains, Rex and I left the house. There was just enough light so we can see the tracks within the barrio without attracting attention from the other barrio folks. At a distance, already away from peering eyes, Rex reached out for something from a bush on the trailside. He had left his holstered .45 caliber pistol there when they entered the barrio and was now slinging it back on his waist.
At first, the trail was meandering, cascading to a steady 10-to-20-degree downhill, or should I say down-mountain, slope. After perhaps a kilometer away from the barrio, it became steadily steeper until it reached a 75-to-80-degree angle. Worse, the trail became more dense with stones and outcropping roots. And it was now dark. In spite of it, we were not really walking. We were in spurts of almost running down, forced by gravity, in spite of the ruggedness of the trail which was also carpeted with slippery pine needles and dry leaves. Several times, I was simulating snowboarding movements braked only by me bumping into a tree or by my clinging to a vine. Twice, I almost made splits, making me wonder if Rex could carry me to a hospital in case I injured myself. At this point, I was thanking three things. First, I had bought a penlight from Home Depot and I had extra batteries. Second, there were vines and stumps on the trail that I could cling to whenever I could have slid to the rugged abyss below. Third, I was free to flap my arms as Rex was carrying all my packs.
It started to dawn on me that this must be what they meant with “Ws.” I was in the first downward stroke in writing the letter. I shuddered at the thought of the other upcoming strokes. I started to understand why Charles, Filiw, Delfin, and Rex were smiling. And we were only starting.
Just as I was to stop for the umpteenth time to catch my breath, the swishing of vines that I clung to and the crackling of breaking twigs beneath my feet were intermingled with a rippling sound. The whimpering of a river which became louder gave me a burst of energy as I know we were reaching the bottom of the descent.
