I was handed a plate with an equal serving of food like the rest. I was more tired than hungry and I had no appetite. At that point, I was longing for just an ice-cold Coca-Cola but I forced myself to eat. As I did not know what would happen next, I might as well have something in my stomach.

After lunch, I had a long siesta and after which, I had a very refreshing dip in the river alongside the camp. That part of the river could have been any part of the river anywhere with all its bends and rocks. Hidden under thick foliage, the structures at the banks would not be seen by any prying soul on helicopters or low-flying planes. I surmised that there could be sentries up and down the river aside from the hard-to-pass trails into the camp.

“We’ve been here two years,” a Ka Dan would tell me later during our interview that afternoon. “Unlike years ago when we were so mobile that we could only stay in an area for several months.” Dan is the head of the Regional Operations Command which comprises the equivalent of a battalion operating in the borders of Ilocos and Benguet in the fringes of the Cordilleras in Northern Luzon. Recruited as a worker from an assembly plant in Manila and never been married, he had been with the NPA for 30 years. “Enemy patrols had been hovering up the hill some months ago but they did not find us. Just in case this gets discovered, we already have an alternate camp set around two-hour hike from here.”

That is maybe five hours for me, I thought.

“That is where the main body is and where you will have your photo shoot tomorrow,” Ka Dan said.

That night, after dinner of rice and dried fish, a sort of sharing session was held at the hall illuminated with a 60-watt bulb. There, I gathered that although these NPA rebels engage in combat, their primary political task is to explain to villagers within the satellite of the command why there should be a revolution. When not in camp, they are broken into armed propaganda units which can be as small as a squad. Often, members of a squad are sons or daughters of families in the villages they visit. These villages are slowly being converted into red zones or areas where the NPA exerts influence – i.e., the villagers welcome fighters anytime to be fed or allow them to rest. The villagers also help in providing information on the movements of the enemy; contribute resources like food; and, most importantly, join the NPA or allow their sons and daughters to do so.

The sharing was capped with the singing of revolutionary songs with Rex playing the guitar. The songs played in my mind even as we called it a night. Although very exhausted, I barely slept. It must have been my continuing excitement, my long siesta, or my still being in the jetlagged mode. I finally decided that it was the hard wood planked bed I was graciously offered in one of the canvassed structures.

By daybreak, I had to relieve myself. I mentioned this not only because I was glad I brought along tissue papers from Albertson’s but also because I was impressed with their latrines. They had two covered structures with holes dug deep enough complete with septic tank systems. I said to myself, “Boy! If left undiscovered in this place, these NPA rebels are really here for a long haul.”

And I was ready for another, I believe, long day for me.

Right after breakfast of yam and coffee (water for me), I, Ka Dan and three others started for the other camp. Rex who stayed had told me earlier, “Don’t worry. This path is very easy compared to yesterday’s.”

He was right. After a very short steep ascent at the opposite bank, we followed a relatively flat winding trail along the river. Although I did not do five hours as I earlier estimated, however, it still took us four hours to reach the other camp with me setting the pace.

This camp was larger than the former one. Aside from sleeping quarters, it had a hall with around 50 desks fashioned from lashed bamboos. “This is one of our schools in our Political Military Academy,” Ka Dan said. “Here we assess our experiences and combine them with revolutionary theories on guerilla strategy and tactics. The academy also trains commanders from all over the country on political ideology and, in particular, how to handle men and the people in combat and non-combat situations.”

“Would that include Muslims?” I asked.

“Muslim NPAs, yes.”

They also had a makeshift gym with crude punching bags and weights. Some of the NPA rebels showed me their martial arts prowess they could use in case they would be engaged in hand-to-hand combat which they emphasized may rarely happen because, as guerillas, they are supposed to hit and run. The exercises they do is more to make them physically fit for their revolutionary tasks to include helping the masses in their daily grind.

As I was being toured around the camp, squads of NPA rebels were arriving. Some of them came from nearby barrios and villages. They were called through cell phones to assemble that afternoon because I was going to take pictures.

After lunch, a whole company was already there and I did take pictures of their formations, ambush position make-ups, and march line-ups. At one point, I asked why they are not even hiding their faces.

“We are not terrorists,” said Ka Dan. “We have nothing to hide.”

Only those who are conduits and still have functions in the towns and cities and must maintain legal identities did not join in the photo sessions.

Abel was one of them. He was to be my final guide.

Right after the photo shoot, Abel and I walked for six hours through an even ascent. The previous walks seem to have made this leg of the walk easy though still long for me. We reached a barrio at 10:00 p.m. Another couple with a baby welcomed us.

The following day, we caught a jeep early and traveled through dirt roads for seven hours of bumps and head jerking turns before connecting to cemented roads of the coastal town of Candon, Ilocos Sur (347 kilometers from Manila). We were now on the west side foothills of the Cordilleras along the coast of the China Sea. I was on my way full circle back to Baguio City, having cut through and traversed I don’t know how many mountains.

This last leg, this jeepney ride, was also long and tortuous but I really preferred it over Ka Dan’s proposal after our photo shoot the day before. He said, “If you want to take more pictures of a larger force, we could go farther up north. We have a battalion up there. It will only be a three-day hike.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I have enough.”

He smiled. Contributed to (Bulatlat.com)

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