Disaster in Dumangas
12th September 2006
The smell of salty mud fills my nose. Small sea shells dice the
souls of my feet as I tiptoe my way through mangroves. A dirty
forearm wipes the sweat from my forehead. Saltwater keeps my
ankles clean. A group of kids wave at me. One performs a
back flip. I smile.
No more.
My bum's getting wet. I feign comfort. How can this be
seaworthy? Little boy does all the work. The shrimper casts
the net from his inner tube. Click. He gives me a
wave. This is where we will eat. Great. The
dirt is gritty between my teeth as I slurp my way through green
muscles. No. No. I couldn't possibly. Kapoy gid.
Toothless man grins, waves goodbye, returns to Pusoy.
No more.
Was that girl a girl? Bulging out and in at all the wrong
places. Warm Coke sticky on my teeth. Ah! So
nightclub means brothel. Gotcha. Is it turtle or
tortoise? Can never remember. It's heavy and wobbly.
Take the damn picture. Coral cuts my feet. Should take more
care. Of feet and coral. Families hide in house.
Reluctant acceptance of tip.
No more.
Coconut scented sunscreen on the ladies turning peanut colored in the
sun. An Irishman bubbling in the sun - aftersun lotion not protecting
him. Sand in my togs after a swim in the warm sea. I hope I
don't get a rash - especially there. Young kids on the
floating platform - the boys trying to out-cool each other and the girls
giggling. A toddler dressed in sand plays with the incoming waves.
No more.
No more because an oil tanker sank near the place I love.
Spewed a quarter of its load already. Likely to spew more a
kilometer below the surface.
No more swimming in Nalu-Oyan. No
more watching Mark Dumancas doing back flips on
the beach. Both Nalu-Oyan and the beach Mark Dumancas flipped on
are now covered in oil.
No more.
No more fish means no fisherman. No shrimpers
in their innertubes. No grin on the toothless man. All
have been destroyed by oil
No more.
No more gay man dancing up and down the beaches of Guimaras.
No more embarrassing conversations
with Eden. No more photos
with turtles. No more income for simple
folk on their tiny island. The oil forms a dirty ring around
Guimaras.
No more.
No more baking on the beach. No more
watching young ladies baking, Irishmen bubbling and young kids playing.
No more.
Too much oil.
I was devastated when I heard of the oil spill in the
Philippines. It has destroyed the livelihoods of the people I know
and love in and around Dumangas. The fisherman I know will suffer
the most. Even if they can catch oily fish, who will eat them let
alone buy them?
The mangroves that Eric,
Marie, Claudia
and Paul planted are
gone. Nothing survives in oil.
I'm still missing the Philippines. Uganda is cool, but the
Philippines will always be my home away from home. I felt so
powerless when I heard about the oil spill. I wanted to go to the
Philippines right there and then, but knew I couldn't. I sent a
text to Reza to express my
support and to pass on my best to the people of Dumangas
Country Village, and another text to Thercy
to tell the students and staff of Pulao
Elementary School that I was thinking of them.
Both replied back with messages (at great personal expense) that made
me feel more connected to the place.
From Thercy:
| helo sir malcolm we realy mis
u.we rceiv ur letter wid CD
the pupils was touch wid ur leter. n njoy wid ur new frinds at togo.
oil spil is prblem. HALONG IKAW.... |
Two from Reza:
| Yes! How r u now in uganda?
Malcolm thanks very much 4 your package.I rcived last sept 6. i
answer your ltter, i send to newzealand |
| Yup like vry much. After
uganda, wre are u going? What place u go?Alwys tke cre, all
brakadas in dumangas i mssing u |
I told Reza what my plans were.
I suspect my two weeks in the Philippines in April 2007 is causing some
excitement around Dumangas.
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(c)
2005 and 2006 Malcolm Trevena.
All the stuff on this site is written by me, Malcolm Trevena. Feel free to
link to this page. Heck, you can even copy stuff from here if you
want. Just make sure you sight me as a reference.
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