Chapter 1: Off-road & a worried soldier at PoonaPiagapo

From Pantaoragat town, we started flexing our legs and muscles for a long walk to the mountain heeding to Poona Piagapo, one of the numerous conflict-affected areas and undeveloped place of Lanao del Norte.
The road is muddy, raked by spiked tires which required us to be extraordinarily careful and to move snail-paced to evade physical harm.
Our eyes darted to passing horses or those whom we met on our way. Horses here have been used as the traditional transport of persons and goods.
Viewing the dark forest regions, I adored how the trees stood green and tall. Verdant and thorny wild ferns accentuated the natural beauty while wild flowers, herbal in nature, provided more meat to our discourse on alternative medicine to common illnesses.
Shoes or slippers? I prefer slippers because we will still be crossing a river on foot. I was wearing one which was borrowed since my first entry in this remote barangay and is obviously unreturned. Even if there is a submarine bridge to cross-over, still it’s more expedient to strand the river with slippers.
Birds’ tweets are music to my ears harmonized by the cool wind and the melodious gnashing of river flows. Its a fine day to walk to the mountain: not enough sunlight, no rain. At least, not yet.
A vehicle with spiked wheels reached at Corn Sheller place where we were then assessing the impact of water system project of Ecoweb Inc with their partner- communities.
“Let’s go on board now so we could move fast and return soonest,” said one staff.
So we embarked on the vehicle.
It wasn’t just a bumpy ride for us. I worried over vehicles' engine, its trunk and its swaying movement just to retain its balance against the baddddddd, badddddddddd, badddddddd road to PoonaPiagapo.
My mind lurked into government’s inability to support the community here with right social services and better-farm to market road when I sensed that we needed to stop.
A band of soldiers were cutting bamboos. Their vehicle was parked right on the way.
No other way out but to stop.
My photojournalist hands couldn’t stop ensuring captivity of select moments. So I decided to snap some angles but particularly zeroing on the situation of being stranded because there is not enough road for everyone to pass. The lenses did not take depth on working soldiers around.
They are hauling these materials on board a similar type of vehicle. We waited until they’re done and we tailed them through until we reached a crossroad where the lieutenant is certain that we would be taking a different route.
He disembarked from his vehicle and flagged us down.
In astonishment, he spoke to me directly in English. In English… while we are at the mountain.
“Who was it that was taking pictures?” he asked but darting his eyes to me.
“Violy,” replied Nanet who sat beside me at the front seat.
“Yes, I did?”
“And I know someone too video recorded us awhile ago. I believe it was you?” addressing Raney.
“I would like to be certain that those photos and videos be removed because it was taken without my permission. I know mass media and I know there are protocols,” he said.
“Uh yeah. I took photos right, to snapped the situation. I did not focus about you and the soldiers. Does this matter?”
“It is part of our policy and a standing order that we shouldn’t be taken photos ma’am specially if we are not in proper uniform. Those who’d look at it might mistake us as rebels…” he said.
So that’s what he was dead worried about.
Aware of his concerns, I summarily assessed him what he was actually wearing. Clothes were never part of my anxiety especially that we are in a mountain. But his statements taunted my awareness.
T-shirt in military green color; green shorts, slippers and that armalite rifle—-a soldier in very well fit clothes, good enough for hacking-bamboos-attire and enough to know his manhood.
“What’s wrong about your attire? Your commanding officer would even wear shorts himself and he was perfectly alright. Why are you so worried?” I asked.
“Maybe, my officer was not in an official business at that time ma’am,” he said.
“Oh, he was in an official business when I saw him wearing shorts at daytime,” I replied.
“At daytime ma’am?”
“Also at night time.” I replied.
“Also at night time ma’am?” this time a smile cracked his face.
“Uh, he is more handsome at night time,” I said illogically from nowhere.
“Handsome ma’am?” he asked again, this time displaying a wide smile.
I extended my hand which he gladly held.
“What is your name?”
”I’m Evangelista ma’am.”
“What is your first name?”
”Kim ma’am.”
“What is your designation, sir under your battalion?”
”I’m a 1st lieutenant ma’am under 10th IB ma’am. Please just remove my photos ma’am, I might be sacked by my higher officers ma’am,” he pleaded.
We introduced ourselves in return.
“What is the name of your battalion commander?”
“Lt. Col. Eric Adison po ma’am.”
“Ah si Eric. Please send my regards to him,” I said with a silly smile.
“We are not seeing each other all time ma’am.”
“Nonetheless, if you will see him, please send him my regards,” I said.
“We will not publicize the photos, sir. I can guarantee you that you will not be sacked by your officers,” I assured him, adding “it might even appear at sultan warriors web to show that you are good and hard working soldiers here in the mountain.”
“Oh no ma’am. My ass will really be sacked by then ma’am,” he said again dead serious.
“Your ass will not be sacked. And if it’s sacked, I will replace your ass!” I said.
“You cannot replace my ass ma’am. This is worth millions,” he retorted.
A million-worth ass? All of us were in deep wonder about a million-worth ass.
Then he conversed with the program officer of Ecoweb for possible partnership on medical mission. But still disturbed that his group were taken photos. He also asked a barangay official about a situation in barangay Tangclao.
He asked my name and my mobile phone number, half-complaining about my TM number because his place isn’t blessed with globe cell site. Not even a bar-long signal.
“We will drop at your place later. Meanwhile, we really need to leave,” we told him.
“Please… ma’am…” he begged up to the last minute.
“Alright, see you later.”
Just as the engine started to leave off the crossroad where we where flagged… I chuckled.
“Why are you laughing?”
”Because I pretended that I know Sir Eric. If he will bring that paper with my jotted name on it, the officer will really say ‘malay ko ba kung sino ito.’


Chapter 2: [untitled but will follow]