My Childhood Part I

I have a faint recollection of my childhood, but there were some events I still remember so vividly like scenes in a movie. Our house in Cogon, a barrio of Ozamiz City, was built by the road with a rice and corn mill on one side and a sari-sari store on the other side. There was a long straight road in front of our house so we could see from a distance the carabao-driven caromata or balsa with sacks of rice or corn for milling. My elder sister Liling and I would run as fast as we could to meet them.

The owners would then say, "Stop, stop! The children of the mills! Let them ride!" The men would then pick and mount us above the sacks for a short ride up to our mill, which we enjoyed so much. Just when we get off, my sister spots another caromata coming so we run to meet them again.

Our nerves never tire of these happenings. We had two elder brothers who died one after the other in an epidemic just before I was born. Old folks say that a mother's physical condition would determine the health of the baby. I was born by a grieving mother. It accounted to my being sickly and frail. My elder sister was my guide and protector up to our school years because she was healthy, strong, and sturdy.

The War

One day, while we were eating breakfast, a series of loud bangs and sharp lights hit the skies like a roaring thunder and lightning. The neighbors were shouting. "War! War! The cadre is bombed!" Pandemonium broke. There was crying and shouting for children and family members. Mama and Papa picked up my younger brothers- Pepe by Mama and Rudy by Papa.
I was borne on the shoulders of Noy Peles, our machine operator, and Liling by Mama's sister
Nang Auring. We ran to hide. We did not know where to go. Papa instructed everybody to stay close together in hiding. We followed the running mob with crying children wrapped in blankets ( or whatever clothes they could grab) and looked for hiding places.

From my place on top of Noy Peles 's shoulder I could see many people behind the grooves and coco trees like clothes blown from the clothesline on a windy day. When the bombing ceased, Noy Peles told me we were going back to the house. We went home and finished our breakfast.

A few hours later, Mama, Papa, and the rest of the group arrived. They were amazed to find us already full and relaxed. Our playmates hurried along as they passed us by, but the grim faces of their parents were what etched deeper in my memory. They were the same expression that I saw in my parents' faces when they arrived earlier. The war had began.

The Little Secret

During those warring times, we heard stories of Japanese soldiers raising havoc everywhere. Manila and other cities were under the Japanese Imperial regime. Towns and barrios were penetrated, and several people were killed by bayonets; children were thrown up in the air, and the sharpness of the weapon seared their innocent flesh long before they reached the ground. Women of all agees, other than those tagged as comfort women, were raped.

Many people fled to the mountains. My parents evacuated to our coconut land in Cavinte, Tabid, with my paternal grandparents. There were also several other evacuees from the city and neighboring towns. They planted corn, root crops, fruits, and vegetables and raised fowls and pigs. They bartered their products with fish and seafood in a taboan in pulot with the fishermen by the seashore.

Our house had long posts and a long ladder; the space under the house became our playground.

One night Papa talked to Liling and me seriously. He explained the uncertainties of war. He told us to be strong whatever happened. He showed us an old candy jar made of glass. It was where our money, Mama's savings, and other important documents wre hidden. He buried the jar under our house that evening. The next morning he showed us the marker. There were times when Liling would stand on the spot and mischievely wink at me and I would nod, children as we were. It was a secret we shared.

Rumors that more soldiers have gone to neighboring barrios spread like fire. But our elders saw no reason for us to go deeper into the forest because malaria was rampant and wherever we go we would soon die of sickness and hunger.

One time got sick with malaria, followed by Papa. They were isolated in a nipa hut a short distance from our grandparents house where all of us children stayed. Our aunties took care of them . We were allowed to see them from a distance but they were wrapped in blankets and only their faces were shown; but it was enough to ease the loneliness of our separation.


Insek Tonyo

Across our house, there lived a chinese family. The lower part of their two-storey house was a sari-sari store. We called the patriarch Insek Tonyo. Their two children , a boy and a girl played with us.

One day, Papa and Mama , upon arriving from the taboan , immediately bundled our belongings. I saw them put our things in the double wall under the roof together with Papa's only pair of shoes. They cooked food and prepared us for another escape. They heard that Japanese soldiers were coming so everybody was alerted.

Before we finished lunch, the lookout shouted, "Hapon! Hapon! (Japanese, Japanese). We scrambled to the deeper woods with other families. We came to Litapan, a bathing area from a clean spring surrounded by trees. Everyone immersed in the water with heads up holding their children. Since I was only five, I stood up and said, " You are like clothes floating!" My mother motioned for me to keep quiet. Sure enough we soon heard loud sounds like horses galloping.

When I looked up, I saw what seemed like a battalion of soldiers, caps with flaps hanging about them. Some of them stopped right in front of us, while the rest continued marching to the road leading to the next barrio. I had never seen Japanese soldiers before that day , so I was impressed by the mere sight of them.

The leader made motions with roaring noises we could not understand. The local guide explained to us to follow them, and we followed silently. To our surprise we stopped in front of our house, which was used as temporary headquarters. The wide front yard was cordoned with a cable wide enough to accommodate the neighboring families hoarded inside grouping in corners. The upper part of our house was utilized as quarters for the officers and their cooks.

Downstairs, there was slaughtering of pigs, chickens, and goats and cooking of food. The children were allowed to run around. I ran the steps of our house followed by my elder sister Liling carrying our baby brother Pepe. Except for the guards surrounding the camp, the Japanese men were no longer in their soldier's uniform but on loose shorts and clothes, and others were bare up. They were no longer fierce looking. One smiled and took my baby brother from my sister and put him on our long dining table. Pepe was a big plump baby. They played with him and let him hold their telescope. They laughed and clapped their hands while when he giggled and made baby sounds. We took turns in using the telescope too. The other half of the table was a big basin filled with adobo and fried chicken. They gave us adobo and let Pepe carry a big chicken leg.

All the while my parents worried about us and were relieved to see us going downstairs all right. Mothers cried openly. We learned that young ladies were taken to the house of Insek Tonyo. Other ladies including my aunts were dressed as men wih dirt on their faces to discourage the soldiers of bad intentions.

We noticed several soldiers surrounding the house of Insek Tonyo. There was an interrogation inside the house because sometimes loud voices reached us. The house was guarded day and night for three days. Nobody could tell us why. Until one day we saw Insek Tonyo followed by six soldiers down the road leading to the river, hands tied at the back. The Japanese soldiers learned he was in possession of guns, which he vehemently denied. He broke down when he was battered beyond endurance. The guns, which the soldiers finally got, were hidden on top of the coconut tree at the back of their house. He was then taken away and never came back.

The Exit

Two weeks later , he soldiers packed up. There were orders for them to leave for the city , to everybody's relief. But all men were ordered to carry their load including pigs, chicken, goats, and boxes of commodiies to the city. Papa secretly learned of this. Two days before, he had been limping. His leg was wrapped in native onions soaked in oil held by banana leaves. After rubbing vigorously in the night, it became reddish and swollen so he wasa left behind. There was a lot of crying and loud weeping when the caravan left on foot, walking in single file the soldiers behind them with rifles ready. That scene stayed in my memory for a long time. Only a few of the men came back after four days. Those who stumbled and fall or got sick, were shot on the way.

A year later , in l943, we had another baby brother, named Filemon, Papa's junior. He was nicknamed Juning, which later became Nening as he grew up.