Rats, coffee, kamais in writing
This must be the narrative output of researchers whose guide complained of annoyance because of lack of understanding on the severity of context inside the warzone i.e. total observation of lockdown and martial rule.
Don't take it negatively; we were in a light conversation in a sort of spontaneous debriefing in an informal session.
The guide apparently was annoyed too of those who sought comfortable resting place and that disturbing sudden midnight commotion because... "oh my God, oh my God, there's a rat. That's a rat. There's a rat."
It made me react, "why? they don't have rats in their condominium? they haven't gone to market to find rats too in gutters and sewers? or, they haven't met rats in posh malls or probably in whatchacallit-- the ghettos? or in the squalor of urban poor areas?"
Stories like this reminded me of young agile learners who signed up for community immersion in remote rural area. There they met farmers who were roasting arabica coffee beans. It was opportune too for them to observe the process when beans became ultimately ready for brewing. Then one of them blurted, "ohhhh myyy... so this is how coffee beans are grinded. Look oh, oh my god, ready for coffee na." No, we don't brew coffee in tiny electric pots. We brew it in super large kaldero which could last a day on undying embers. This is part of anthropomorphic reality of people you dubbed taga-bukid.
Then in their sacred confines, these curious youths secretly applied insect repellent on their skin because their epidermic realities are stranger than the queer lives of tiny livings in the mountains. They carry with them the horrible stories of malaria and dengue in a community with less health care. Or probably in communities which became too immune from health risks by mere usage of herbal leaves and coconut oil-- which later was feasted by commercial traders as virgin coconut oil. That witchcraft which gained prominence and endorsed as cure for HIV-infection.
It reminded me too when we were yagit in simplicity with our conservative orientations from rural community inside a national conference of young writers. My attention hooked on a young lass in a spaghetti-strapped dress and on high heels who took the microphone on one hand and a glass of red juice on the other, to express an observation. She spoke in conyo dialect and with smack of red lips, said, "kanina, I heard doon sa kabila that one of our comrades here said that dapat ihiwalay ang pag-uusap sa struggle ng mga pesante from the struggle ng mga estudyante. How selfish naman of us to think of ourselves?!"
This was sort of funny to me even in the sobriety of reflection.
I shared this story to others too when we returned in our rural setting. We laughed and then ate "kamais and safari timbura."
====================================================================================================================================================================================
