Missing a dear cousin
July 4, 2004 | 12:00am
He sprang a fast one on us and left us wondering why he died. My cousin Rene Feliciano Manzano, being the way he was, would just pop in and out. Now you see him, now you don’t. He was supposed to go to Zamboanga but didn’t show up at the airport. And no calls to explain either.
Rene wasn’t like his dad, Jaime H. Manzano, who was precise and calculating. Nor my mother’s older brother, Tito Bimbo, who met submarines that surfaced in Quezon Province at Prueba Point. He welcomed Commander Charles Parsons of the United States Navy, who represented General MacArthur, and was awarded the Legion of Honor by the Armed Forces of the Philippines for his service in a rescue mission.
Rene and I planned to see the mountains of Sierra Madre where his dad fought the Japanese. "Let’s go!" we agreed, yet we never called each other. But I know he just couldn’t say no. However, that attitude also meant he loved those he "indianed" because he couldn’t bear to see them disappointed. It’s a roundabout way to put it but that was his logic. We accepted. As cousins, we had our share of adventures.
While in Tawi Tawi with Rene, we hiked up a hill in Bongao to see the white monkeys. Through bushes, over rocks, between trees we walked until we reached a clearing. Gasping for breath we removed our shoes to stretch our toes when suddenly three monkeys appeared staring at us. More arrived and gawked, scrutinizing us with their heads tilting from side to side. Suddenly, they jumped up and down like they were on spring beds. Mother monkeys appeared with their babies on their back. Others swung from branch to branch. It seemed thousands of them were ready to pounce on us. "Let’s go," I shouted as I started to run while the others remained transfixed. "Hurry, give them the bananas or we might get attacked by these albino monkeys," China said. I answered, "No more of this! I’m going down." Raul responded, "Enough of these monkeys that look like humans!" We heard Rene shout, "Wait! Wait!" We all came to an abrupt halt. The soles of his rubber shoes had flipped over exposing his feet. That’s how rough it was climbing and then scampering down terror stricken. Seeing Rene’s muddied feet with sores on them, I laughed hysterically. He also hopped all the way down the hill smiling with his dark chinky eyes with heavy lashes.
Thinking we had been transformed from car riders to seafarers we sailed back to the waters of Sulu infatuated with its hues of blue. Then, crash! Plates fell on the bamboo floor and shattered to pieces. "It is an omen that we should not sail tonight," Islamic cautioned us. Islamic was Hashim Jamalul from Sitangkai who belonged to, firstly, the world of nature – fish, corals and seaweeds, clouds and skies. The other, gold, speed engines and radio equipment from Malaysia to sell in our southern islands.
We were on Gov. Gerry Matba’s speedboat in Sitangkai at 9:30 p.m. with two escort boats heading for Bongao. Gerry Matba was our skipper; we were his singing passengers. Out in the open seas, we stopped by the 70-foot launch named Temper, moored nearby loading drums of gasoline and hundreds of boxes of soap from Sabah. My three children were on the Temper and we shouted our goodbyes looking upward from below the plan being to be reunited in Sibutu Island. The Temper had but a skeletal structure at its center. No roof, no flooring over its middle portion but just at the bow and its stern to view the sea. The sea was calm even if thick dark clouds shielded the moon. How lucky we are.
Arriving in Sibutu in the dead of the night, we walked over sandy paths and green bermuda patches to the house of the surprised household of Gerry and Beng Matba’s relatives. Hearing about their governor’s arrival, a policeman came to tell him his wife was giving birth and bleeding profusely. We alternated between sleeping on benches and socializing until we caught sight of the two-hour late Temper. About the same time, we received news that the pregnant woman had died.
In a span of four hours, we witnessed four black omens. Plates dropping, dark ominous clouds, the girls singing in the boat awakening the guardian spirits of the sea, the mother who died. "Wait until tomorrow. Tonight harbors bad luck," we were told in Samal. We rushed to the boats as it was past midnight. "Are you and the children riding in the speedboat?" I was asked. Sensing worry in the inquiry, I called back the girls from Gerry’s small swift boat to transfer to the bigger Temper .
Proceeding, Commander Gombahale followed the path of the stars, reliable hints for the sea lanes. Distracted because Gerry signaled us with a flashlight, our Captain thought one speedboat’s engine had conked out. In that confusion we apparently turned too much to the left, missing the "right lane" that would lead us to Bongao. Now, we had lost our direction under the starlit skies. Voices argued in Taosug and Samal to shut off one engine with suggestions "Turn right" and "Go straight." A soldier asked me, "Ma’am, do you have your maps?" I brought one every time but this time I had left it in Bongao. "Does anyone have a compass? The Southern Star seems to be behind us... It’s raining, where are we headed?" Two hours had passed and we were drifting somewhere. The nagging, too, was different from being in a car.
Then the horrid rain fell on us. The Temper rocked sideways violently, throwing us to one side then to the other. We had nothing to hold on at the bow so we sat pat on the floor of the Temper, Rene and myself sharing a malong over our heads. Wasn’t that silly and useless? My children, Girlie and cousin Raul were below in the center of the ship, with Girlie and Gerry’s men sitting on hundreds of boxes of bubbling soap.
The wind was furious. The waves angrier and two stories high while the speedboats bobbed up and down on the Sulu Sea. Wham!! "Nalunod!" came a cry in the dark and an order "Pisi...pisi!" I saw Gerry’s men floating on the now rough and horrid sea and throwing their heavy guns towards the other two boats. Some were hoisted up to our launch. Gerry’s battered boat cracked in half and sank.
Wet, we shivered uncontrollably from the cold wind. Rene held his buri hat in front of his chest but that didn’t help. It was like a sponge. Crouching, Charlie’s legs covered his chest. Ralph pulled his saltwater-soaked pink towel around him. Other soldiers sat pensively in their fatigue jackets surveying the situation. Rain continued to pour while the second motor of the Temper broke down. Our three engines had conked out. There we were drifting.
Our radio operator who had fallen asleep unmindful of the excitement was throwing up. The children and my cousins were huddled now under a rubber boat with three mats to protect them from the onslaught. The soldiers were pitifully wet. "Wake up the children. Tell them tracer bullets will be fired, so they won’t be scared." Colonel Nani ordered.
"Use the emergency radio to inform the Marines, Captain Maang," Gerry hollered from below. Ten men tried in vain to tie the radio wires up a bamboo pole to serve as antenna but it kept falling down. After hours of radioing, a miracle happened. A young boy from Bongao had intercepted our mayday calls and informed his father and the Philippine National Police Headquarters. We didn’t know that someone else had picked up our distress calls, the navy ship, M.V. Malvar.
Did we imagine those lights in answer to Gerry’s men were signaling our location continuously, hoping light traveled faster than sound. Was it a P.C.F. coming towards us? The men murmured, "Siguro... Diako (no)... Houn (yes)...." We’d have to wait till daybreak and stop hallucinating.
As we drifted and swayed, the rains subsided and the moon struggled to appear from behind the clouds. The M.V. Malvar had apparently sighted us through their radar. In the meantime, the Muslims began eating at 3:30 a.m. observing Ramadan. Exhausted, I lay my head on Rene’s life vest he was wearing and fell asleep. After sometime, he woke me up so he could get on his feet. To my shock, I saw this huge gray ship above us. It was 5:30 a.m. maybe.
Timing our steps with the upward thrust of the waves, we were lifted by the sailors from the Temper to the M.V. Malvar. After rescuing 30 of us, we learned the RPS Malvar’s commander was a Tarlaqueño, Captain Agustine and its lone passenger Admiral Romulo Espaldon who took advantage of the M.V. Malvar’s assignment and hitched a ride on it. We were all drenched but safe, arriving at Bongao at 8 a.m.
Counting my friends on that sojourn I realized Gerry Matba died from an infection. So did Islamic who drowned at sea. Charlie died in an accident while swimming. Rene has joined his dad and mom and brother Jimmy.
Death has driven me back to happy memories and to childhood days. My first cousin Rene Feliciano Manzano was the handsomest little boy of my generation. Even better looking than my other first cousins Edu, Dickie, Boy, Angie, Andy and Benjie and 20 others except for Raul and Raffy. We all have two other things in common aside from being blood relatives – the spirit of adventurism and believing that tomorrow will always come for us. "We are indestructible," we believed. Then, my brother Mon and Martin commented, "We are all so young playing at our grandparents’. Truly, the long and short of it is, only God lives forever."
Rene wasn’t like his dad, Jaime H. Manzano, who was precise and calculating. Nor my mother’s older brother, Tito Bimbo, who met submarines that surfaced in Quezon Province at Prueba Point. He welcomed Commander Charles Parsons of the United States Navy, who represented General MacArthur, and was awarded the Legion of Honor by the Armed Forces of the Philippines for his service in a rescue mission.
Rene and I planned to see the mountains of Sierra Madre where his dad fought the Japanese. "Let’s go!" we agreed, yet we never called each other. But I know he just couldn’t say no. However, that attitude also meant he loved those he "indianed" because he couldn’t bear to see them disappointed. It’s a roundabout way to put it but that was his logic. We accepted. As cousins, we had our share of adventures.
Thinking we had been transformed from car riders to seafarers we sailed back to the waters of Sulu infatuated with its hues of blue. Then, crash! Plates fell on the bamboo floor and shattered to pieces. "It is an omen that we should not sail tonight," Islamic cautioned us. Islamic was Hashim Jamalul from Sitangkai who belonged to, firstly, the world of nature – fish, corals and seaweeds, clouds and skies. The other, gold, speed engines and radio equipment from Malaysia to sell in our southern islands.
Arriving in Sibutu in the dead of the night, we walked over sandy paths and green bermuda patches to the house of the surprised household of Gerry and Beng Matba’s relatives. Hearing about their governor’s arrival, a policeman came to tell him his wife was giving birth and bleeding profusely. We alternated between sleeping on benches and socializing until we caught sight of the two-hour late Temper. About the same time, we received news that the pregnant woman had died.
In a span of four hours, we witnessed four black omens. Plates dropping, dark ominous clouds, the girls singing in the boat awakening the guardian spirits of the sea, the mother who died. "Wait until tomorrow. Tonight harbors bad luck," we were told in Samal. We rushed to the boats as it was past midnight. "Are you and the children riding in the speedboat?" I was asked. Sensing worry in the inquiry, I called back the girls from Gerry’s small swift boat to transfer to the bigger Temper .
Proceeding, Commander Gombahale followed the path of the stars, reliable hints for the sea lanes. Distracted because Gerry signaled us with a flashlight, our Captain thought one speedboat’s engine had conked out. In that confusion we apparently turned too much to the left, missing the "right lane" that would lead us to Bongao. Now, we had lost our direction under the starlit skies. Voices argued in Taosug and Samal to shut off one engine with suggestions "Turn right" and "Go straight." A soldier asked me, "Ma’am, do you have your maps?" I brought one every time but this time I had left it in Bongao. "Does anyone have a compass? The Southern Star seems to be behind us... It’s raining, where are we headed?" Two hours had passed and we were drifting somewhere. The nagging, too, was different from being in a car.
Then the horrid rain fell on us. The Temper rocked sideways violently, throwing us to one side then to the other. We had nothing to hold on at the bow so we sat pat on the floor of the Temper, Rene and myself sharing a malong over our heads. Wasn’t that silly and useless? My children, Girlie and cousin Raul were below in the center of the ship, with Girlie and Gerry’s men sitting on hundreds of boxes of bubbling soap.
The wind was furious. The waves angrier and two stories high while the speedboats bobbed up and down on the Sulu Sea. Wham!! "Nalunod!" came a cry in the dark and an order "Pisi...pisi!" I saw Gerry’s men floating on the now rough and horrid sea and throwing their heavy guns towards the other two boats. Some were hoisted up to our launch. Gerry’s battered boat cracked in half and sank.
Wet, we shivered uncontrollably from the cold wind. Rene held his buri hat in front of his chest but that didn’t help. It was like a sponge. Crouching, Charlie’s legs covered his chest. Ralph pulled his saltwater-soaked pink towel around him. Other soldiers sat pensively in their fatigue jackets surveying the situation. Rain continued to pour while the second motor of the Temper broke down. Our three engines had conked out. There we were drifting.
"Use the emergency radio to inform the Marines, Captain Maang," Gerry hollered from below. Ten men tried in vain to tie the radio wires up a bamboo pole to serve as antenna but it kept falling down. After hours of radioing, a miracle happened. A young boy from Bongao had intercepted our mayday calls and informed his father and the Philippine National Police Headquarters. We didn’t know that someone else had picked up our distress calls, the navy ship, M.V. Malvar.
Did we imagine those lights in answer to Gerry’s men were signaling our location continuously, hoping light traveled faster than sound. Was it a P.C.F. coming towards us? The men murmured, "Siguro... Diako (no)... Houn (yes)...." We’d have to wait till daybreak and stop hallucinating.
As we drifted and swayed, the rains subsided and the moon struggled to appear from behind the clouds. The M.V. Malvar had apparently sighted us through their radar. In the meantime, the Muslims began eating at 3:30 a.m. observing Ramadan. Exhausted, I lay my head on Rene’s life vest he was wearing and fell asleep. After sometime, he woke me up so he could get on his feet. To my shock, I saw this huge gray ship above us. It was 5:30 a.m. maybe.
Timing our steps with the upward thrust of the waves, we were lifted by the sailors from the Temper to the M.V. Malvar. After rescuing 30 of us, we learned the RPS Malvar’s commander was a Tarlaqueño, Captain Agustine and its lone passenger Admiral Romulo Espaldon who took advantage of the M.V. Malvar’s assignment and hitched a ride on it. We were all drenched but safe, arriving at Bongao at 8 a.m.
Death has driven me back to happy memories and to childhood days. My first cousin Rene Feliciano Manzano was the handsomest little boy of my generation. Even better looking than my other first cousins Edu, Dickie, Boy, Angie, Andy and Benjie and 20 others except for Raul and Raffy. We all have two other things in common aside from being blood relatives – the spirit of adventurism and believing that tomorrow will always come for us. "We are indestructible," we believed. Then, my brother Mon and Martin commented, "We are all so young playing at our grandparents’. Truly, the long and short of it is, only God lives forever."
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