asakan,   sometimes   called   “Laslasakan”,   always   takes   my   breath   away,  literally   and   figuratively.   The   path   leaves   me   breathless,   always   replacing  anticipation  with  impatience  and  back:  when  will  this  steep  and  winding  trail  

ever  end?  Maybe  because  the  people  ahead,  the  lumads  from  this  place,  are  walking  nonchalantly,   laughing,   singing,   like   going   through   the   park.   Their   occasional  backward  glances  at  me,  full  of  sympathy  and  encouragement,  always  threaten  to  do  me  in.      But  I  force  myself  to  relax.  I  have  the  whole  day,  right?  And  I  look  around,  and  the  view  again  takes  my  breath  away.      I  am  on  top  of  the  mountain;  I  am  on  top  of  the  world.  To  the  east,  I  can  see  all  the  way   through   the   hills   and   plains   of   Davao   del   Norte   and   Compostela   Valley.   And  beyond,   I   can   see   the  mountains  of   gold:  Diwalwal,  Diwata,  Tambuyong,  homes  of  the  Mandaya  and  Mansaka.  To  the  west,  I  can  see  the  forests  of  Pantaron  that  I  know  holds   the   headwaters   of   the   major   river   systems   that   quenches   the   whole   of  Mindanao.  Southwest  is  Apo,  with  its  trademark  white  sulfur  scar  down  its  slope.  In  the   south,   I   can   see   the   planes   landing   in   the   Davao   International   Airport,   and   I  wonder   how   the   city  will   look   like   at   night   from   up   here.   Back   to   north,   there   is  Lasakan,   and   beyond   are   the   rest   of   the  mountains   of   Pantaron   range,   traversing  through  Agusan  del  Sur  and  Bukidnon.      I  look  down  this  mountain  and  I  see  the  rivers  of  Talomo  and  Simong  on  both  sides  and  I  see  some  of  the  80  plus  communities  that  have  been  in  these  mountains  since  time   immemorial.   Cheesy   lyrics   go   through   my   head:   “Climb   every   mountain…”,  “Fog-­‐covered  mountains  towering  to  the  skies…”,  “There’s  always  gonna  be  another  mountain…”    Maybe   this   is   the  reason  why   these  people  chose   to   live  here.   I  have  always   thought   that   their  warrior   tradition  brought   them  up  here  but  now  I   think  there  must  be  this  unconscious  and  deep  appreciation  of  all  this  beauty  that  compels  them  to  raise  their  children  surrounded  by  such  grandiosity.      

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Figure  1.  The  approach  to  Lasakan,  a  community  nestled  on  top  of  a  mountain  in  Talaingod.  

 Figure   2.   Looking   back   at   the   path,   I   marvel   at   what   I   have   traversed   so   far.   I   passed   through   this  seemingly  tiny  community,  Sambulongan,  on  the  way  to  Lasakan.  

 Reaching  Lasakan  though,  the  stark  reality  of  poverty  again  takes  my  breath  away.  Stick  houses.  Threadbare  clothes.  Bare  muddy  feet.  Protruding  bellies.  Grimy  faces.  And  that  smell.    But  only  for  a  second  because  a  plate  of  kamote  is  thrust  in  my  one  hand  and  people  are   reaching   for   the   other,   shaking   it,   as   if   congratulating   me   for   making   it   sans  mishap  or  fainting  spells.  And  their  exuberance  again  takes  my  breath  away.    I   dive   into   the   kamote   without   washing  my   hands,   not   thinking   that   I   have   been  clawing  through  the  mountains  for  the  last  2  hours.  After  a  couple,  I  handed  the  rest  of  the  plate  to  the  children  around  who  were  not  shy  at  all,  just  tongue-­‐tied  with  the  language  barrier.    It  was  now  time  for  some  serious  banter  and  talk  as  I  ask  them  how  they  were  after  the  bakwit   and   the  soldiers’  occupation  of   their  homes.  They  were   forced   to   leave  their   corn   farms   for  a  month  but  nature  has  been  kind  and   they  were  still   able   to  harvest  a  substantial  amount.  The  corn  mill  will  come  in  handy  when  the  corn  dries  but  they  still  need  a  few  more  days  of  sun  for  it  to  be  dry  enough.      The  measles  have  caught  up  with   them  but   they  had  a  clinic  and   their  community  health  workers  or  CHWs  were  surprisingly  good.  The  CHWs  had  reported  during  the  Case  Conference  that  in  2  months  (May  to  June)  they  handled  132  patients  in  their  community   health   station   and  30   of   these   had  measles.   They  had  2  mortalities:   1  measles   and   1   diarrhea.   They   said   though   that   these   came   in   from   other  communities  and  were  already  beyond  help.  They  did  attach  IV  fluids  and  told  them  

to  go  to  the  hospital  in  the  next  town  but  the  patients  did  not  make  it.  The  rest  of  the  cases   were   handled   remarkably   well   and   people   from   other   communities   have  started  coming  here  for  treatment.  Amidst  the  happy  exchange,  I  am  both  proud  and  humbled  by  these  people.  A  breath  again  catches  in  my  throat.  True  to  their  warrior  tradition,   they  have   faced   the  challenge  head  on.   In   the  past,  measles  have  caused  them  to  run  away  and  leave  their  homes,  and  now,   it  was   just  another  enemy  that  they   can   handle   as   long   as   they   have   enough   “weapons”:   knowledge,   skills,   and  medicines.    

Figure  4.  Stick  houses  against  a  mountainous  backgroound.  

Figure  3.  The  rice  and  corn  mill  will  come  in  handy  once  the  corn  harvest  is  dry  enough.  

 The  sound  of  children  singing  catches  my  attention.  I  look  down  the  hill  and  an  elder  proudly  points  out  their  brand  new  school  building.   I  go  down  and  look  inside  the  classrooms  and  I  wave  at  the  children  and  the  teachers.  One  teacher  comes  all   the  way  from  Arakan,  another  young  lady  challenged  by  the  life  and  death  of  Fr.  Pops.  I  ask  the  elder  where  they  got  the  wood  for  the  school  and  he  pointed  at  the  Pantaron  and   again   my   breath   catches   at   the   thought   of   people   carrying   wood   on   their  shoulders   climbing   down   and   up   the  mountains   to   build   a   better   future   for   their  children.  

“Breathtaking”  is  all  I  can  think  of  whenever  I  think  of  Lasakan.  The  breath  catches  because  everything  here  is  intense:  the  splendor  of  nature,  the  violence  of  poverty,  the  beauty  of  resilience,  the  direness  of  marginalization.  But  above  all  these,  it  is  the  people  and  their  unity  who  defy  words.  Lasakan  is,   literally  and  figuratively,  at  the  heart  of  the  Salugpungan.  It  is  but  a  microcosm  of  what  the  Ata-­‐Manobo  is  and  has  achieved  through  more  than  20  years  of  struggle  for  the  right  to  land  and  the  right  to  develop  their  people.  The  breath  catches  as  the  mind  catches  up  with  the  wonder  and  amazement  at  witnessing  a  people’s  valiant  history  unfolding.//  

Figure  5.  The  brand  new  school.  The  clinic’s  roof  can  be  seen  at  the  right  lower  corner.