I like it that my work exposes me to many people, places, and experiences. It has tremendously helped me get to know my country and countrymen in more ways than anyone can imagine. And it has profoundly colored my attitude and perspective in life.
Take this recent trip we did in Eastern Visayas. The Leyte-Samar region is often referred to as the poorest in the country. The Independent Post this week revealed that the region consistently ranked in the bottom in terms of annual family income in census and other surveys in the past. The last survey was in 1990.
On the other hand, within San Miguel the sales performance of our Eastern Visayas sales operations has been improving in leaps and bounds. The sales team has been cited for making 1995 and 1997 their banner years. For the first semester this year the sales region ranked first nationwide in sales performance. In July the region exceeded sales forecast by 30%.
But this was not the reason why we went there. As part of our quality assessment system the management team is required to conduct field visits. The end goal of total quality, after all, is customer satisfaction with our products and services. Field visits to interact with consumers, retailers, wholesalers, and dealers will help us assess and identify our strengths and weaknesses. Our division president likes to quote "the desk is the worst place to survey your business operations." And so this trip was arranged for the department heads of our Mandaue Brewery. This includes the managers of engineering, brewing, packaging, quality assurance, finance, logistics, and yours truly for communication.
I eagerly signed up for my own special reasons. I have never set foot on Samar, never crossed the 2.5 km San Juanico bridge that connects it to Leyte. I love to travel especially when everything is well arranged and organized by others and I only have to worry about waking up on time. It would be a good opportunity to bond with the other members of the management team. And last but not the least, to gather more materials for my web site.
I got more than I bargained for.
Our itinerary was to take the two-hour Supercat trip to Ormoc City. Our "float" (in contrast to "flight") was delayed by over an hour due to the late arrival of the fast craft. We have just pulled out of the dock when the routine safety demonstration on video was interrupted by the announcement that we are stopping to remove some garbage that got stuck in the catamaran's jet engines. Minutes later we slowed down again to a crawl along the Mactan channel and it was obvious we were having some engine trouble. The announcer apologized and explained that we were running on one engine. Imagine if this happened to a plane.
We reached Ormoc and boarded an aircon van for the two-hour land trip to Tacloban City, the capital of Leyte province. The smokers boarded a second vehicle, a double-cab pick-up which is the standard transport of our sales supervisor. In Tacloban we had dinner at a seafood restaurant. I feasted on baked scallops which are rare and expensive in Cebu but cheaply abundant here. Afterwards everybody wanted to turn in early so we checked in at the hotel.
The next day we paid a courtesy call at the sales manager for Eastern Visayas at the region office. After going over our schedule the group divided into two teams. The Leyte team will cover Tacloban, Maasin and Ormoc riding the aircon van. I was assigned with the Samar team which will cover Catbalogan, Calbayog and Catarman. Our team leader was no less than the highest ranking officer in Visayas, the assistant vice president and plant director of Mandaue Brewery. He is my boss, too. Traveling with us were the engineering department manager and three guys from logistics.
We drove to Catbalogan 107 km. away in two pick-up vehicles. It was a pleasant two-hour trip. My rising anticipation in crossing San Juanico bridge, the longest bridge in the country, was mildly deflated when I realized we won't be making any stops for that gratuitous photo op. Getting off the bridge we all paid extra attention to the countryside of Samar. There was not much to see. Now and then we would drive past mangrove swamps. Lots of coconut trees and bananas, and thick vegetation of wild plants. In Tacloban we were told that Samar is so fertile that even the grasses growing beside the concrete highway are thick and healthy. But there was hardly any agricultural lands, no irrigated rice fields. Or people. Even fewer houses, most of which were modest huts that in urban Cebu would be considered a picnic shed or tool shed. "Look how lonely and desolate this place is," my boss observed, "Tonette, will you live in a place like this?" My traveling companions were surprised when I replied that I grew up in a place like this. They listened with quiet interest as I shared my childhood of walking home from school two kilometers everyday, roaming the hills on weekends with a pack of dogs for playmates because we didn't have neighbors. There was no TV then so I listened to radio and read many books. "My only regret was I never learned to climb a coconut tree," I concluded.
The sales supervisor at Catbalogan was ready for us when we drove to the sales office/warehouse. My companions did not waste any time in taking out their folders and with a pen in hand went around to check the cleanliness of the warehouse. My boss started to interview two employees, the logistics guy checked the inventory, and the engineering manager surveyed the segregation area for the empties. I turned my attention to the sales supervisor and asked for the demographics of Catbalogan. It is classified as a town, not a city, but is the capital of Samar province. Population is 70,000. I also inquired what kind of national newspapers and radio networks reach here. Next we interviewed a beer wholesaler and a hotel manager. We had a prepared questionnaire that quizzed respondents about their satisfaction level with our products and services. Both gave San Miguel the highest mark of five.
Over lunch the supervisor told us the reason for their improved sales performance is the high price of copra, the main source of income in Eastern Visayas. This was aided by the shortage and high cost of tuba, the popular local drink of fermented coconut sap. With no fastfood restaurants, shopping malls, discos, and other recreational facilities around, the people's disposable income is largely intact. To amuse themselves they would gather together and drink beer or other alcoholic beverages.
The supervisor was pleasantly surprised to hear that San Miguel Foundation donated P250,000 to the fishermen in Maqueda Bay for the rehabilitation of the Marisan Reef. We agreed to check out the project on my next visit so we can meet the officers of the fishermen's cooperative.
After lunch we proceeded to Calbayog City, 72 km. away. I rode with the logistics guys in the second vehicle. Had the backseat all to myself which meant I could take a nap. But the bumpy ride and heavy lunch tickled my bladder so much that we had to make two stops. Another supervisor met us at the Calbayog sales office and warehouse. His name is Gil and was he glad to see me. Since we attended a three-week seminar together in Cebu five years ago I have been promising to visit him in Samar. When we met again in Tacloban last June he reiterated his invitation dangling a promise that his salesmen are all good-looking, all single. He wanted me to write a feature article about the uniqueness of his sales district. "Are we going to do that article finally," he asked, "tomorrow I'll take you to Rawis and to Borongan." His face fell when I informed him that we cut our visit one day less. He brightened up again when I told him I will make a special trip to do that article.
Gil's enthusiasm remained as he filled us in on the demographics of his sales district, both Calbayog and Catarman. He escorted us to different wholesalers. Driving around the city I commented that Calbayog looks nicer and cleaner than Catbalogan. "Of course," he said. "Catbalogan is a fishing town," he added as if that explained everything. Gil is from Cebu and I enjoyed picking his brains to get his perspective about Samar and its people, the Warays. He is also a mother lode of information and anecdotes. On our way to Catarman he waved at the poorly concreted roads. One bridge did not connect properly. In lanes where cracks have developed the workers dug up the concrete using hand tools and their bare hands. "We only have one jackhammer and it is owned by a politician who is charging P2,000 per hour," Gil explained. Pointing at the lush grasses in the roadside I asked why there are no goats or cows. "If you see a goat around here chances are it is owned by a Cebuano," he said. Land here is for sale not in square meter but hectares, for less than P50,000. It is much cheaper the farther away it is from the roads. But nobody is buying, not with the New People's Army (NPA) rebels still roaming the hills and mountains. Highway robberies are common which is why nobody travels at night. "You hardly see any vehicles here as early as four in the afternoon," Gil said. He added that the buses would wait for other buses and proceed in a convoy of fours or fives as a precaution.
We proceeded to Catarman, 124 km. away, riding in one pick-up because the two logistics guys decided to remain in Calbayog. In Catarman, property is going for P15,000 per square meter at the town proper. It is mainly speculative because there was nothing in there to justify such rates which are comparable to Cebu City. Catarman, the provincial capital of Northern Samar, is not a city yet. It does have the facilities of a growing urban area -- an airport, a handful of movie houses and hotels and restaurants, and a cable operator offering ten channels like CNN, HBO and Cinemax.
I interviewed Gil some more about his dealings with the Warays. I heard so much talk from both Warays and Cebuanos about how difficult it is to work with them. The Warays, they say, have a grudging respect towards Tagalogs. They look up to Cebuanos, but could never get along with the Ilonggos. The crab mentality here is prevalent. Gil nodded his head in agreement, "they are fiercely proud people who want to be left alone. They don't like being told or ordered around, most especially by their peers." Even in key government offices, I was informed, the top positions are occupied not by locals but by other "nationalities."
Traveling around the Philippines does feel like visiting a foreign land at times. It is understandable to be misled and miss the undercurrents because we look alike and we think we share the same history, culture, and religion. The different language or dialect separates us in more ways than we imagine. The accents, the colloquial terms and expressions reveal that values and perceptions tilt at different angles from one island to another, from the urban centers to the rural areas.
The concept of time puts another gap between urban and rural residents. The tendency to proceed at one's own pace has been dismissed as indolence, or worse, a lack of ambition and strong desire to get ahead in life. People from the Head Office in Manila often comment that we in Cebu have no sense of urgency. One colleague gave as an example the leisurely pace of Cebuanos in crossing streets even the busiest interactions. But then during a recent visit to Bohol, our group also found it amusing that "15 minutes" turned out to be 30, and "30 minutes" meant one hour.
The way I see it, there are hardworking Warays, Boholanos, Cebuanos -- people who are driven and ambitious, who want to improve their lot in life. But you won't likely find them in their hometowns. Most have left to seek education, jobs, and better opportunities elsewhere, even abroad. Naturally the ones who remain behind are those who are either content with their lot or patiently biding their time. It seems the only ones who come back or stay after college are those who find employment as teachers and civil servants, or who engage in politics, or who run the family business, usually the Filipino-Chinese.
In agricultural communities, time moves with the seasons: one month is harvest season for rice, the next is corn, the next is coconut. In fishing there are different seasons for different marine species: crabs, shells, fishes. The predictability of the seasons breeds complacency. No wonder our managers and supervisors are having much trouble with the locals' stubborn resistance to comply with company standards in performance, from punching in on time to meeting deadlines. Dave, the engineering manager opined that if we have winter here the people would work harder during summer.
I told Gil of my own theory about island culture and the "abundance mentality." I find that people are most indolent in islands with the most abundant natural resources. Nobody has to work hard or go far to find food to eat. It's there in the seas, the fields and mountains almost all year round. Not so in Cebu, with its barren mountains and poor soil. Much has been said about the growth of Cebu in the Ceboom years. To think that it all started with the export of fashion accessories and furniture made of materials not indigenous to the island -- shells, rattan, bamboos, coconut shells, etc. Indeed, it is easy to believe that Cebu owes its progress to hardworking and enterprising people. The work ethics and attitudes are different here. Hard work does not always guarantee food on the table. This makes people work harder, prod them to be more resourceful, enterprising and to innovate. I also know that a large part of Cebu's working population are migrants like me who come from other parts of Visayas and Mindanao. People who left their laid-back agricultural communities drawn by the economic opportunities of Cebu's bustling commerce and trade.
A couple of kilometers outside Catarman my musings were interrupted when Gil decided to turn back for the nearest gas station.He wanted to fill up the gas tank for the five-hour trip back to Tacloban. It was only 12:45 p.m. We had an early lunch so we can get there before dark. Talk about crucial timing. Forty-five minutes later we met a family in a car. It stopped the ambulance ahead of us and engaged the driver in an animated conversation which annoyed Gil. But the driver in the car also signaled that he wished to speak to us. I was seated in the left window side so I rolled down my window as well. "Turn back, don't proceed ... the NPAs are raiding an army mobile force," the driver said. His wife, hysterical at the back and hugging their two children, was incoherent. "Go back, hurry, hurry," she cried, "they were shooting at each other, we got caught in the crossfire, they were shooting at us too."
We turned back and relayed the same warning to a passenger jeepney. We passed a command outpost situated atop a hill but it looked unmanned. "Probably attending the fiesta in San Jose," Gil guessed. We drove to the nearest barrio, Bgy. Rosario (27 km from Catarman) to alert the local police. They asked us to wait while they checked their radio. We agreed that we had a close call. If Gil didn't turn back for the gas we would have been caught in the middle of the attack. We assessed our situation and went over different scenarios. What if the police decided to commandeer our vehicle to send reinforcements? The cop came back and confirmed the attack on the army mobile force, some ten kilometers from where we met the car. Should we proceed? When NPAs attack, they usually have more than the striking force. They also set up blocking forces on both sides of the road to intercept the reinforcement. There is a great risk that we might get caught in the crossfire between the arriving reinforcement and the blocking force, wherever they may be waiting. With five of us, two in front and three in the back, we didn't even have room to duck for cover if that happens. Another risk is that we might be taken in as hostages. Our pick-up vehicle, being new and still being road-tested, was clean of any San Miguel marks. However, we were all wearing our San Miguel uniforms, complete with embroidered name patches in the breast pocket. But we also wanted to get back to Tacloban.
Thanking the cops, who appeared in no hurry to rush to the scene of battle, we bid a hasty goodbye. Dave hesitated at first and asked me if I still wanted to sit in the window side. I pushed him gently into the car, "Of course, I want to be in position to take pictures," I said, raising the camera which I reloaded that morning. I didn't add, "Are you crazy? You have your wife and children, while I aint got nobody, so get in!" This is no time to be a gentleman or hero, his wife happens to be a good friend of mine.
We stopped by a waiting shed in the highway and chatted with the children and women there. They were very calm and relaxed, as if these things happen all the time. "Is it true that the NPAs ambushed the military there?" I asked one woman. "Must be," she shrugged, "this fella has been waiting for a ride to Catarman for almost an hour and no vehicle has passed yet, except for cars like yours which came from Catarman and turned around."
After about fifteen minutes we decided to push ahead. We passed several sleepy villages and knew we were getting closer to the battle site judging by the increasing number of people standing by the highway and looking at the road ahead. Gil asked one woman if it's okay to proceed. We asked him to translate for us but he appeared to be in a daze. Picking up the little Waray I know and her gestures, she seemed to say that the NPAs ambushed a police station, commandeered a bus, and that no vehicle has passed yet from the opposite direction. Further down the road we saw several vehicles parked by the roadside and its passengers in deep conversation. Gil sprung back to life when he saw some familiar faces. Conferring with the other drivers they agreed to proceed in a convoy. At that moment two vehicles arrived from the opposite direction telling everyone that the road is now passable.
Everybody promptly hopped into their vehicles. Two kilometers down the road we reached the town of Lavezares. Curious villagers have gathered around the police station, peering into the windows. The coconut-covered mountains was only 200 meters away behind the camp. The attackers could easily have retreated here. One of our companions, an ex-marine, said it is highly likely the NPAs themselves have mingled with the civilians. "All they have to do is hide their guns, and pretend to be one of the onlookers, maybe eavesdrop if the police or military will send for more men." Twenty meters away from the police station were a stalled jeepney loaded with fish, an army hammer vehicle, and a red Tamaraw FX. The blood-spattered body of a soldier lay lifeless behind the rear wheel of the Tamaraw. He looked very young, probably in his 30s. "Can I?" I asked nobody in particular as I aimed my camera. "No!" my boss and Dave replied.
"Poor guy," our ex-marine companion said, "why, he's only carrying supplies." It was bad luck that he happened to be there when the rebels attacked the police station. The ex-marine and my boss, a graduate from the Philippine Military Academy, theorized that the hammer was following the Tamaraw in the uphill road, then decided to pass it when the blocking force fired at him. The fallen soldier tried to seek cover behind the Tamaraw when he was hit.
Another hundred meters down the road boys and girls in school uniforms stood in line, looking at all the activity. A chill passed through my body when I realized the school is not that far from where it all happened. Minutes later we passed a Wilmar bus. The rebels hailed this passenger-filled bus and used it as barricade. It had bullet holes in one side. Here, Gil finally breathed a loud sigh of relief, "thank God!"
We dropped Gil at the Calbayog sales office. Before bidding goodbye I discussed the schedule of my next visit. I did promise to do that article and also to visit Maqueda Bay in Catbalogan. He wanted it sooner, on Aug. 10. My boss thought I was crazy to be talking about traveling back here after all that happened. "All in a day's work," I philophized, "if it's your time to die death will come wherever you are ..." Sometimes I'm full of shit.
August 2, 1998