BENCHWARMER

Scenes after the quake 17 years ago
Ramon S. Dacawi

The journey to the grave, set in motion by birth, matters not how long but how. As eulogists remind the living during wakes, it's not the number of years in a life, but the life in those years that counts. And the quality of life is not measured by how thick the cushion one accumulates to ease his own travel but by the degree of comfort he shares with fellow passengers.

In the aftermath of the earthquake devastation 17 years ago last Monday, lives were recounted as deaths were counted. They were actually slices, episodes of heroism and sacrifice triggered by that terrible shake on ordinary lives. And there were plenty of stories to share, as communities affected were not wanting of heroes then.

In the disorder and confusion, some quiet acts of heroism remained unrecorded. In the push towards stability - picking up the pieces, shedding mourning clothes, getting back on track and moving - some were eventually forgotten. Others were kept and remembered each time mid-July comes.

In one rescue site, volunteers working with shoddy tools felt they were digging for eternity. After-shocks just slowed them down, as they had to scamper to safety each time a rubble or damaged building shook. We can't work this way, thought Capt, Jeff Tamayo, then of the Philippine Military Academy. He called the rest of the volunteers working on the upper floors of a building. With dispatch, they agreed on a protocol: Whoever runs each time things get bouncy might as wellquit.

Everyone then returned to the grisly task and somehow found rhythm with the earth's dribbling. Close to two weeks into rescue and retrieval, foreign experts said the possibility for survivors was less than remote. Nonetheless, miner Pablo Binwag, now retired from Philex Mines, had to dig on with his fellow tunnel experts.

After all, there were still bodies to be retrieved. A news account said he followed an itinerant fly to where he should clear debris. In the dark of night, his team at the Hyatt Hotel extricated two survivors. Both were too weak but alive. It’s positive, we have two survivors, radioed Gen. Juanito Aquias, the regional police chief. News reporters waiting in the wings rushed to the scene. Aquias had to lift a photographer for a Hail Mary shot behind the miners and medics, just before the rescue van closed.

The next February, reporters featured Emer Mundo, a blind sweepstakes vendor making his sales pitch before then mayor Mauricio Domogan and people along Session Rd., the city's main street. The Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office had set a “Love Draw” to help Baguio and the rest of the earthquake-damaged localities get back to their feet.

Told his photo appeared in the Baguio Midland Courier, old man Elmer said, “Wen, nakitak ngarud ket gwapo ak gayam. Alaen yo man manen picture ko ta no marupaan dak tattao ket gumatang da.” Just three days after the temblor struck, Lakay Elmer felt he it was time to resume his normal rounds.

He tap-tapped his way to city hall where he met two reporters typing dispatches on the ground floor. The two had positioned themselves near the open door, ready to rush out in case of an after-shock. Outside, people were lining up for relief goods. "Tiket, tiket," Elmer announced his entry. The two journalists stared at him, dumbfounded. Then they looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Sino met ngata ngay ti gumatang ti tiket ita nga tyempo?,” Willy Cacdac of the Philippine Star wondered aloud.

"Maka ketdi ta ipila ka tapno adda met iyawid mo nga relief goods.” “Madik ti lilip," the Lakay Elmer answered, revealing his tribal origin. "Kayat ko aglako manen ti tiket." His message began to sink in, and then took its toll. As if on cue, the two newsmen emptied their pockets and bought, save for some loose coins for the jeepney fare for home.

“Ayan mo ngay ken ania ti inaramid mo idi naggin-gined,” Willy asked. “Daak idiay Magsaysay, sango ti Tiongsan, aglaklako,” Elmer recalled. His voice was normal, yet sounded like he was about to pull another clincher. "Nagbuteng diay agtrap-trapik nga pulis ket timmaray. Kapilitan, syakon a ti nagtrapik."

Again, Willy popped into a grin. He then rushed out and talked to somebody in charge of the relief distribution. He came back and handed to Elmer an apple-green, hand-me-down sweatshirt.

“Munsingwear dayta,” he said and then shifted his questioning to a one-in-million probability: "No mangabak daytoy tiket mi, ania ngay aramidem iti balatom? "Igatang ko ti kamera ta nalaklaka samet agpotograper laengen idiay Burnham," Elmer replied.

Elmer, who got used to vending by his lonesome in Bangued, Abra and San Fernando, La Union, has not been around for quite sometime now. A friend, also blind, revealed the old man succumbed to illness last year. . Willy used to spend each July 16 at the Busol Watershed, to help kids plant memorial trees for those who died in the quake. Last year, five days before the date, he followed Elmer.

Last Monday, Willy's widow Rency and daughter Ma'an joined kids, teachers and his media colleagues at Busol. The two women repaired to a secluded patch of green and talked to Willy, before a growing pine sapling planted in his memory. (e-mail: rdacawi@yahoo.com for comments)