The original ancestral house of Philippine National Hero Dr. Jose Rizal.

The Rizal Shrine as photographed in October 2007.

Then just recently, one Sunday morning on our way to the nearby St. John the Baptist parish church, my family and I were shocked at the sight of Jose Rizal’s ancestral house – one of the most renowned symbols of Calamba – painted in shocking green, and sticking out like a sore thumb amid its surroundings. Whereas before, it complemented the other structures in the shrine’s vicinity – the church, the kalan-banga and the old houses – to create the familiar ambiance as we knew it, now the bright green monster totally destroyed that ambiance.

The Rizal Shrine circa 2009, when the National Historical Institute painted it green.

Young Pepe and his dog Usman wondering why somebody painted his house green.

Whodunit, we asked. Well, we didn’t have to go far to find out, for just outside the shrine, the National Historical Institute (NHI) – the custodian of the Rizal Shrine – explained (on a blue-green canvas) why they painted Rizal’s house green. The NHI said they painted the house “in hues of green” to honor the memory of the Rizal family and their way of life, i.e. as rice farmers.

Canvas outside Rizal Shrine justifying why the NHI painted Rizal’s house green.

Although the NHI (the same NHI that demonized Martin Nievera over his singing of the Lupang Hinirang) may have their own reasons for their action, their rice harvest argument may not hold water, as Calamba was not known to be a rice-producing area, but as a sugarcane-planting region. Frank Hilario deconstructs the argument for us:

Brilliant, lush, verdant, abundant, teeming yes, but not rice fields. Calamba is Sugarcane Country, remember? That much I know of history, and as far as I have seen since 1959, the first time I went to Los Baños, the town after Calamba, to study at the Cow College known as the University of the Philippines College of Agriculture. Calamba: I don't remember anybody's Canlubang Rice Estate. It was sugarcane that Jose’s brother Paciano grew, drew and sold sugar out of to produce the green stuff to finance the younger brother’s sojourns to study medicine as well as imbibe the cultures of Spain, France, England, Austria, Germany, Japan, Hong Kong, and the United States – and initially to escape the ire of known and unknown enemies. The green fields of the Rizals were none but sugarcane.

Appropriately, NHI Chair Ambeth Ocampo acknowledged the controversy generated by the NHI’s indiscretion, and owned up to the boo-boo in his June 3, Philippine Daily Inquirer column.

There is a brewing controversy in Calamba these days, and fortunately it has nothing to do with sex videos or corruption in government. Residents of this sleepy but traffic-prone Laguna town woke up one morning to see the Rizal Shrine painted a light shade of green. Generations used to the old, dirty gray color, or older folks who imagine all bahay na bato to be white reacted negatively. Within days a text brigade began, and some of the irate texts were forwarded to me.

Cultural Center of the Philippines president Emily Abrera and photographer Dulzzi Gutierrez sent me one text from potter Tessy Pettyjohn which began, “Some idiot has painted Rizal’s house green!”

I owned up to the deed and texted, “Hi Tessy, this is Ambeth, the idiot who painted Rizal’s house green.”

Green, shocking green.

Still, Ocampo maintains that he just wants to educate Filipinos about Rizal and his way of life. But then, how could he rightly educate us if the foundation of his case is wrong in the first place? If Ocampo just wants to educate us about our agrarian roots and about our being tenants of our own land in the past, he could have done so in a more appropriate way such as putting up plaques and signs around the shrine, and not by painting a revered landmark green. If you are a proud farmer, would you coat your house in shocking green paint? What should be the color for the teacher’s house, for the politician’s mansion? Whose house is the rainbow-colored one?

What was the inspiration for the deep-yellow walls – an overripe banana? What about the powder-blue ceiling – talcum powder? I thought talc is colored gray, white or silver-white.

The “colorful” interiors of Jose Rizal’s house as painted by the NHI.

Ocampo’s last sentence in his column – “Nevertheless, it is hoped that the educational purpose of the new coat of paint far outweighs personal preferences” – may have betrayed him. As already proven by the strong outcry against this latest gaffe by the NHI, Ocampo’s noble aim to educate his countrymen is, in fact, not achieving its purpose. And since Ocampo did not take the obligatory “trouble” of consulting with the people of Calamba before embarking on his grand aspirations, it is only safe to assume that what he referred to as “personal preferences” were not those of the people of Calamba and of the Filipino people as a whole, but only his own.

Ambeth Ocampo should yield to the collective standpoint of the Filipinos and repaint Jose Rizal’s house back to its old colors, ASAP.

The Philippines reported 131 new cases of Influenza A(H1N1) infections yesterday. That brought the country’s total infections to 604 people from all walks of life – from people in crowded Metropolitan Manila to those in the hinterlands of Nueva Ecija. The virus has spread unpredictably, regardless of social standing – from the socialites to the masses, from the children of a Senator to ordinary schoolchildren, from a Congresswoman to ordinary employees of Congress, and from globetrotting Filipino expats and seafarers to the most untraveled of farmers. Most recent cases include a seafarer from Iloilo, Congresswoman Jeanette Garin of Iloilo’s First District and the three children of Sen. Jinggoy Estrada.

Two things seem to stick out in the Philippines’ campaign against the A(H1N1) pandemic. First is the apparently fast increase of reported cases. From its first reported case in May 21 (when a De La Salle-Manila exchange student from Korea was tested positive of the virus), the number of infections steadily climbed as reported by the Department of Health (DOH) in its regular media updates. The 131 new cases reported yesterday, is the single-biggest increase so far. Compared to the other countries in the Asia-Western Pacific region (New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, etc.) – where the number of infections appears to have remained almost constant – the Philippines seemingly failed to control the rapid spread of the virus. Since about two weeks ago, the country already has the most number of reported cases in South East Asia.

Another thing that made the Philippines stick out is the distinction of having the first A(H1N1)-related death in the Asia-Western Pacific region. A 49-year old female employee of Congress, who also had heart and liver ailments, died at her home last June 19. Although the patient may have died of another disease – congestive heart failure aggravated by severe bacterial/viral pneumonia – the fact remains that she was positive for A(H1N1).

Rightly so, the death emphasized the vulnerability of certain segments of our demography to the Influenza A(H1N1) virus. DOH Secretary Francisco Duque identified the high-risk segments as the following: pregnant women, the very young and elderly, and those with underlying diseases, such as diabetes, tuberculosis, kidney and liver ailments, and HIV/AIDS. He added that the Health Department is revising measures in stopping the spread of the virus by focusing on the more vulnerable people as enumerated above.

With this death, all assurances given to the public by Duque – that the virus is of a mild strain, and that more than 80% of reported cases have fully recovered – is now ineffective in addressing the concern and calming down the anxiety of Filipinos. A death occurred. It is only logical to assume that there will be more.

The cautious – some say almost lackadaisical – approach implemented by the DOH seems to be not that effective in containing the spread of the A(H1N1) pandemic. In its desire to prevent panic, the DOH downplayed the seriousness of the situation by even discouraging the use of face masks in public, even if it was already persuading people to use hand sanitizers and alcohol solutions. Some people are in a panic mode already, and are advocating the public use of face masks, in addition to the stricter monitoring and control of public and working places, such as shopping malls, call centers, factories, restaurants, night clubs, and congested neighborhoods, among others.

This bystander believes that these fears are not unfounded. To reiterate, a death occurred and it is only logical to assume that there will be more. The DOH should seriously look into these suggestions. It should also present tangible solutions, such as a more comprehensive and concerted effort in the fight against the virus. The DOH could not do it alone anymore. It now needs to work together with the private sector and the local governments – even down to the barangay (village) level. The private sector and the barangays should be immediately provided with the capability to monitor and control the Influenza A(H1N1) pandemic.

Failed by PAGASA

It had rained since the night before and electricity was cut off not long after the rains poured. Apparently, the power blackout would last longer as we did not have electricity for more than 12 hours already. However, we were still a bit nonchalant about Typhoon Frank (a.k.a Fengshen), because we heard Kim Atienza and Nathaniel Cruz forecasting the night before that the typhoon, hovering over the Samar area, would take a north-northwest path towards the Bicol Region. We thought that the heavy downpour was just Frank’s “tail” – until I decided to turn on the car stereo.

We soon learned that Frank “changed course” and was already devastating northern Panay – Aklan, Capiz and northern Iloilo. I wondered how a typhoon, closely watched by our meteorologists at PAGASA, could change course overnight unnoticed. It would be reasonable if the deviation was about, say 15 to 30 degrees off course, but an almost 90-degree change in course (from NNW to almost due W) was highly questionable. Like a thief in the night, Frank was suddenly – menacingly – over us. PAGASA, or rather, our scientists at PAGASA failed us again.

Like a Thief in the Night

Thus, my adventure or rather, misfortune with Typhoon Frank was dictated by two necessities – to stock on batteries, candles and provisions for a likely long stormy weekend and power blackout, and to rebook my June 22 RORO ticket to a typhoon-less date. (I had booked a RORO ticket a week before, to rejoin my family in Laguna. It would be my first RORO experience and I was excited.) And so at around 12:45 in the afternoon, I hopped inside the Adventure and drove the short distance to the Tagbak area, where the nearest grocery and the ALPS Bus RORO booking office are located.

The driving rain was still pouring continuously, although it would weaken from time to time, when I drove out of the village’s gate and into Main Avenue. In the distance, I could see ominous signs in very heavy and dark thunderclouds hovering over the mountains of west-central Iloilo. But everything was still normal along the 300-meter or so stretch of MacArthur Drive from the Metropolis grand entrance to the Tagbak Terminal area – the group of trisikad and tricycle drivers at their makeshift shed near the grand entrance, the vendors on either side of the highway, and the usual medium-to-heavy flow of traffic towards the terminal. And there was no sign of any flashflood – yet.

I leisurely went with the traffic, turned left into GoGo grocery, and parked right in front of the entrance. Then I remembered my boss in Saudi Arabia who once told me that Allah must love him, because he always finds an open parking slot anywhere he goes. It might have been a little clichéd at the time, but I thought that God must love me, too because…

As I forgot to bring an umbrella, I was half-drenched as I hurriedly went inside GoGo. I gathered all the provisions, batteries and candles that I needed and was out of the grocery store in about fifteen minutes. The rain had waned into a slight drizzle when I got to the vehicle to deposit my purchases. I still had to go to the ALPS booking office at the terminal across the road. It was then that I noticed that the booking office and the rest of the terminal were already inundated with flood water. In fifteen minutes, the Tagbak area was completely flooded up to near the level of the highway asphalt pavement. Everybody wondered where so much water came from, and how fast it was rising. Then I overheard people saying that Tagbak has not seen flood such as that. Like a thief in the night, raging flood waters engulfed us without warning.

Frantic

I saw people anxiously salvaging anything that they could. In the middle of the chaos, I spotted the ALPS booking agent, clutching his papers and personal belongings and hurriedly climbing up his bus. I managed to holler my intended transaction with him and rightly so, he hollered back to me to come back after the flood dries out. Fair enough.

Then I noticed a group of people – an adult female, two girls and a boy – frantically shouting for help as they clung for dear life from bamboo poles sticking out in the middle of the flood. They must be from the other side of Tagbak, beside the walls of the Iloilo Memorial Park and beyond the creek. Luckily, two Good Samaritans swum towards them to help, and as the rescuers and victims were halfway swimming towards safety, I decided to head back home, as the flood was still rising unusually fast. But when I looked towards the direction of GoGo, I noticed the water was at the same level as the highway pavement already, and was on the brink of crossing to the other side.

I hopped into the Adventure right away, backed up, then attempted to rush back home, only to be frustrated by the fast buildup of chaotic traffic. Everybody seemed to be honking their horns as everyone tried to escape from “Water World” fast. Unfortunately, after about five minutes of frantic maneuvering, those of us at the tail end of the line were caught by the fast-rising torrent. And the water current was getting stronger by the second. At that time, the water level was already past the center of our tires.

Seeing smaller vehicles at the front having trouble negotiating the already dangerous stretch, I immediately executed a U-turn, all the while praying that the strong current would not sweep me away, and taking extra care that I would not overshoot the already invisible pavement. As I was doing the maneuver, a floating table, closely followed by a drifting kiosk, barely missed the Adventure’s right side. Then I caught a glimpse of my cousin’s wife’s Mr. Donut kiosk also drifting in the current, as I aligned the Adventure along the already imaginary highway. At the rear end of the terminal compound, a few taxi units that not long ago were seen securely parked, were apparently left unattended by their drivers and were already bobbing in the floodwaters.

Fearing for the worst yet to come, I revved the engine and tried to maneuver into the only remaining patch of earth not yet underwater – the back portion of the Tagbak Shell Service Station. I entered through the left driveway, circled halfway around the pumps, then backed up as far as possible towards the concrete wall. With a sigh of relief, I occupied one of about only three remaining vacant spaces, and surveyed the situation. A delivery truck, a couple of passenger jeepneys and a number of private cars and SUVs surrounded me in three sides. The waterline was still about five meters away from the Adventure when I parked – but not for long.

Desperately Waiting for Godot

It was already about 1:30 PM, and the rain was still pouring sporadically, when I got off the vehicle to check on the vanished highway. I grabbed the hem of my shorts and waded through the heavily silted floodwaters, the highest level of which at that time was only about two meters away from the front tires of the Adventure. At the edge of the Shell service center apron along the highway, the water level was already at the mid-thigh level, but at the center of the highway, it was just above the knee. In the distance, looking towards the Metropolis grand entrance, a Ceres bus and a few private vehicles lay stranded on the already disappeared road shoulder, precariously leaning towards the water current’s direction and in danger of falling over.

Then I recalled, those were some of the vehicles that just a while ago, were at the head of our frantic convoy, and that I thought had made it across the other end of the dangerous stretch – the stretch that I could normally negotiate in a minute (during light traffic) had become a stretch too far. A sudden spray of rainfall brought me back to my senses – the flood was still rising very fast. It was then that I realized we would be in for a very long wait.

Shivering, I waded back, struggling through the already thick sludge, to the relative safety of the Shell service center. The water was already at the level of about 20 centimeters of the parked Adventure’s front tires when I reached the service center office building. I managed to stand on something elevated, which must be the elevated flooring of the office. Behind me, people were already perched on every space available – on the stairs, the railings, the landing, on benches, on spare exterior tires, and children on their fathers’ shoulders. I knew that the second floor of the office was already filled to the rafters, considering the overflow crowd on the stairs, and the occasional din of anxious conversations.

Among the people stranded at the service station were passengers, workers and vendors at the Tagbak terminal, motorists caught in the raging flood, shoppers at the GoGo grocery, and some Tagbak residents from beyond the creek – including the mother and her three children I saw being rescued earlier. Each had a story to tell, to their families through their cell phones, and to each other through casual conversations. I texted my family about the situation and told them that I have to wait for the flood to subside, whatever it takes. I was even prepared to spend the night inside the Adventure. I then managed to take some pictures with my cell phone camera, but for some strange reasons, I also deleted them later.

At around 2:30 PM, the rain started to pour continuously, making everybody kind of accept the possibility that we all would spend the night at the service center – unless some rescue efforts would come our way. We passed the time watching the water level – at the middle of the tires, then at the bottom of the bumpers, in line with the fog lights, along the side trim…

While the driving rain kept on falling and the water level kept on rising, some generous and cheerful souls were busy feeding us and making us laugh, in spite of the depressing situation. They managed to grab biscuits in floating sealed packages and soft drinks and fruit juices in drifting coolers. They shared their catch with the rest of us, and sometimes told us anecdotes and jokes that made us forget our ordeal, even for a little while. It was those times that would make someone a believer of those little surveys that says Filipinos are one of the most optimistic people in the world. We tend to laugh off the hardest of adversities, yet hope for the best outcomes. Typhoon Frank brought the best out of those kind souls – ordinary men from beyond the creek in Tagbak, whose houses were totally submerged by the flood, yet still, had the good manners to treat us, total strangers, with kindness. Perhaps, at that time, they felt that we were not strangers to each other. We were one. Frank brought us together.

It was about 5:00 PM already when the rains stopped and the water level started to drop. Everyone was hopeful that some semblance of rescue attempts, in any form, would materialize soon. And as we closely monitored the slow but steady fall of the flood level, we got impatient and tried to survey the situation from the center of the highway.

At around 6:00 PM, the water level stopped going down and seemed to be at the same level for a very long time already. It was about at the mid-calf level at the center of the highway. I figured it must be twice as deep at the other end of the stretch near the Metropolis entrance, and I believed the Mitsubishi Adventure could negotiate it. Looking at the still very heavy and dark thunderclouds hovering over the mountains of west-central Iloilo – the source of all major floods that devastated Iloilo City – I got the notion that the water level would not drop anymore, but would, more likely, rise again instead. It was time to make a decision.

Bad Decision

As I treaded the muddy water back to the service center, a large passenger jeepney and a bus rolled up, carefully tracing the still invisible highway. Then a lowered “owner-type” jeep went out of the service center and tried to tailgate the bus – with encouraging results. So I hurriedly hopped into the Adventure and followed. But about 50 meters along the stretch, the passengers of the lowered jeep jumped out and pushed it back into my direction. I barely dodged them, as I overheard the driver yell that the current was too strong. Apparently, they could not keep up with the bus’ pace, and they were left fending for themselves against the still strong water current. For my part, I had no other choice but to go on. I still believed that I could make it. I caught up with the bus about 150 meters into the stretch.

We steadily advanced for about 50 meters more, although the water also steadily got deeper. It was already deeper – and the current, stronger – than I thought it would be at that spot. Then the bus tried to slow down and seemed to be stopping at the point where the current was at its strongest. I got scared of being swept away if we stopped, or just even slow down, at that point. Although it was already getting dark, I still caught a glimpse of a car and an SUV bobbing on our right flank, and another car floating on our left side. So with my chest already thumping hard, I pressed hard on the horn and flashed my high beam repeatedly, hoping that the bus driver would perceive my predicament.

Thankfully, the bus did not stop and just plowed on in a slower pace. As the current got far stronger, I floored the gas pedal and angled the Adventure slightly to the left to counter the current. The water was already level with the top of the vehicle’s side trim. And as if responding to the scary roar of the raging flood, the steady grunt of the overworked engine seemed to defy the angry force of nature. It sort of reassured me, as I continued praying for the Mitsubishi engine not to fail me. Don’t die on me, Mitsubishi engine, don’t die.

We passed by the Ceres bus and the other stranded vehicles we saw in the distance from the Shell service station earlier. A few people still aboard the bus encouraged us to keep on by waving their flashlights. From that point, it was only about 50 meters more before the entrance to Metropolis. If I could reach Main Avenue in Metropolis, I would be safer – I thought.

We continued our slow but steady advance along the rest of the stretch, until it was time for me to turn left towards the Metropolis entrance. I prepared for the plunge into the highway gutter, which I knew is quite deep. During rainy days, that point, along the gutter, usually gathers the most water. I felt water seep in after the plunge. But I heaved a sigh of relief as I rounded the concrete pavement of the roundabout. I was on relatively higher ground. I felt my left front tire hit the curb of the roundabout, but I quickly readjusted. Then I prepared to negotiate the right turn to Main Avenue – the right turn to disaster (almost).

Surviving Frank

As I turned right into Main Avenue, I saw stationary headlights in the distance. I switched to high beam and through the haze, I barely recognized a stake truck and an SUV standing idly somewhere in the middle of an approximately 100-meter stretch of raging water current. The SUV seemed to be on the brink of being swept away. I instantly realized that most of the water coming from Tagbak must have found its way into that relatively narrow stretch of open space, resulting to that frightening sight of nature’s anger.

Because stopping anywhere in that flood was not an option for me, I summoned all of my will and floored the gas pedal once again. Once again, the steady grunt of the overworked engine seemed to defy the angry force of nature. And it reassured me once more, as I continued praying for the Mitsubishi engine not to fail me. Don’t die on me, Mitsubishi engine, don’t die. I sensed that the water level reached up to the middle of the front doors already. My headlights were already covered by the water as I persistently plowed on. The raging waters slammed on my right side, so I angled the Adventure slightly to the right to offset the strength of the current. Meanwhile, the left side of the road resembled a mini-waterfall, as a huge volume of floodwaters fall. The occupants of the stake truck encouraged me to go on, as they waved their flashlights. Then after what seemed like eternity, I crossed the very dangerous stretch.

I made it. On my way home, I passed by a convoy of vehicles lining up near the edge of the flood water line. Then I saw a broken tree trunk over a portion of Main Avenue. From that point, Metropolis looked like nothing happened, or was happening, except for some broken twigs and fallen leaves. As I eased into the carport, the family told me that they thought I was spending the night in Tagbak, like I told them earlier. I just said “thanks be to God”, for not allowing the engine of the Mitsubishi Adventure to fail after all the abuse it took from the raging waters. The only visible damage to the vehicle is the broken glass cover of the front plate number, in addition to the wet and silt-covered floor and carpets.

The picture below shows a number of vehicles swept away by the raging flood caused by Typhoon Frank. What it does not show was the tragic loss of a son, who was found the day after by his father hanging lifeless from the branches of the tree in the background. The son was aboard one of the vehicles in the picture.


Thanks be to God for sparing me from the tragedy.

Photos courtesy of Reuters/Stringer and Reuters/Leo Solinap.