Boy Scouts learn how to navigate from a map | Photo by Mark Ballard on Unsplash
First of a three-part series- *A chapter from a memoir, Land of the Mourning by Fernando B. Perfas
When I was thirteen and in the sixth grade, I made one of the best decisions of my young life. I joined the Boy Scouts. At first, it was wearing the uniform that attracted me. I had observed that scouts in uniform were noticed more at school. It might have been the wrong reason, but being a scout was the only school-related activity that gave me a sense of gratification. It kept me in school and perhaps steered me away from delinquent activities.
My drill and scoutmaster, Tim, was a young college graduate who showed genuine interest in me. He taught my small troop the rudiments of military drills and outdoor survival. He was a gifted motivator who could make you feel good about yourself for excelling at simple tasks like marching, cooking, or pitching a tent. He organized camping trips for his troop in the jungles and mountains outside Manila. These were trips I wouldn’t miss for the world, so I tried to save what little I could out of my snack money. Oftentimes, a friend would augment my limited resources by sharing his provisions with me.
I was thrilled that my Boy Scouts troop was going on its first major weeklong camping trip to Mt. Makiling in Laguna, a province two hours by bus from Manila. I was looking forward to it and to the prospect of earning more merit badges during camp. However, there were problems. I had no uniform and was short of both food and cash for the trip. I had saved some, but not enough. The week before, I told one of my friends that I wasn’t sure I could join the trip.
“What it takes to be a real scout is not the uniform but the spirit and the ideals of scouting,” Tim said. I was unsure if he was directing the statement at me. “I would rather see you a rag-tag but highly disciplined troop than the best-dressed unit without team spirit and discipline. If your only excuse for not wanting to come on this trip is the uniform, that isn’t a good enough reason to miss it.” We were silent as he addressed the troop in our regular Saturday assembly. Although a few of us were in a similar predicament, I was embarrassed to think he might be talking about me. What came next caught me by surprise.
“Your attention, please! We are going to pool our resources. By Monday, bring food items you plan to take on the trip and deposit them in the guidance counselor’s office. Bring what you can to school.” I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I had been under the impression that each had to take care of his own needs. “This Friday is Teachers’ Recognition Day,” Tim continued. “There will be guests and parents coming for the short program. We’ll help serve refreshments and clean up the school grounds afterwards. Here’s a piece of good news . . . the principal’s office is giving us some money to help in our first camping trip.” He concluded his brief speech with a big smile, and the meeting adjourned in a celebratory mood.
“Heep! Heep!” One scout blurted, followed by the chorus, “Hooray!”
Tim was barely in his mid-twenties. He was not strikingly handsome, but his expressive eyes, self-confidence, and charisma together made him a highly likable man. His confidence and enthusiasm were infectious. No task seemed too difficult, no hurdle insurmountable when he was around, leading and guiding us. One could see the fire of idealism in his eyes. The way he carried and expressed himself was rather unusual for someone of his age. Most young men like him were either chasing as many women as they could get into bed or the careers that they would settle into for the rest of their lives. Tim seemed to have simple needs, but I realized that he had a complex mind. The ideas he had about common or ordinary things were rather interesting, if not radically different from those most people held. More than his radical ideas, his unconditional acceptance boosted my self-esteem and improved my self-perception. Why he bothered with me, I would never find out. I could only guess he knew I was the neediest in his troop.
Something about me must have bothered him that morning, and he was looking for a thoughtful way of approaching me. Tim was thorough and had a knack for telling stories to drive home a point exquisitely and profoundly.
“Mandy, would you like to walk with me by the riverside?” It wasn’t a question but an indirect command. Tim had earned the troop’s complete respect and trust. He needn’t command us. He only said things, and we were more than willing to obey. He didn’t have difficulty getting things done this way. “You learn fast and have mastered the marching drill,” he said as we headed toward the edge of the Pasig River. “By the way, you don’t have to buy the complete uniform set right away. Start with what you can afford … like the knee-high pair of socks.”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Listen! Get the small items first.”
““When they came, their soldiers and priests destroyed the old culture and grabbed vast tracks of land, thus reducing our ancestors to tenants in their homeland,” he explained with a tinge of nostalgia and bitterness in his voice.”
“Do you think I can afford to be a Boy Scout? Going to all the camping trips and competitions will be difficult.”
“Of course, you can!” It didn’t occur to me that by one look, he had figured I had little means. As we approached the river’s embankment, we found a flat surface to sit on. We sat in silence for a while, facing the river, staring at the flotsam that bobbed in the wake of a passing commercial barge.
“Hundreds of years ago, our forefathers who first set foot on this land must have lived a simple but adequate life.” He started to talk, then paused, musing for a while as he looked toward the ruins of Fort Santiago perched on dark, solid rocks across the river. “There were surely the haves and have-nots, just like in any society, but the lower caste probably accepted their social status quite easily as they were at least able to keep their dignity,” he continued.
“I tried getting the shirt, at least, but . . .” I wanted him to understand that I tried.
“How do you know how they actually lived, Tim? It was a long time ago.”
“They had a writing system and left some accounts of their life. They had traditions and a system of social status. These wouldn’t have developed if there hadn’t been social stability and periods of peace in their kingdoms. Trade wouldn’t have flourished if kingdoms were in a constant state of flux,” he explained. “There were small kingdoms ruled by chieftains that dotted the countless islands of what is now our country,” he continued. “These tiny kingdoms traded actively with their neighbors and with nearby countries across the seas. Even the Spaniards wrote about what they saw when they first landed here.”
“If these early people traded with each other, how did they pay for goods? Did they use money, like the peso?” I asked.
“Sort of, but not exactly like the money we use today. They used mostly a barter system—an even exchange of goods—a bushel of dried fish for a sack of rice, for example.”
“Tim, it’s hard for me to imagine these foreigners and our people crossing the vast sea just to exchange sacks of rice and baskets of salted fish. Besides, what does this have to do with me or my difficulties?”
“Don’t worry! I’ll make sure you are on this trip and the next. Now, let me continue so you understand what it is I’m trying to explain. It wasn’t just about the trade and the exchange of goods among these ancient people. More important were the interactions of different cultures and how these help expand our view of the world. Hopefully, these made us see ourselves differently and appreciate our connections with great people beyond our land. Anyway, there were great empires in the region, such as the Shri Vijaya and Khmer empires. Their imperial seats were within sailing distances from our shores. These were great civilizations that came into contact with our ancestors.
Unfortunately, no substantial written accounts of their achievements have survived the ravages of time, although they left magnificent monuments that are silent testimonies to the grandeur of their cultures. The lavish and celestial temples at Angkor in Kampuchea and the ruins of the great temples of Borobudur in Indonesia are only some of the remnants of a once glorious time in the region.”
“Mrs. Cabral, my social studies teacher who likes to travel and bring pictures to class of places she has visited, said the same thing. She told my class that it was a myth that Europeans discovered our land when it had only been settled by our ancestors for millennia,” I interjected. “You said there are hardly any written records to support your claim, so what is there to prove that what you are saying really took place?” I asked, unable to hold back my skepticism.
“Hints of ancient connections and intermingling can only be discerned in the subtle traces they left in the contemporary Southeast Asian cultures and the lovely temperaments shared by the diverse peoples of the region.
There appears to have been a common thread running through these cultures, as evidenced by their music, folklore, and, importantly, their cuisines, which still share many similarities despite the intrusions of Western colonialism in recent times. Their literature, songs, and folk dances shared striking similarities, far beyond the usual affinities found in most cultures. Their folklore told familiar stories of love, country, family, and work that transcended language differences. Food preparations and the rituals surrounding food consumption, along with the diffusion of certain delicacies in the region, often reveal the untold stories of long-term intermingling.
We wouldn’t have balut if not for the early people from what is now Central and Southern Vietnam. However, we don’t know the true origin of patis (fish sauce), bagoong (salted shrimp paste), and daing (sun-dried fish marinated in brine), to mention only a few, which are common in all corners of Southeast Asia. This cultural diffusion preceded the conversion of these peoples to the religions that are currently practiced in the region. The unifying element underlying the cultural diversity in this part of the world defies the molding power of religion; despite religious differences, commonalities are still pronounced today. Our land and people were called Maharlika, meaning “Splendid Creation.” It changed when the Spaniards came,” he continued with his compelling explanation.
“How were the Spaniards different from the other foreigners?” I blurted out without restraint.
“When they came, their soldiers and priests destroyed the old culture and grabbed vast tracks of land, thus reducing our ancestors to tenants in their homeland,” he explained with a tinge of nostalgia and bitterness in his voice.
— TO BE CONTINUED
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dr. Fernando B. Perfas is an addiction specialist who has written several books and articles on the subject. He currently provides training and consulting services to various government and non-government drug treatment agencies regarding drug treatment and prevention approaches. He can be reached at fbperfas@gmail.com.
