Nowhere to hide

ISULAN, SULTAN KUDARAT--The people should be alert and inform the authority of any suspicious objects, for a bomb had just exploded in Midsayap, Cotabato.

That was the gist of the announcement issued through a PA system. I didn’t hear all of it, for the noise of passing tricycles drowned the crackling voice.

I was at the public market, walking along beauty parlors and agri-supply stores, when I heard the stern warning. When I looked up, I was surprised to see a newly installed speaker atop an electric post. It seemed the local government had taken every possible measure to keep the town safe from terrorist incursions.

From this town, the capital of Sultan Kudarat, Midsayap is more than an hour ride away. The people here have nothing to fear, if not for the fact that Midsayap and Isulan haplessly have something in common: they’re both located in Mindanao.

It’s common knowledge that what happens in one part of this large island may also happen in other parts. In the past, some bombings occurred in different spots only a few hours or days apart.

Perhaps I’ve been inured with bomb threats. I did not leave the public market in a hurry, as I usually would before. In normal pace, I walked past Maranaw stalls and booths of pirated DVDs. I lingered in a newsstand for a while and bought a paper before heading home.

I can’t say I’m no longer scared. Who could ignore vicious terrorists, violent separatists or plain terrorists? The danger they pose may not be clear and present, yet it’s lurking and real all the same. I’m still scared of the threat, but I’ve learned to live with it.

I’m confident my hometown is relatively peaceful. As far as I know, no one here has been killed by a bomb, though an improvised explosive device or two were found at the town center about eight years ago, at the peak of the Estrada administration’s all-out war against the MILF.

But even if I were in Tacurong, General Santos or Cotabato—cities that I consider high-risk—I’d probably react to a bomb threat in the same fatalistic manner.

What shall I do? Rush home? Avoid fiestas and crowded places? No, I won’t do that—because I’m tired of doing that.

In July last year, extortionist group Al-Khobar hounded with a series of bombings the bus line plying the Isulan-Tacurong-Koronadal route. I was studying in Koronadal then, so I rode those buses home during weekends. One blast killed a pastor. Another wounded a few passengers. Fearing for my safety, I didn’t go home for almost two months.

While I was studying in Tacurong five years ago, I had to walk through the center of the public market everyday, from school to the terminal of multicabs bound for Isulan. During that time, the public market of the city was a target of recurrent bomb attacks, suspectedly by the Abu Sayyaf and Jemaah Islamiyah. I would walk fast every time I passed by the area.

One time, while I was inside a convenience store, the people outside started shouting, “bomba! bomba!” The other customers and I retreated to the back of the store. Through the glass wall, I witnessed people in the streets running away, their faces red with terror, some of them leaving their slippers behind. I anticipated a deafening blast, then shards of glass to fly toward me.

Fortunately, it was just a false alarm (or else, I won’t be writing this). I left the place without any missing body parts but my sense of security and peace of mind was dented. For weeks after the incident, I would jolt whenever I heard sudden, loud noises.

When the latest bomb exploded, I felt sad for the victims and for the image of Mindanao. I worried about Muslim-Christian relationship. But I refuse to be filled with terror, if that’s what the perpetrators intend to sow.

I’m tired of hiding, when there’s nowhere to hide. I must be cautious, yes, but I’ve got to stop being paranoid. I’ve got to stop feeling helpless. Amid bomb threats, life must go on.