Resuming teaching duties after the birth of our second child, I was assigned to the school in Camanci Norte, Numancia, Aklan. I was teaching Grade 3, with about 50 boys and girls. It was a difficult adjustment for a young mother with two young kids. I had no neighbors near the school area. We rented a nipa house near the school so I could see at once how my two-month old baby was doing. I instructed my 12 year-old helper to wave a white handkerchief if everything was fine with the two children, or a red bandana if they were not fine or hungry or sick.
My big problem was water. Our house is near the mangroves, beside the sea, so most wells dug have salty water. We cannot wash the diapers when the tide was low, as the water was too salty. However, as soon as the fresh water from creeks mix with the seawater on high tides, the water was good for washing and bathing. We waited for this daily occurrence of the water changing saltiness to mildly fresh. Then, we rushed to the nearby riverbank and did our washing.
In June of 1941, I was transferred to the town of Loctugan, Capiz – about 85 kilometers from my house in Kalibo. I brought my two children and an old lady as my helper to look after Zita and Gualterio. We decide, again, to live near the school premises on a rented room. I was assigned to a Grade 3 class of 52 children. This was a challenge to me, dealing with children living near the railways and near Capiz (now Roxas City). My patience was stretched to the fullest on meeting environmental challenges and social levels of individual children who were situated in two different physical as well as geographical areas.
Early December, our Division Superintendent, Mr. Aguilar sent a province wide memorandum: Please collects all books and other teaching tools lent to you or your school. Report immediately to the District Office for accounting. We only then realized that Pearl Harbor in Hawaii was bombed and there was an impending war. I had the feeling that the increased number of Japanese restaurants was being used to gather information about our civilian population and military installations. I also saw most of the consumer goods we always bought were very, very cheap and was made in Japan.
There was the hurried but quiet movement of the constabulary in our area, the truckful of men in uniform and the guards I saw along the railway station in Loctugan.
My husband and I, as well as the other teachers had to suspend classes until further notice. We gathered our few belongings – our bags filled with our clothes and books, a pot of cooked food and started to walk home to Kalibo. There were no buses or jeeps to ride on – they were used by the army, as well as people who had connections.
The trek to Kalibo with two young children was no joke. We started walking early morning and rested at noontime under shades of trees. then resumed walking until late in the afternoon.
We arrived to our home, which was dark and empty, and I wept with great sadness that Kalibo became almost lifeless with quiet people. Everyone was indoors and were instructed not to allow light to pass through any hole or space so as not to be seen. My neighbors said, “We cover our kerosene lamp with dark cloth or thick mat to enclose the light. The scare was so intense that even children were kept indoors for fear of being spotted by some Japanese warplanes and provoke them to drop bombs on the entire area.
Few consumer goods were seen in “encerohan” or meeting place for people to sell their products. The old Philippine money was no longer legal tender for buying necessary goods or food. We resorted to barter or exchange fish for rice; used clothes for fish or salt.
When the Aklan Resistance Movement was organized in the farthest barrio in Aklan Province, the guerilla leaders printed their own money. For example, we got “Yatar” money printed on Grade 1 pad paper. Using wooden blocks and stamping pads, the “money” came in denominations of fifty centavos, or one peso or higher. It was acceptable in some places but not in Capiz or Iloilo. They had their own currency like the Confessor Money of Iloilo Province.
Many of our young idealistic boys and girls, left their university or college studies, and pledged to join the guerilla movement. Among those were my younger brothers and my six brothers-in-law.
They joined different units of the resistance. My brother-in-law Manuel enlisted in the communication unit; Jose was with the tank squadron, Roman with the army, and Beato and Salvador with the Governor Garcia’s Civilian Brigade. Leopoldo was already an officer in the regular Philippine Army. The women folk joined other army activities like first aid, fund raising, food procurement and needed religious activities.
Food, medicine, and clothing were very scarce, so my group tried to “make do” from our initiative and resourcefulness. Aside from being wounded in guerilla battles, the worst medical ailment to inflict on the guerrillas and the population was malaria. After experimentation, we were successful in treating malaria with the barks of a local tree “bita”. They were boiled and the patient would take so as much of the concentrated drinks to make him perspire. Some guerrillas dropped by our place to rest from fighting and ate a hot meal of rice gruel with chicken.
Our family’s war casualty was my younger brother, Eddie who was shot by a member of the Antique guerrilla commando. It was a really very sad Christmas for us. Eddie was not an enlisted man, as he was only fourteen years old. He was so curious to watch the leader of the Antique men who gathered the men of barrio Bueabud to attend a meeting at the school building. My father was one of those who attended.
The Antique guerrillas were demanding something from the locals. When the local men refused, the guerrillas started beating and shooting them. In the chaos that followed, the local men jumped out of the windows to flee. They did not realize that there was another group of Antique guerrillas outside, who started shooting. Eddie was hit below his navel, with the bullet exiting through his upper leg. He died instantly. After the shooting, the soldiers from Antique left. Our farm boys retrieved the body of Eddie and buried him in our orchard site, a place we loved most to relax and play.
My father was hit on the head, but the bullet glanced his skull. The men brought him to Antique and held him hostage for almost six months. Despite his head wound, he tried hard to show his captors that they were not enemies. He even showed them how to farm, to fish, to extract medicine from plants and above all to pray the rosary. Very lean and sick, he appeared one evening by our mountain “hide out”. He was coughing but we were happy to have him back alive. He never told us what had happened to him while in custody. He just asked us to be patient and never stop our prayers for peace.
The four years of hardship made us strong, in our physical self as well as in our faith. We never put a single doubt in our minds that the good Lord will abandon us.
Several occasions, through envy and greed of our own people, my family suffered several crises in our mountain experiences. There were several threats on our entire family’s existence in our mountain hide out.