Hermen and Rita

Hermen and Rita

Mt. Mayapay in the background, the tallest mountain in Agusan del Norte, Philippines. Viewed from the Agusan river dike, utilized as a riverside road in Pagatpatan, Butuan City.

My Early Childhood

I am a believer in Christ Jesus as my Lord and savior. I am grateful to my parents for teaching me to love God and His word - the Holy Bible. Sunday was a especial day for us. Memories of my childhood include the hard times that we went through during World War II. I was six years old when I witnessed for the first time planes dropping bombs on our town - now Butuan City, capital city of Agusan del Norte, Philippines. nine kilometers away from our home. My parents were out in our neighbor’s rice field harvesting rice. It scared me! I grabbed my 2 year old sister, tugging her, and staggering. sauntered towards the rice field - towards my parents. My heart was beating wildly! My younger brother ran ahead of me. We found them in the woods by the side of the rice field, each one biting a piece of wood or a corn cob, my parents instructed us to do the same to preserve our hearing because of the bombing going on.

That was only the beginning of hard times. I got seriously ill with malaria and dysentery. I had to go outside the house, even when it rained, night or day to bury my bloody stool for fear of spreading the disease to the other members of the family. There was no medicine and many were sickly during the war. I had one uncle, one aunt, four cousins who died during the war due to various illnesses. My father would return to the house from the field he worked when he had the chill due to malaria. He would ask us to cover him with all the blankets available in the house for he felt so cold that he would be shivering. He would return to work when the fever subsides. At times, when the corn was about to be harvested we had to leave our home to evacuate to a safer place farther away from our place, and thus lose the season’s produce. We would move out of our house even during the night, and would light no torch for we must move out secretly.

One day, Japanese soldiers patrolling the area came to our house. My uncle was boiling sugar cane juice to make sugar. They started ladling some boiling juice from the kettle into their canteen cups. Before they left, however, one soldier overturned the kettle by kicking it, the boiling juice forming rivulets on the ground. I had a black hen that was hatching her eggs just below our sleeping room for our house was built on wooden stilts. One soldier went to the chicken coop, took my black hen, hand it to his comrade, returned to the chicken coop for the eggs. Upon discovering that they were already advanced in the hatching process threw them all down to the ground. I felt my blood surging and my ears tingling, but I was just a little boy!

One morning I got butterflies in my stomach when a Japanese soldier grabbed from my father's hand the straw hat he was weaving, threw it away and kicked my father in his shin, commanding him to go with them to help them carry farm produce they were taking to their garrison. I was setting beside my father, watching him make that hat. I was so fearful for my father, wondering if he could ever return home alive. But late in the afternoon, he returned home, the Japs gave him money and rice. Of course not all Japanese soldiers treated us roughly. Some were friendly. There was even one Sunday when three Japanese soldiers worshipped with us. Others would share with us some of their medicines. Some could speak English and engaged with my father in friendly conversation.

When war was over we were grateful to the American G Is, hailing ‘G I Joe’ for helping liberate our country from the Japs. But I was still sickly after the war that I had recurrent fever due to malaria and malnutrition. I think it was due to malnutrition that many of us during the war, specially children, had boils that continue to plague so many of us even after the war. Packets of sulfanilamide were secured to cure our wounds for all of us in the house had boils So many children in school were malarial that during recess time we were given Atabrine tablets (quinacrine hydrochloride) which we pushed into the flesh of bananas which we just swallowed so we wont taste its bitterness. Normal flow of living was disrupted by the war so much so that some of my classmates in Grade I were almost of marriageable age. One girl was glued to her seat when others had already stood and began leaving the room to go home after the class had been dismissed by our teacher. She had her cycle, revealed by the red stain on her desk! Before the school year was over she got married.

Life was still not easy after the war. So my father went to the Visayas to seek employment; landed a job in Tacloban, Leyte. Life was even harder for us in his absence, specially for me and my brother next to me for we had to go to our aunt living five kilometers away and she would make us carry home sweet potatoes, banana, or rice whatever was available on their farm. We hiked loaded up, for we would save the money she gave us for bus fare. I was nine and my brother was eight then. I remember when my father came home that he had a picture of the work force which include both American and Filipino personnel. It was captioned: ‘DI-IT ROCK QUARRY‘. But what he had brought home was just a bag of clothing and a little cash .

Our parents saw to it that we read and memorize Bible verses which we were made to recite during our evening and morning devotions. As soon as I was able to read in English, I started carrying with me to school a copy of the New Testament; for that some of my classmates called me a heretic.

Thank God for His grace! The bitterness and hatred in my heart against our country’s aggressors slowly melted away as I grow in His love and grace through the study of God’s word. Thanks be to God for the victory and the blessing that we receive from Him! TO GOD BE THE GLORY!