Rebels of Mindanao by Tom Anthony Page B

Davao.
    Thornton wondered if unseen adversaries knew where he was, whether a rebel noticed him among the colorful band of natives and whether they believed this apparently tranquil domestic scene wasposed, if they were watching. Today’s trip may have been a dumb idea, Thornton thought, but since he had encouraged Elaiza to recruit men from her extended family to join STAGCOM, he had to make the trip so they could get a look at each other. Of course the Otaza clan, the Manobo family on her mother’s side, had heard about Elaiza’s prestigious position with the American Embassy and knew she was involved in some things she could not talk about. Exactly what she was doing they were not sure, but she traveled to other countries, and anything “overseas” was a goal they all dreamed about. Anything was better than working in the rice fields or banana plantations in the steamy heat along the banks of the Agusan River.
    A young boy, skin burnt almost black by the tropical sun, hurried along the side of the road, happy with the flapping stack of dry coconut fronds balanced on his head, and proudly taking them home for the family cooking fire. Thornton watched other images roll by. A thin, evenly brown young girl trotted behind her mother, followed by a single member of an indigenous armed force mounted on a horse of acceptable character and carrying a newer looking M-16 rifle. The single component of military dress signifying his membership in any kind of organized unit was his floppy camouflage hat. But everyone in the jeepney knew that the rebels, in this area the NPA, the communist New Peoples Army, controlled this province in central Mindanao. The NPA owned this land.
    The jeepney continued north, more slowly now as an eight-wheeled trencher leased by the Japanese multinational Marubeni was laying fiber optic cable alongside the main highway and obstructing progress. Eventually that cable would bring Internet access to the inhabitants of the tree houses along that road. The hope was that the next generation of children would become just as literate and able to compete for overseas jobs as their brethren in the big cities. If they had been hooked up to the Internet today, they might already have the news that Thornton did not, and the villagers might not be quite as happy as they seemed to be, waving at the stranger as he passed by in the jeepney.
    Bringing the kids from Davao along on a holiday junket was meant to serve as a cover for Thornton. But some eager NPA patrol might take an opportunity to make a name for its leader if they had any idea that an American was in their domain.
    There was no obvious place to stop and eat, until they found an unnamed roadside stand with only a dirty, hand-painted sign advertising “Grilled Chickens” in Visayan and English. Fresh lemon grass gave a sweet aroma to a rich fish soup with rice. A few extra kilos of steamed white rice were served cold with smoky-tasting taro root. Three street chickens, somewhat burned, were torn apart by greasy fingers and eaten by hand. Lunch for about a dozen Otakans, Otazas and Thornton added up to a total cost of $19.37.
    Thornton shaded his eyes to watch a large bird soaring high above rice fields bounded by banana trees in the near distance and a mountain range on the horizon.
    â€œThat’s Kabayan, the only Philippine eagle living in the wild.” Elaiza followed his gaze. “A few more are in captivity, near here in Malagos. Eggs are being incubated there. Maybe someday they can release more. When I was in school, we had projects to save the eagles. Even the President came down to see.”
    â€œIt’s so quiet and peaceful.”
    â€œIt won’t be if you guys mess it up.”
    â€œMaybe we can keep it this way.”
    â€œWhat do you really think will happen, Kapitan Tomas?”
    â€œWe’ll win another war. I’ll get the money. What do you think will happen, Elaiza?”
    â€œIt will be