By Conrad J. Benedicto

As our sleek wooden ferry, the Waikiki Express, departed Sitangkai, I kept offering my seat to different people in the crowded passenger hold because I wanted an excuse to crawl up to the roof. Finally, a middle aged woman with a large leather satchel accepted my offer and I grabbed my opportunity to pretend that crowd dynamics had pushed me onto the upper deck. As we motored away, I looked back at the settlement and thought of its sprawling shape as seen from the sky—like a snowflake radiating dendrites or mycelium fanning out in delicate branches into the open sea.

“I gazed wistfully at those unvisited shores receding in the distance and thought of one day returning.”

A local passenger named Marvin was slightly worried by my presence at the top, especially since the spots with all the handholds were already taken. But it was a calm sunny day and soon the whipping wind cooled and exhilarated us both, making us forget our concerns. We chatted the entire way—me sharing my geological theories and him listing all of the other wonders in Tawi Tawi I had missed. I gazed wistfully at those unvisited shores receding in the distance and thought of one day returning.

As our boat was about to enter the large inlet leading back to Bonggao where Cebu Air was scheduled to fly me away, we encountered a rough patch of water. Waves jostled the boat from every direction and my heart rate spiked when, like a pebble skipping across a pond, my backside thudded close to the edge of the roof deck. There was at least a foot left between me and a soggy emergency and I’m sure I could have grabbed a handrail or a hand, so it was not as exciting as it felt. But Marvin did tell me we had entered the most dangerous part of the trip. This particular area was filled with cross currents and enough accidents had occurred here that people thought of it like a gateway, where the sea was most likely to demand its toll.

Eventually we crossed the portal. The sudden calm whispered that my time in Tawi Tawi was sadly at an end. I breathed the salt sea air in, committing everything to memory as my thoughts turned elsewhere, to Cotabato.

Memories of Mindanao, Part 6