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Holy Week 1981. Santander Point, Cebu Philippines.

The Philippines is an archipelago made up of over 7000 Islands (only about 2000 are inhabited). Tañon Strait is a body of water that separates the islands of Cebu and Negros. I grew up in Dumaguete City, which is on the toe of the sock shaped island of Negros, in the central part of the Philippines. It was the end of a Holy Week camping vacation. A tradition for my family. My mom was not there on this particular trip, she, being my only immediate family. But, my grandmother was there, as well as my mom‘s brother, Larry and his family. Larry was the main organizer of these events, and other large family gatherings. He usually rounded up other families to go with us to a beach somewhere for Holy Week, which begins on Palm Sunday and ends on Black Saturday. It would be a week of picnicking, scuba diving and endless rounds of mahjong for the grown-ups. I would spend hours playing in the sand, exploring tide pools, snorkeling and swimming. The location of this weeklong camping trip changed from year to year, but it was almost always a beach.

Beach Camping Trip

This year brought us to a place called Santander point on the neighboring island of Cebu. I being 14, brought my best clothes to this beach camping trip. My two younger cousins were there, but I do not remember any other children that were with us on this particular trip, other than my cousin’s friend, Junior. We spent one sunburnt week there. Was not able to swim much because the current was very strong. But lots of building sand forts and exploring tide pools. We had taken several pump boats over because there were so many of us. And these pump boats generally could only hold about 10 people each.

Homeward Bound

That morning it was decided that I would be on the homeward bound pump boat with my grandmother, my grandmothers driver and cook (because what weeklong picnic would be complete without bringing your household help with you), my cousin Andre and his friend Junior. There were two boat men. I don’t remember the boats men’s names, but I remember that one of them had a pretty severe deformity in both feet, so much so that he was unable to wear shoes. He worked for my uncle and I would see him sometimes wearing slacks and a shirt. But no shoes. We went on our way as we usually did. Crossing the ocean on these pump boats was routine. Because we were surrounded by islands, some sort of boat is the most common form of transportation.

Having spent a lot of my childhood on the beach, the ocean was a very familiar place to me. I vaguely remember the day I learned how to swim, at around age 3. My grandfather had taken me with him on a deep sea fishing trip. It was when we were way out in open water that he realized I did not know how to swim. Legend has it that he picked me up and put me in the water, and mater-of-factly told me to start  swimming. I sputtered and struggled for a little bit but quickly started to swim like a newly hatched fish. The ocean and I became fast friends. I soon learned how to snorkel and later on to scuba dive. Because I came from a family of very proficient swimmers and scuba divers, I never felt a fear associated with the sea. We had made multiple crossings to other island in treacherous weather, waves towering over our small pump boats. It never crossed my mind that we would not make it, because we always eventually did.

Shipwrecked

The crossing from Santander Point to Dumaguete generally takes about one hour in ideal weather. I did not really pay attention to the sea conditions as we took off. My teenage mind was mostly daydreaming about what I would do when we landed back home. About halfway across, our boat started to take on water, the boat men were furiously using small buckets to take water out of the boat. And then the engine died. Try as they must, they were unable to restart the engine. This was the first time that I noticed how big the waves were around us.  We were no longer moving but rather tossed to and fro. Huge mountain swells of waves would buffet our boat, and twirl it around like a roulette wheel. Eventually the boat sank just under the water. The outriggers on these pump boats  act as a flotation device, so the boat sank  just below the surface of the water. We all clung desperately to the submerged vessel so we would stay together. Very soon all of our belongings had floated away. I do remember being angry about losing all my good clothes as my duffel bag disappearing into the bowels of the ocean. But other than that, I don’t remember any specific overwhelming emotion, just mostly numbness and bewilderment.

My grandmother started praying her memorized Catholic prayers. I, being raised mostly by a mostly atheistic mother, tried to mumble along with her as best as I could. It is my first memory ever of trying to pray. We were at the mercy of the seas, there was absolutely nothing we could do but cling as best as we could to the submerged boat so we could stay together. We had no lifejackets, it was rare for any boat to have lifejackets in that time.

I remember trying to brainstorm with the boat men about what we could do, suggesting that maybe one of them could try to swim to shore to get help. But the shore was too far and it really would have been unrealistic to expect that they would have survived the swim given how big the waves were. We clung to the boat for several hours. It was getting into the afternoon now, I knew that we would not survive if we did not get rescued before sunset.

Rescue

I’m not sure who noticed it first, but a cargo ship could be seen at a distance, heading in our general direction. We started yelling and waving.  Which was crazy and futile because nobody would have heard our yelling above the thunderous roar of the waves around us. But someone on the ship noticed us and they quickly changed course and came alongside us.

One by one we climbed a rope ladder up the side of the cargo ship. Once on the deck of the ship, they covered us in blankets. I don’t remember anybody talking. My memory of it is complete silence. Maybe we were all in shock, in complete disbelief that we actually got rescued.

Back on Dry Land

The cargo ship took us to the port of Dumaguete City, my hometown. I remember getting off the cargo ship and walking down the pier, soaking wet and barefoot, because my shoes were lost at sea. I went in to the local shipping office and asked to use their phone so I could call my mom.

My mom was at the South Sea’s Resort Hotel, which is walking distance from our house. Some friends from San Carlos, central part of our island, were in town visiting. She asked to borrow their cars and drivers to pick us up. Two cars came and took us all home. I don’t remember if my mom came to the dock or not. I do remember going home, taking a shower and then joining my Mom and her friends for dinner at the resorts restaurant. The story of our ordeal was told, but I have no memories of any discussion after that of what happened. Over the years, it would occationally be brought up as a side note of some conversation, but it was almost as if it was just a dream and didn’t really happen.

Social Media Miracle

Fast forward to March 14, 2015. I am now living in the United States. Out of the blue, I get a facebook message from someone who told me my name sounded familiar, he asked me specific details that only people familiar with where I grew up would know. And he asked me if I was the one that was involved in the shipwreck that got rescued in 1981. He had been one of the crew members on the cargo ship that rescued us. Amazing. I had not thought of that shipwreck in years. It gave me a weird sense of relief.

So many things had happened to me in my life that were bizarre and I always felt like maybe they were just all in my head. But here was somebody who 100% validated what had happened to us that day. At the time I never really thought it was odd that we didn’t really talk about it in my family, It was just how my family was, things just don’t get talked about. I don’t know how to end this story other than I now keep in touch with that man and his wife via facebook. And I hope to meet them face-to-face one day. Their home is not too far from where I grew up in the Philippines, about a two hour boat ride away. He now works for an international shipping company and goes all over the world. I follow his travels to different ports of call via facebook. Pictures of vast swaths of ocean, no land anywhere on the horizon. I forget sometimes that the world is more than 70% ocean. There are a lot of endless horizons out there. And maybe, some other people waiting to be rescued…