As we surveyed the rubble through the barbed-wire fence, the whole while nursing our warm beers, Josephine recounted the story of how her house was lost to a massive storm.
Just two years before (in November of 2013), super typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan) tore through the Philippines, hitting the little island of Malapascua and leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Houses were leveled, metal roofs ripped off, and boats – heavily relied upon by the local fisherman for their livelihood – decimated. Not even the beautiful coral reefs, well below the ocean’s surface, were left untouched. Inhabitants suffered: fresh water supplies dwindled, food ran low, communication with the outside world was non-existant, and the electric grid was down. Yet somehow, even in the midst of what I imagined was complete chaos and horror, nobody was killed – there were zero casualties on the island. The storm, which had claimed close to 5,000 lives across the archipelago and caused damages costing upwards of 12 billion Philippine Pesos, had miraculously spared Malapascua the added tragedy of death.
Two years later the island and its people are still recovering – still attempting to rebuild their community, but you would need to dig and prod to start to understand the daily struggles that the islanders encounter. Everyone we had the pleasure to meet and chat with were warm, welcoming, and filled with a genuine interest to connect and share stories. Its incredibly humbling – and inspiring – to remember that the island so recently experienced such widespread devastation and continues to lack basic amenities such as medical care, potable water, and reliable access to fresh food. Yet, in spite of all of this, the spirit of the people of Malapascua appears to remain unbroken.
Josephine asked if we were hungry. Yes, yes, we were! She pointed straight ahead to where her sister had some sort of BBQ spot. Thanking her, we followed the barbed wire in the direction of charring meat. A couple of older women in plastic chairs sat outside of another one-table shop. A young woman ran the grill. Skewers of mystery meat sputtered and sizzled their way toward some version of perfection, all the while a pesky bunch of flies danced around in hopes of catching an opportunity to suck on something delicious. There were two choices: intestines or chicken pieces. We chose the latter… and in spite of the somewhat unadorned preparation of the meaty skewers, there was a special happiness that came with their consumption. Were they good? I wouldn’t necessarily go that far. More important is that it was representative of the local flavour, and better yet, we felt that in some small way we were helping to support the community.
Circling back, we waved to Josephine like she was an old friend – we were headed in the direction of our room, filled with every intention of spending some time at the dive shop nerding-out over photographs of nudibranchs. But, our attentions got diverted. During our wandering, we had become rather fixated on the impressive roosters that were seemingly everywhere. We had come to the conclusion (just based on the sheer numbers of handsome guys crowing around) that cock fights must be one of the popular past times on the island. Curious, we approached a local who just happened to be strolling by at that moment: “Rooster fight?” He was definitely caught unaware, and looked momentarily surprised… but before we knew it, we were following him through a long row of houses that seemed barely capable of providing shelter. Children played in the mud, their eyes following us with an innocent curiosity as we passed by. We hustled to keep up with our guide who led us this way and that, taking us through various front yards as the neighbours waved. We had no clue where we would end up…. it was thrilling.
After a few minutes of walking, the sounds of excited voices could be heard up ahead. Before long we were standing in front of a wooden door waiting to gain access to the ring. I became nervous with anticipation. What was I doing here? I can barely watch the nature shows where the lion takes out the gazelle without covering my eyes and getting sad. A beer was handed to me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw what must have been one of the losers getting plucked and washed like he was being prepared for someone’s dinner… Well, at least nothing was going to waste.
winner, winner chicken dinner?
Before I had a chance to gather my bearings, I was sitting on a bench – in the second row no less – beer in one hand, camera in the other. The crowd was mostly men, watching intently as the shiny feathered opponents were brought into the ring by their solemn faced keepers. Hands waved, and in the cryptic language of the fight, bets were placed. The roosters were held face to face, forced to look each other in the eye: “behold your challenger!” Get a good look at him- the one who has come to take your life in this dual to the death! Their feet touched the dirt, and I cringed as the battle began, half expecting blood and chicken bits to be strewn everywhere in a crazed cacophony of poultry screams. I braced myself.
Two plumes of feathers and feet came together- utterly silent. A tangled flop, a little ruffle, and an almost imperceptible movement or two. I swear I blinked and the whole thing was over. A deflated pile of feathers remained and the victor whisked away. Much more mundane than the violent fight I had imagined.
The crowd was already up, and the tiny stadium emptied in minutes. Our friend and guide appeared again -and without really thinking we let him lead us back through the maze from which we had come, stopping in front of a house half hidden in the shade of a palm. He proceeded to thrust his prized rooster into our arms for a few moments of awkward cuddling and adulation- then we were on our way: following the dirt paths back across the island, waiting to see what else was in store for us…
Malapascua is magical. The place. The people. All a beautiful reminder that happiness comes from within. It is a testament to the power of the human will to survive, and to humanity itself. An indelible mark has been left on my being. I have a snapshot burned into my mind that seems to explain it all: a group of children running free and wild on the beach in the fading light, holding tightly to their half-filled jars of rusted nails that they have spent the day foraging, to give to their families and friends- hard at work nearby rebuilding… because here, fresh nails are hard to come by…
There are two sides to this little island. And so many beautiful faces. There is the coast- the ‘skin’- but make your way to the interior and you will find the heart, fiercely beating.
Getting to Malapascua Island:
The easiest way to reach the island is via Cebu City. We made arrangements through Evolution Dive Resort (where we had a room booked, along with a few days of diving) to have a car pick up up at our Cebu City hotel and drop us off at Maya Port, where they also had a private boat waiting to take us straight to Malapascua. This cost us $100 USD each way, and in my opinion was well worth it!
There are buses that run to Maya Port, if the pre-arranged transfers are not within your budget.
Here is a link that provides information about the bus and boat options available
**Please note that Malapsacua has no ATMs! ***
Wow!! What a time you guys had!! Getting off and then further off the beaten path and you are blessed to greet the true Islanders and got to hear the real stories!! And to watch the cock fight surely was an unexpected time! Something that they do everyday and you were invited to join with them! What a complement!!