Cruel beauty

The waterways in Camalig, Albay are hidden behind foliage and dwellings, like predators lurking in the shadows, waiting for prey. Which, in a way, they did become in 2006 during the height of Typhoon Reming: causing deaths and destroying property when water and debris from the Mayon Volcano rushed into nearby water channels and flooded towns. Houses were destroyed, crops were buried, and people drowned.

The floodwater has since receded and the Camalignons have rebuilt at least some of what they lost, but a lot of things in Camalig and the rest of Albay will need more than a few buckets of cement and a few shovels to restore. The dams along the Bicol River and its tributaries will be reinforced and reconstructed, but my aunt's lost avocado tree and my second cousin's wife will just have to live on in memory.

“Escape from Mayon if you must when you are in Albay; you can’t. Life and death, you can see all at once in Albay,” Hilarion P. Vibal said in an essay published in 1935. His words have proven true several times since they were written: when Mayon Volcano erupted in 1968 and 1978; when debris from these eruptions broke loose due to heavy rains and caused mudflows in 1981, killing over 200 people; and again in 2006 when lahar, or volcanic debris flows, devastated Albay.

Buried in lahar

The Cagsawa Ruins are a testament to the extent of the damage that lahar from the Mayon Volcano causes in Albay. The mudslide that occurred in 1814 buried Cagsawa so deeply that only the bell tower of the town’s church remained. The ruins, which were again buried under mud and silt in 2006, will be re-excavated and restored, but not the lives of the people who had erected homes by the prime tourist spot, hoping to earn money from the sales of souvenirs and food.

Preliminary results of a study conducted by A. Tevfik Arguden in 1995 show that rain can trigger lahar on Mayon Volcano “if it lasts at least 1.2 hours, delivers more than 40 millimeters of rain at rates of at least 14 millimeters per hour, and if the amount of rain delivered during the most intense ten minutes of precipitation is at least 10 millimeters.” Reming, which lasted for several days and had a maximum wind speed of 195 kph, was able to meet this standard, to Camalig’s misfortune.

According to the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services (PAGASA), the Bicol River Basin stretches across Region V, from Camarines Norte in the north to Albay in the south. Before meandering north to join with its main tributary, the Sipocot River, and emerge in the San Miguel Bay, however, it starts with rain runoff from the Mayon Volcano.

Typhoon Reming, with its heavy rains and strong winds, proved too much for the slopes of Mayon, causing a debris flow that overwhelmed dams constructed along the Cabilogan River, the tributary of the main river which runs through Camalig. Debris damaged houses along channel banks and water rushed into village roads, scraping away pavement and baring the soil beneath.

Camalig, located about 14 kilometers southwest of the Mayon Volcano, was never that much of a prime tourist spot due to its lack of flashy landmarks - the only place that can be considered a tourist spot is the Hoyop Hoyopan caves, where people flock to see stalactites and stalagmites that look like Mother Mary.

The destruction only made the town less postcard material. The only time outsiders flock there, aside from during volcanic eruptions, is during natural disasters, when reporters cover the devastation. But that doesn’t change anything about the scope and effect of the damage done to the town, which is famous for its pili nut bonbones and pinangat.

On the banks of the Cabilogan

My relatives on my father’s side live in Barangay Ilawod, one of Camalig’s 50 barangays, on a street that, had it a name, would probably be named after our family. Six uncles, an aunt and some of their children live there, plus a number of second and third cousins. They have separate houses, but my father’s eldest brother lives with his youngest brother and his wife in what used to be my grandparents’ house, a two-story cement and wood house which has been renovated and converted into a townhouse.

Ilawod sits beside the Cabilogan River, whose banks have been cemented to prevent erosion and minimize flooding. My father and his brothers used to swim there often when they were children, and they all have scars on their legs from the river stones to prove it. My cousins and I were never allowed to go near the water, probably to prevent us from learning how sharp the rocks still are.

The only time we got to go near the river was when somebody died. Ilawod has its own cemetery, on the side of the river across from the houses. Twelve years ago, there were only bamboo poles for people to use in crossing the river. Once, a coffin fell into the water and had to be retrieved by mourners, leading the mayor of the town to order the construction of a cement bridge.

When the river overflowed its banks last year during the typhoon, flooding my aunts' and uncles’ homes and carved a creek out of the street, I thought that it was time for me to go near the river again, provided there was still a cemetery for me to cross the river for. Miraculously, my relatives survived. Ironically, the cemetery was untouched.

This view shows both mud slides. The one up the mountain is the one that took out Daraga. The one in the foreground is the one that hit Camalig.
(Photo & caption by rojen_ying1)

A large part of the barangay is made up of rice fields, which my relatives lease out to farmers. They use the income from the sale of rice to augment their small government salaries. My aunt's house is right beside the rice fields, and snakes used to come into my cousins’ rooms almost every night before they decided to install window screens.

The Handbook of Albay, published in 1935, describes Camalig as Albay’s main source of abaca fiber and pili nuts, as well as fruits such as citrus and lanzones. Apparently, these crops do not fill stomachs or pocketbooks in recent times as well as they did a century ago, leading a number of Camalignons to plant rice instead.

Ilawod lies on lowlands, close to Mayon Volcano, but not close enough to worry the residents much when the volcano spews lava. As one goes east, however, the land gradually slopes higher. In these places, such as Barangay Gapo, the Cabilogan River flows below houses constructed on gently rolling hills.

My mother’s second oldest sister lives with her husband in Barangay Gapo, on a street redundantly known as Calzada. Calzada lies on a hill which overlooks the Cabilogan River. Her daughter, my cousin, got married last year, left home and is now living in Manila. My aunt's house used to be my grandparents’ house before they died, and it was where my mother and her three sisters grew up.

My aunt’s house is surrounded by water. In front of the house is the main river, and behind it is a creek where I used to watch ducks play among lily pads when I was a child. You would never have known of the creek’s presence had my aunt not showed it to me. It was small compared to the river, shallow and only about a few feet wide.

Just add water...

Camalig is riddled with water channels like the one behind my aunt’s house in Calzada, making it ripe for a water-related disaster such as the mudflows caused by Reming. Fortunately, the creek was small enough and began far enough away not to affect my aunt’s house. The main river wasn’t able to reach houses high on the Calzada hill, such as my aunt’s house. Her neighbors who lived lower on the hill weren’t as fortunate, and lost their homes. They lived with my aunt until the storm abated, and went about rebuilding their homes or moving to a safer location, preferably one without creeks or rivers, such as Barangay Baligang in the more mountainous areas of Camalig.

In the 1935 essay by Vibal, he also said that “Mayon reigns for whom Albay lives and by whom Albay will die…a beauty that persists, a beauty that never dies with memory. Such beauty could not have been fashioned, could not have been fashioned, could not have been achieved eternal, without death—without a sacrifice made that such beauty should live and enthrall. Two towns of Albay gave up their lives for Mayon, their ruins south, near Camalig and Daraga, still eloquent to prove that beauty could be cruel, too.” Based on recent events, it seems that if you add a lot of rain, it could be even crueler.

The roads of Camalig are now clear of mud and have been re-cemented, dams have been built and rebuilt, mayors have been replaced and fields replanted. My aunts and uncles take hypertension medicine, and my cousins build up a cache of canned goods whenever a storm is forecast by PAGASA. My third cousin mourns his wife, who until today has not been found.

In Camalig, the Mayon rises up above coconut trees with newly-grown leaves. The Cabilogan River and its many creeks are still there, hidden behind foliage yet not forgotten. Like lives, they flow on.

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