He had just finished eating breakfast when Uncle Macky came to him and asked, “Do you want to come with us, Raza?”
“Where to?”
“Your grandpa wants to check his farm but we will ride his boat.”
“I don’t get it. Ride his boat to the farm?” Raza asked, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I’m sorry I got you confused. We ride from here to another side of the island. Then we walk from there.” Raza scratched his head and decided, “I won’t be doing anything so I might as well come.”
He found a spot where to sit and had settled himself uncomfortably inside. They were now riding one of the native boats with outriggers and a small engine that helped propel it. Seawater kept getting inside the boat and Uncle Macky and Grandpa took turns in emptying the boat of water with a cylindrical container. Mangroves and white beach ran along the edge of the island in a blur and sea green waves below sprayed them with water. The sea stretch on their right and met the morning sky.
Minutes later, Grandpa put the engine to a stop and used the paddle to direct them back to the island. There, the water was amazingly clear and he could see the rocks and sand and colorful fishes swimming. An islet with mangroves and a few other plants faced close to that part of the island. It was one nice place for reclusion. They got down from the boat with a splash on the cold water. Grandpa tied the boat to a nearby coconut tree and set off for land.
Grandpa, followed by Raza and Uncle Macky, treaded the path through the forest expertly. He had a sort of woven basket with straps worn in a way that one wears a backpack. They were surrounded with high coconut trees about five meters apart and tropical ferns and plants. Dead leaves and broken branches strewed the path. Birds and forest insects were the only sound heard in the hush of the forest. Raza immediately thought of the Amazon rainforest.
Finally, Grandpa stopped and so did the other two. “You okay?” Grandpa asked Raza in attempt at conversation.
“Yeah,” he answered, breathing heavily as he rubbed his chest.
“Good. Good,” Grandpa said laconically and pointed at something. Raza saw what it was—a small hut. Its flooring held high above the ground by posts; a thatched roof covered it. No windows or walls. He went over it and put his wooden basket on its floor and they followed. There, the woods cleared a little.
Uncle Macky talked to Grandpa.
“He says this is the farm.” Raza looked around and didn’t see a farm, only a forest. He thought of asking How is this a farm? But instead asked, “Grandpa, what do you plant in your farm?” Grandpa did not need an interpreter, he might have understood it somehow because he answered and pointed, “Coconut tree. Mango—green. Saging. Langka. Santol” Some of it made sense, some he wasn’t sure what it was. Uncle Macky noticed the confused look.
“He mentioned banana, jackfruit and the other one I really don’t know what they call it in English. There are root crops too and small native tomatoes.”
“Shouldn’t he be planting sort of one kind of tree? I know in some places there are like mango farms where it’s just mangoes stretching for hectares.”
“The difference is that those trees were planted. In here, most just grow by itself.”
“Really?” asked Raza surprisingly, climbing the bamboo ladder to the hut. He sat down on its floor.
“Almost all land here is like that. It’s fertile you don’t need to think what to plant. Varieties of plants make different food available for selling and consumption of the family. Besides, it’s not like he has a huge area of land.
“How big is it?”
Uncle Macky asked Grandpa and said, “About 1200 sq. m. But the rest of it is nearer home.”
“Woah, that’s quite an area. In bigger cities, he would have been a rich landowner who leases his land or building.”
“This is no city, Raza. The land doesn’t cost much but it’s one of the sources of income and food, aside from fishing. Besides, your grandparents inherited it from their parents too.”
It struck him as ironic that in there, land is simply a means of staying alive while in other places it symbolizes wealth and power. The more land you have, the richer you get as the market value rockets to the top.
Grandpa disappeared among the trees and went back holding two green coconuts. He placed it on the ground and with the deft movement of his arm, cut an opening on it with his bolo. He handed Raza and Uncle Macky each of the coconut and gestured them to drink. There was no straw or glass so they just gulped it through the hole. It was an awkward way to drink, nevertheless, the drink tasted sweet and refreshing.
Grandpa said something and Uncle Macky translated it as, “We’re very grateful to your father for supporting the family—financially. Alhamdulillah”
“I don’t understand…”
“He’s been sending money to his family here. It was him who spent for the building of that water tank and also the concrete house. Your grandpa took care of it when he left. Though, as you might have seen, it lacks some finishing touches.”
“So, Baba was sending money here?”
“Yes, ever since he started working, even before he got married.”
“Baba never mentioned it to me.”
“I see, but your mother probably knows. It’s not really surprising. It’s part of the culture. You know a lot of OFWs have that as their goals. They continue helping their relatives and share their blessings. Your father never forgot about his parents and family.”
Raza fell silent and thought of the times that he complained to his father for not buying him a new phone. “Your phone’s still okay, why do I need to buy you a new one?” his father told him. Then he would moan about it to his mother who also agreed with his father. He told them of disposing his old clothes and insisted that there’s a new trend and he had to update his wardrobe. “Fine, throw away your clothes and don’t be surprised if you don’t have anything to wear anymore,” his father had warned him. He always thought it unfair; he had an idea that his father was earning a lot for being an engineer and yet he couldn’t even buy him some of the things he wanted. He had no idea however his father was still supporting his family back here—and there’s awfully lot of things that they don’t have.
The sun was at its zenith when they walked back to the beach. He wasn’t able to resist throwing himself to the waters. He asked if they could swim for a few minutes. So, the three of them did swim in the clean, cool waters. They rested afterwards on the white beach while they ate bananas and drank fresh coconut juice. The boat was heavier on the way home with Grandpa’s basket of ripe fruits and root crops. Raza even insisted on bringing home some coconuts even though Uncle Macky explained there’s plenty of it at home. Why, with all the coconut trees around he need just ask for it.
YOU ARE READING
The Journey Back
Espiritual"What?... I don’t want to go there. Is this some kind of sick joke?” Raza is a typical muslim teenager who grew up in a place where everything seemed 'instant' as he described it. But a deal with his father had sent him packing to a tropical islan...
