The fist couple of days at Big Laguna Beach were great. We met a local named Benji, who after failing to sell us some hand crafted jewelry, asked if we were interested in renting motorcycles (which we were). Transportation on the island was now secure for the week, and as it turned out, Benji could also act as my guide to help me find the local tribes that I was interested in photographing. Countless Bloody Marys and micro adventures within the Sabang area later, the day came to get my project underway. Benji couldn’t make it that day, so he arranged for one of his comrades to take his place, a quiet and well-mannered gentleman named Paul. I had met Paul a couple days prior, as he was a mechanic and fixed a rear flat tire on my motorcycle. Paul was much more quiet and reserved than Benji, but I still trusted him to get me where I wanted to go.
At around 8am, I left Big Laguna Beach with my guide, Paul, to head into the interior of the island. We drove for more than two hours on a variety of different roads, ranging from smooth highways which traced the coastline and gave a surreal view, to winding dirt path roads, that seemed more fit for a motocross challenge. The weather was clear and sunny, and brutally hot. Paul initially led us up into the mountains where some of the tribes used to reside, however due to the natural beauty of these locations, local politicians sold off the land to private owners who then opened up a somewhat resort area, that tourists would pay to visit, thereby displacing the tribes that had originally lived there.
The first village I visited was that of the Hanunu Tribe. My first impression was that it was very poor and underdeveloped. It had the typical characteristics that one associates with the third world.
I walked through the village and spoke with some of the villagers, who were shy, yet friendly. Paul explained that they hadn’t had very much contact with foreigners before. The people of the village all seemed to be content enough, going about their days with a sense of purpose. A school had recently been built, and the children were playful and smiling as they were coming and going from the new structure. I couldn’t help but notice that while this village was by no means a Shangri la, it was organized and seemed to be functioning fairly well.
The indigenous tribe that I had originally done research on and was aiming to photograph didn’t live in these conditions. Paul explained that the tribe I was referring to have no known name, and that they are completely isolated from modern society. They have next to no contact with the outside world and are completely self-sufficient. They still live a nomadic existence and frequently move around the mountain to follow the animals they rely on for food. Hunting small, local mountain deer and wild boar with bamboo spears means they have no fixed address, and therefore trying to locate them would be quite a challenge. In addition, there are no roads leading up into the higher regions of the mountain, where they dwell. It would take roughly three to four hours of hiking to get to the area where the tribe is known to live, but Paul was not certain of the way. These people are very reclusive and shy. They are peaceful and prefer to live in harmony with the nature that surrounds them. The people of Mindoro have a superstitious belief that the mountain holds magical and mythical powers, and should be respected and cherished. I wanted to show this same respect and decided that photographing this tribe on this trip wasn’t meant to be.
The next village that I visited was of the Iraya Tribe. They lived higher up in the mountains, compared to the Hanunu Tribe, which dwell on the flatter plains (being more ideal for farming). This village was much poorer and even less touched my modern life than the previous village I visited. Paul told me that the orientation of the huts all must face east, in order to see the sun rise. Seeing the rising sun held a special significance to this tribe, as it let them know that the day would be suitable for working the small farming plots that they had carved into the sides of the mountain. The people of the Iraya Tribe grew crops such as corn and cassava. The village was much more spread out and sporadic than that of the Hanunu Tribe’s. The first people I met of this tribe, seemed to be of some importance, as their home was built on a better plot of land and their hut was larger than most of the others’. They were friendly and chatted away with Paul in the local dialect while I started to climb higher up the mountain to another hut.
Here I met an elderly woman who carried years of hard work and toil in her eyes. She spoke in whispers and I felt very humbled and honoured that she gave me permission to photograph her and her home. I did by best to be nonintrusive while she worked away at making a whicker basket, her skillful hands going through the motions like they could be done in her sleep.
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