The most common crop were carrots, but cabbage, potatoes, and corn are also grown.  The main problem faced by the farmers was the lack of transport infrastructure and the reliance of middle-men to sell the produce. While I was there the carrots were being harvested and sold for a measly P5 (approx $0.10USD) a kilo.  At the beginning of the harvest season the carrots were going for around P20-30/kg, but then with the rush to harvest, the market was flooded and within days the price dropped. 
 
At first glace most of the land seemed covered in crops, on closer inspection you'd see that a lot of the land lay barren.  You see, some of the people didn't have the start up capital to farm their land, or they preferred to bypass the uncertainty and either work for wealthier individuals, or for the large asparagus agri-corp on the mountain.  A lot of these people (especially those in the former group) were the poorest of the poor in the region.  Local landowners paid as low as P50-P70 a day ($1-1.40 USD) to adults and even less to children.  The main draw came from a salary paid daily. 

This was the setting of Cartwheel Foundation’s education project. 

On my second day I saw the pre-school graduation ceremony for the young graduates of the Sta. Teresita and Sitio Abel schools. As Lolits Batistil, a teacher and mother of a Cartwheel scholar, explains, “Before the pre-school, the children went straight to elementary and they didn’t know how to write—they didn’t even know how to hold pencils!” That seemed like a faraway time to this observer. 

On that day all the kids looked great, the graduates wore white togas and their not yet graduated classmates cheering them on wore their Tala-andig inspired school uniforms. Their smiles radiated the joy of having accomplished something, and I’m sure that they all not only knew how to hold a pencil, they knew how to use one! 

This enthusiasm must be contagious too, because I saw it in the eyes of parents that enrolled in Cartwheel’s adult education classes. Illiteracy is a problem within the adult farmer population, and we all know how difficult it would be to encourage the young to learn when they see that their parents don’t put stock in it. But the opposite is also true, when I went to these classes held inside wood and bamboo homes in the middle of farm fields, I saw parents trying so valiantly hard, and their children (especially their young, pre-pre-school aged kids) reflected that passion and often answered out of turn! 

This joy is amazing when you see it against the backdrop of the region’s problems of poverty, malnutrition, commercialization, and occasional armed insurgency. Moreover, there’s the battle to protect their culture from the encroachment of the dominant culture just outside the door. Despite it all, or perhaps because of it, you see the burning desire to learn, the desire to stand tall, at an equal footing with their fellow Filipinos. 

You can see this pride in the college scholars that Cartwheel sponsors. 

“Before, when there were only a few [in Miarayon] with an education they [people from neighboring towns and cities] would taunt us. They would call us ‘ignorant,’” says Luell “Totong” Danio, a Cartwheel scholar studying in Malaybalay. “Our ways our different [from the outside culture],” he explains, “but we should respect each other’s ways. No one has a ‘better’ way.” 

When I asked him about his future he said, “I want to work here someday. I just want to help my community in whatever way I can.”

Currently, there are a twenty Miarayon youths attending college in Malaybalay and Cagayan de Oro with Cartwheel’s help.  Hopefully this influx of Tala-andig youth with college degrees will help to create a critical mass of educated leadership, a must if there are to be significant improvements and development in the community.  Of the scholars that have thus far graduated, they have all come back to work as teachers and continue on a legacy of learning.

When I finally left Miarayon I thought warmly about the people I had met there, their faith in themselves and in their community showed in the way they struggle through their problems with pride and dignity. I remembered the smiling faces of the children running up and asking for me to take a picture. I was gladdened to have shared time with them in their naturally beautiful ancestral land. And, for some reason, I didn’t mind too much that this time the motorcycle had four passengers plus luggage motoring full tilt down the rocky road.

Alex Felipe was born in Manila in 1975, and migrated to Canada in 1977 with his family.  Now a Canadian citizen, he is volunteering his time to Cartwheel and specializes in un-posed, documentary style photos.  His passion for photography goes hand in hand with his passion for travel.  Alex has lived and worked in North America, Europe, South America, and Asia.