In the Philippines, deemed to be the training ground of suicide bombers, the face of terrorism stares you in the face. The innocent faces of the Badjao remind me of this lingering problem. Badjao are not native to Dagupan City but they’ve become familiar faces to commuters like me whom they daily pester. The lamentable and disturbing condition in Mindanao forced them to leave lest they’ll be the next victims of ruthless beheadings and other atrocities by the Abu Sayyaf Group. They found themselves on the City of Dagupan, bringing with them their newborn babies and a fresh hope to start anew. Total stranger as they are in their newfound haven and no one to depend on except themselves, they tried to form a community under the bridge

Since most of them are uneducated and can’t speak the vernacular, they embraced mendicancy as their form of living. They roam the streets racing with passing vehicles for the sake of few coins. They bring with them their sickly and malnourished babies literally starting them young on what later could be their source of living.

One sweltering Friday noon I chanced upon group of Badjao taking their usual round while I manned our small sari-sari store. There were three of them, two mothers and a little girl who I supposed to be the daughter of one of them. Their tattered and shabby clothes betrayed the extreme poverty they are enduring. Only a piece of worn out T-shirt wrapped on their head served as their protection from the scorching heat of the sun.

As they stopped in front of our store I instantly gave them few coins not giving them a second to recite their litany of woes, lest they’ll tarry and harass our customers. But to my horror, after clutching the few coins I handed they planted themselves on the concrete seat acting like a long lost friend waiting to be entertained. After relaxing their aching bodies, they asked for a one-liter cold soft drink but I pretended not to hear anything. At the back of my mind I cursed these ungrateful beggars for their insolence and sheer audacity to ask for more. Owing to my poor histrionic skill they didn’t buy my acting, forcing me to cave in to their request. Following their fervent request I handed them the coldest one-liter Sprite, much to their delight. And as if abusing my generosity, they asked for plastics and straw to divide the drinks among themselves. Their extreme thirstiness caused the soft drink to evaporate in just a minute. They literally followed their thirst, to borrow the famous tag line of Sprite commercial.

While they guzzle their soft drink I resisted the temptation of collecting their payment in the name of respect and good breeding. After a minute of restraint I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a word one of the ladies dug into her dirty purse, counted 20 peso coins mostly 25 cents and apologetically gave it to me. With a sweaty palm and a flustered countenance I reached for their money wondering if these were the same coins I’ve just handed out. Before they left a smile managed to escape from their sun beaten face, a sign of gratitude for my "cold" hospitality.

As I stare at the bottle of soft drink they’ve just "downed," a feeling of guilt surged into my heart. It kills me to think that when they returned home they have nothing to fill the empty stomach of their families because I accepted a huge chunk from their daily budget. Why didn’t I just give it for free? I felt inhumane that day. Not only did I pass judgment on them I almost deprived them the simplest refreshment they can afford.

I hope the government will feel the same. They should be. Instead of wasting taxpayers money by engaging in a nonsense political bickering, they should attend to the needs of the hapless victims of terrorism who just dream of a square meal and a roof over their head.

Badjao may seem far detached from the rest of the population but one thing is certain, they are also Filipinos

(The author is a 19-year-old of Binmaley Pangasinan. He is taking up Bachelor of Science in Commerce major in Entrepreneurship at the University of Luzon, Dagupan City. For comments, email scubul@mb.com.ph.)