The Maraguinot Files

The road to Baryo Singko felt like it had no end. Dust spiraled behind the bus as it groaned up the winding path. Trees thick with vines loomed on either side, shadows weaving into the cracked glass of my window. I clutched my backpack tighter, notebook pressed to my chest like a shield. I told myself I was ready for this. This was just research—just a report. But the air told me otherwise. Mainit, malagkit na ang buong katawan ko humihiyaw na gusto nang maligo. Ma alikabok sa daan at halos sira na din ang ibang semento, kaya lubak lubak din. “Miss? Miss, eto na po.” The driver called from the front. “Baryo Singko. Baba na kayo dito.” I stood, legs shaky from the five-hour trip. Outside, there wasn’t even a proper terminal—just a dirt clearing, a rusted waiting shed, and an old woman sitting quietly on a wooden bench, fanning herself. She looked up as I stepped down. “Selene?” she asked, her voice weathered but firm. “Yes po. Ikaw po si Aling Tina?” She nodded. “Oo. Ako nga. Ako ang kinausap ng propesor mo. Halika na. Malayo-layo pa ang lakad natin.” She motioned for me to follow as she began walking down a narrow trail behind the shed. I hesitated, then went after her, the wheels of my suitcase dragging through gravel and weeds. “Pasensya ka na sa lugar namin,” she said as we walked. “Tahimik, at walang masyadong signal dito. Pero ligtas ka naman dito. Malayo sa gulo.” That last part caught my attention. “Malayo sa gulo?” I asked. “May nangyayari pong gulo rito dati?” Aling Tina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she squinted at the sky. “Ang mga baryo, natural lang na may mga lihim. Hindi lahat na e kikwento.” We walked in silence after that, my recorder still tucked inside my bag. I wasn’t sure if I should take it out yet. I didn’t want to scare her off. Her house sat at the edge of a hill, overlooking a forest that looked too still. The kind of stillness that didn't feel natural. “Dito ka muna,” she said, unlocking the wooden gate. “Pumasok ka. May kwarto ka na sa taas.” Inside, the house smelled faintly of smoke and old wood. There were rosaries on the walls, family photos with faces scratched out, and an old radio that hummed static. “Magpahinga ka muna,” she said. “Mamayang hapon, sasamahan kita sa munisipyo. Doon ka puwedeng magsimula magtanong.” I set my bag down by the stairs. “Salamat po, Aling Tina. Sobrang laking tulong nito sa report ko.” She looked at me—long, hard. “Siguraduhin mong handa ka sa mga itatanong mo,” she said. “May mga tanong na hindi gustong sagutin ng taga baryo.” I nodded slowly, unsure if it was a warning or advice. Later that afternoon, the air turned heavy again. Rain threatened in the distance, but never came. Aling Tina led me to the small brgy. hall—bare concrete walls, chipped paint, one electric fan barely turning in the heat. She introduced me to Kapitan Molina, a man in his sixties with deep lines around his eyes and a smile that didn’t quite reach them. “Selene Dray,” I said, offering my hand. “Student po ako from Manila. May case study kami about isolated communities and post-conflict recovery. I was assigned to Baryo Singko.” The kapitan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Post-conflict? Naku, hija. Matagal nang tapos ang gulo rito. Tahimik na kami ngayon.” “But I heard—” I paused. “I mean, I read reports. About paramilitary presence in this area decades ago. Disappearances, arson cases... The Maraguinot Clan—” His smile vanished. “Ah,” he said quietly. “Yan ang gusto mong malaman?” I nodded, my throat dry. “Yes po. Part of the reason I’m here is to collect oral histories. Survivor accounts. Anything connected to the past violence.” Kapitan Molina leaned forward. “Maraming taon na ang lumipas. Maraming pamilya na ang lumipat sa ibang lugar para makapag simula ulit. Hindi lahat ng tao dito sa baryo gustong pag usapan ang sa mga nangyari noon.” “But someone must remember,” I insisted. He looked past me, toward the window, as if checking if anyone was listening. “Talk to the old ones,” he said. “But don’t push. At kung may marinig kang hindi mo inaasahan, wag mong ipagsabi agad. This place has... long memories.” Back at the house that night, the power flickered. I sat in my borrowed room, listening to the hum of crickets outside and the occasional rustle in the trees. I flipped through my notebook, rereading the names I’d researched before the trip—known Maraguinot associates, locations of past killings, unanswered disappearances. I hadn’t told Aling Tina everything. I didn’t tell her that I had already spoken to Arturo Maraguinot in Manila Prison. I didn’t tell her that the last thing he said was, “Hanapin mo ang baryo. At malalaman mo at makikilala mo ang mga gusto mong e tanong saken.” And now I am here. . In the very place where truth was buried. In the village that silence protected. I turned off the light. But even in the dark, I felt it. That same heaviness from the bus. That same weight from Arturo’s words. They remember, Selene. Walang sekretong hindi na bubunyag. I was scribbling notes in my journal when I heard the wooden door creak open downstairs. Voices followed—low, hushed. A man’s and Aling Tina’s. “May bisita ako ngayon, anak. Yung estudyanteng sinasabi ko. 'Wag kang bastos.” “Hindi naman ako bastos, Ma,” came the reply, calm but clipped. "Na e kwento mo na yan sa akin nakaraang araw.", I held my breath, pressing my back against the wall beside the window. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—at least, not intentionally. But their voices carried through the thin walls of the old house. “research niya ‘to. Hayaan mo siyang magtanong kung gusto niya. Sagutin mo lang nang maayos kung may e tatanong.” “Tingnan natin kung hanggang saan siya tatagal.” ma angas niyang sambit. A chair scraped against the floor, followed by silence. A few moments later, a gentle knock came at my door. I stood and opened it slowly. Standing there was a man in his mid-twenties, wearing a faded gray shirt, jeans with paint stains, and eyes that looked like they belonged to someone who'd seen more than his age suggested.. Pa lagay ko nasa 6ft ang tangkad nito. “Selene, tama?” he asked, voice even. “Yes,” I said, offering a small smile. “Ikaw_. " He nodded, arms crossed. “Mateo. Just call me Matt.” “Nice to meet you, Matt.” He didn’t smile back. “I heard you’re doing research. Be careful what you dig up around here. Some people already buried their past for a reason.” There it was again—that warning, wrapped in calm voices and casual words. “I’m not here to stir trouble,” I replied softly. “Just... trying to understand the truth.. And also it's my project and research bago ako gumraduate.” Matt’s jaw tightened. “Truth is tricky around here. Depends who you’re asking. Depends who’s listening.” presko niyang sambit. Before I could reply, Aling Tina called from downstairs. “Matt! Huwag mo ngang takutin 'yang bata!” He stepped back, just enough for me to pass. “Don’t stay out too late around the woods. You’ll get lost. Or worse, find something.” sabay ngisi nito. Then he walked away. I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, heart thudding. This wasn’t just another interview. This wasn’t just a case study anymore. Something was very wrong with this village. And I had just stepped into its heart. Kung makapagsalita naman akala mo aangkinin ko yung baryo nila. E sasarado ko na sana ang pinto nang marinig ko si Aling Tina. “Bumaba na kayo, at mag hapunan nagluto ako ng adobo.”