In August 1991, a piece titled “Yamot is in the heart” became the foreword to a book called “Eruption and Exodus: Mount Pinatubo and the Aytas of Zambales.” Now, 35 years later, the writer—whose byline appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer—has revisited that essay, and the memories are still sharp.
The book, published by Lubos na Alyansa ng mga Katutubong Ayta ng Sambales, chronicles the lives of an Ayta community in Sitio Yamot, Botolan, Zambales. It was edited mainly by the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary (FMM) and launched at the Cultural Center of the Philippines, with Aytas attending in their native attire. The writer's copy still holds the signatures of Ayta leaders.
But the story begins long before the eruption. In 1982, the writer stayed with the Yamot community for a magazine feature. She remembers not bathing for three days because there was no water—the nearest spring was a hill away. The FMM sisters, who had been there only a year, lived in a grass shack. They ate with their hands and slept on bamboo floors.
Every three days, the sisters would travel an hour over rough terrain to the parish convent just to bathe and load potable water onto a decrepit World War II weapons carrier.
The sisters didn't come to Christianize. They taught the Aytas hygiene, counting, reading, and writing—starting not with ABC but with L for lota (land) and D for damowag (carabao). They taught them how to calculate the price of bananas so they wouldn't be cheated by middlemen. The writer witnessed how fair-skinned traders bought bananas at rock-bottom prices. She also saw an Ayta stand up to a government worker who said, “Sa Bagong Lipunan wala nang bahag-bahag.
Kakahiya”—to which the Ayta replied: “Bakit kakahiya ang bahag? Kahit ako nakabahag hindi naman ako lumalabag sa batas.”
When the writer returned two years later, Yamot had transformed. Huts were decorated with orchids, the surroundings were spotless, the sisters' shack had expanded, and a water pipe had been installed. She later came back to snoop on US Marines camped for “war games,” guided by an Ayta through the bushes.
Then came June 1991. Mount Pinatubo erupted after 460 years of dormancy, spewing ash and debris that darkened Asian skies for days. The Aytas and one of the Franciscan sisters—who had a science background—first alerted authorities about the volcano's unusual behavior. The sister even visited the writer's house to warn her. No one listened at first. Then boom.
The community was displaced repeatedly. They pitched tents, fled, and pitched again—moving through 10 evacuation centers before finding a final home. The writer got a call from the sisters and found them in an evacuation center, far from the volcano's reach. The Aytas later delivered sacks of pumice rocks to her garden, a gift she still has.
The writer's foreword, now revised, captures the bond she formed with the Aytas and the sisters. She left Yamot the first time with wild honey and a wild orchid; later, the Aytas sent her a bow and arrows. Today, she says the event “comes alive again” in her, a reminder of a community that survived not just a volcanic eruption but the struggle to be heard.