Patal Elementary School: How
persistence changed a Tausug village

KARUNGDONG, Bongao, Tawi-tawi – The spotless, chalky bungalow-type building seems like an anomaly amid the rustic and grimy terrain. Its dirty-white paint appears whiter with all the russet colors of the earth, scanty huts and coconut trees surrounding it.

A single flagpole stands erect in front of the building, pinned to the ground by the scarlet concrete and the unbreakable resolve of the young children to sing the national anthem much louder than the others.

Assorted garden flowers enfold the building, daring to separate the structure from the hard earth but only managed to break the uniformity of shades by the bright colors of its blooming buds.

From the distance, the school building dominates the whole view, holding the sky, earth, and houses together like glue. Village elders here conceded that almost overnight, the school became the community’s plaza, where children converge to play and adults congregate to talk, and occasionally scold a naughty child or two.

This is Patal Elementary School, home to over 200 poor Tausug school children, sons and daughters of farmers, fishermen, carpenters and bums; where family incomes are not measured by how much but how often food is placed on the table-- bringing another dimension to the term “hand-to-mouth” existence.

The school’s development is a testimony to the Tausugs’ tenacity and persistence, especially to Siliperlma Jurakman -- one really stubborn volunteer teacher.

A modern Moses

Just five years ago, the circumstances here were very different. The primary school then stood on a small patch donated by one of Jurakman’s uncles, the under brushes stunted by the brutal sun.

It was just a crude structure of jagged timbers, cracked plywood, and torn nipa for its roof, measuring less than the average classroom. The walls were bare, exposing the children to all the elements, and so was the floor. There were no chairs, only dilapidated lumbers that served as benches.

The school’s design was understandable since it was constructed by the village’s own rudimentary hands. Jurakman rounded up the able-bodied men, for almost all of the 1,000 residents in this village are related by one degree or the other, and practically ordered them to build a school.

When the rains come, the whole class splits because of a big hole in the roof while Jurakman stood in the middle like the Biblical Moses parting the Red Sea.

“When the bare floors got muddy, the children raised their feet to avoid getting wet,” she recalls in Tausug.

Twelve-year old Silina Ipari, who was one of the pioneer students of the school, remembered the difficulties they endured then when attending classes.

“We write on our laps or on the backs of our classmates,” she said.

Ipari said their teacher had to give them scratch papers and torn textbooks for their notebooks for lack of money to buy for their own.

“But now, it’s easier to learn because we have chairs and blackboards,” she said. Ipira is a consistent honor student.

Standing a shade above 5 feet, Jurakman always has a ready smile. Out of shyness, her anxious hands subconsciously cover her mouth when she laughs.

Her healthy girth, long straight hair, and short stature give the appearance of carefree and indolent attitude, belying an immovable spirit that transformed the lives of her whole community.

Change is coming

In the early months of 2003, a representative from the Japan Grant Assistance for Grassroots Projects, along with the Philippine Business for Social Progress, conducted an ocular inspection of the area paving the way for the donation of one school building.

Several problems emerged: for one, the school then rested on a rocky terrain, which would make it difficult for the workers to dig the foundation; second, they have no site to transfer the school. They were sitting on donated land in the first place.

Jurakman mentioned their dilemma to her uncle, Salim Mutalib, who readily donated almost all of his land to the school.

He now lives in a parcel of land, about 500 meters away from the school, where he grows vegetables, corn, and raise livestock.

Speaking in a mixture of Visayan and Tausug, Mutalib explained that he never had the opportunity to finish elementary, as most of his contemporaries, because of the hard life.

“That’s why I donated this land so my grandchildren, grandnieces and nephews can go to school unlike us,” he said.

But the problem did not end there.Jurakman had to process the papers required by the organizers before the donation of the school. That means visiting government line agencies located in Bongao central, some 10 kilometers away.

Brgy. Karungdong is a small upland community, measuring about 1.7 square kilometers, mostly planted to cassava and coconut. It can be reached by motorcycle from Bongao poblacion in 30 minutes.

That means shelling out P40 daily for her transportation fare alone. By that time, her monthly allowance had ceased along with her contract with the local government unit for her teaching services.

“I go there and process the papers, most days I don’t eat lunch and walk all the way home,” she said.

To survive, she had to sell native rice cakes by daybreak then rush to the school to teach her grade 2 students afterwards. “Then I end the class early so I can go to Bongao to process the papers,” she said.

Bearing fruit

Her efforts were not wasted, however. In April of 2003, construction for a three-classroom school building began, owing to the P1,645,593.97 grant provided by the Japan Grant Assistance for Grassroots Projects.In September of that same year, the new school building was launched.

About 134 grade school pupils enrolled in grades 1, 2 and 3, all taught by one regular teacher supported by three volunteer teachers.

It came equipped with chairs, blackboards, chalks, desks, educational paraphernalia and textbooks.

A parallel program on livelihood for 50 members of the Parents-Teachers-Community Association (PTCA) was implemented last year, which is aimed at providing them additional skills for gainful employment.

The school also welcomed its new principal, Hamad Asmad, who was very familiar with Jurakman since she approached him several times for help while processing the required papers.

The changes in the community are palpable. Village elders and parents here consider the school as their own, even designating some to guard the school from vandals and the occasional wandering goats to maintain its cleanliness.

The village’s actions are not surprising because the Tausugs, despite their reputation as a fierce people, place a very high value on education, Asmad said. “The educated among us has a high place in the community.”

The school has also been harvesting awards in athletics, dominating the 100 and 500-meter dash, lambatan (sepak takraw), badminton, chess, and volleyball.

Asmad bared that the school ranks 4th in academics among the seven elementary schools in Bongao II District, including Pababag Elementary School; Tongsina Elementary School; Yusup Dais Elementary School; Mohasali Elementary School; Pag Asman Elementary School; Sanga-sanga Elementary School and Salip Angkaya Patal Elementary Group Schools.

Scholarships, too

All of the children here are PBSP scholars, which entitles them access to uniforms, raingears, and school supplies. Even with the new building and facilities, the poor situation of the community forces parents, whose family income range from P1,000 to P1,500 monthly, to put premium on food rather than education.

Textbook assistance was also provided to increase the textbook to pupil ratio to 1:3. In 2004, for example, teachers had only three textbooks to work with for the first three grade levels.

Lessons and exercises were usually written on the board while students crammed to copy them.

The principal credited Jurakman’s efforts for whatever success the school is reaping today. “She was really instrumental in the building of this school,” he said in English.

Ironically, for all her heroic efforts, Jurakman has yet to receive an item from the Department of Education in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), absorbing her into its roster of regular teachers.

“But at least now, I’m probationary and considered to be given an item,” the ever-smiling Jurakman, who is now the grade 6 adviser, said.

The teacher went back to her new classroom followed by a throng of her female students, or perhaps her nieces. One of them tugged at the edge of her slacks, her face constricted in enthusiasm. Jurakman hugged her.

Outside, children play their own version of a volleyball game, where one team has two extra men. Nobody seemed to notice, or nobody seemed to care.

A group of girls huddle in the corner, their delightful screams rising and ebbing to the trajectory of the ball. In the opposite corner are the elders animatedly conversing, their mean-looking scythes hanging by their sides as the staccato of foreign words melt in the air along with the thick cigar smoke. (PBSP)