Chanda’s story

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“They call themselves Muslims but what have been done by these Maute-led groups are not within the values of the Islam faith.” – Chanda, a Maranao teacher in Dansalan College

​In Iligan recently, we joined a team of Psychology teachers and community workers to conduct a Trainors’ Training on Trauma led by Dr. Michelle Joan Valbuena, chairperson of the Psychology Department of Silliman University, and by Prof. Rebecca Capulong, an expert on reconciliation and peace. The participants included teachers from Dansalan College who experienced 12 horrifying days being surrounded by Maute snipers.

Dansalan College in Marawi is a Christian school but 87 percent of its student population come from the Maranao tribe, and are mostly Islam in faith.

Maranao-speaking people who live principally in the Lanao provinces have long-defined the culture colors of these communities around this Presbyterian USA-established education institution. They are the most influential Muslim tribe in Mindanao.

Historically, the Maranaos have faced challenges of discrimination within the Philippines. The marginalization in their home communities in Mindanao was largely due to their religion and beliefs.

Starting a few years back, ISIS-influenced extremists have continuously targeted students in Marawi, a university town, and the Mautes with its campaign to “purify” the region. They were recruiting supporters to transform Marawi into an Islamic State, and the huge student population was an easy target.

Dansalan College with a campus that overlooks Marawi City was a strategic point for the war offensives of the Mautes. And this year in May, the whole country was shocked when news reports revealed the presence of an active ISIS-related movement led by the Maute brothers in Marawi.

Philippine President Duterte declared Martial Law in the entire Mindanao with one war mission: to obliterate ISIS presence in the country.

This story is about the Marawi crisis as experienced by a Maranao teacher named Chanda in Dansalan College, She shared her story during the trauma healing sessions we conducted. I have omitted some details in an attempt to better protect her identity and safety. This is Chanda’s story:

I came to this workshop as I want people to understand that not all Muslims are like the Mautes.

I am from Marawi, and I am a mother. I am one of the teachers in Dansalan College who survived the days when we were surrounded by the Mautes and government soldiers who were fighting in a real war .

Nearly all of my family, my daughters, my son, our neighbors went through the same ordeal.

In this war, I witnessed the killing of a number of Christians by the men in black who were roaming everywhere.

I am fortunate that my family and I were able to escape from the war but I know people close to me who were killed. Seven of my co-workers in school continue to be in captivity.

In Marawi, it was a regular thing to hear gunshots. I was still a child when my family would move around many times because of peace & order-related conflicts. Whenever we heard the sound of gunshots, we would actually ignore them as it was the usual occurrence.

But on May 23, 2017, we could no longer concentrate on our school work as gunshots were ringing loudly non-stop. I had to ask permission to go home early that day. When I reached home, I gathered my family members, and we moved to a part in our house that had concrete walls, and we closed all the windows and locked all the doors.

I heard my neighbors calling out to us, asking permission to occupy the back side of our house that also had concrete walls. I welcomed them in, as somehow, it also made me feel secure that there were more of us together. I would check if they were well-protected, and also invited other Christian neighbors to join them at the back.

We made sure the Christians got to learn our Ali Akbar prayer, as the men in black were asking those whom they would encounter to recite this prayer as a test of their dedication to the Islam faith. And they would kill outright those who failed to recite this measure of their Islamic identity.

I got so scared as I was witnessing Christians being killed on the spot.

I also made sure my children would have perfect articulation of the prayer.

One time, night had come and I realized that my daughter who was teaching in another school was not yet home. This made me cry, I was so afraid they would capture her, as there were women who were earlier captured and forced to be “partners” of the men in black. I was praying hard for my daughter’s protection, and continued to send her SMS instructing her on what streets to take coming home, to avoid the Maute snipers.

I was the happiest mother when finally, I heard someone knocking and my daughter’s voice calling for me to open the door. We were finally together.

Then we were informed to move to another house near the mosque as the Mautes were occupying the school which was very close to our house.

We were there in Marawi with my neighbors, both Christian and Maranao families, going through the same ordeal of fear. But we made sure that our Christian neighbors would be concealed from being among us Muslims. We shared with them our traditional clothing so they would look like us.

Then I received a text message from a relative that our area would be bombed soon. We were told to move out again, and not to stop running until we reached the bridge where government soldiers were waiting for us with rescue trucks. So we started running as fast as we could. But before we could reach the bridge, the Mautes grabbed my son! My heart started pumping so fast, and my tears were flowing. I could no longer shout for help, and my legs suddenly felt numb.

From a distance, I could see them interrogating my son. I was praying so hard, wanting to run back to help explain, but I could no longer move my legs. I was so scared. Those who were running with me had to stop and assist me but I could not move my body. They tried to place me on a bike but I could not even raise my leg.

As I continued to struggle, I felt someone embrace me and carry me into a bike. Then I realized the person who was helping me into the bike was actually my son! I touched his face and cried harder. (The Mautes released him after they saw that he was holding our Muslim rosary beads.)

We continued to run for our lives, as I regained strength knowing that my children were with me in that race to freedom. Then gunshots were directed towards us as we were approaching the bridge but the soldiers were quick enough to shield us until we were all able to climb on the rescue trucks which took us to the evacuation shelters in Iligan.

Chanda’s tears were flowing as she was recounting the story when her daughter was not yet home one evening, and when her son was grabbed as they were making their escape.

She was a portrait of a loving mother, sharing the same love with her Christian neighbors in those days of darkness, running for their lives under exchange of bullets between government forces and the extremists.

_______________________________

Author’s email: [email protected]

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