Diary of a Gen Z Student: Here are the life lessons the children of the Badjao tribe taught me

28th February, 2024. Trinity College student and Irish Examiner columnist Jane Cowan photographed at her home in Dunshaughlin, County Meath.Photo:Barry Cronin
As a warm yellow sun sinks below the horizon, small skiffs return home from sea. The rusted blue skiffs, battered by wind and water. Women and children stay behind, patiently awaiting the return of their husbands and fathers. At home, children play with rubber bands that neatly line each of their wrists.Ā
The heat is heavy, and clings to your skin. The humidity leaving a dampness in your clothes. They laugh loudly, hug tightly, live closely, love unapologetically. This is my experience of the Badjao tribe. A seafaring indigenous tribe that lives just above the shoreline in Davao, the Philippines.
I was sitting in a Leaving Cert English class the first time I heard about the Badjao tribe. āAhap subuā (Badjao for good morning) was the greeting my teacher opened class with that day. As it happens, my English teacher was the founder of a charity, EMBRACE Badjao.Ā
Fast forward to today, and I am volunteering with the charity, working in the community, for a second year running. I first worked with the tribe last year, where I spent two weeks teaching in the school built by EMBRACE Badjao. Following that experience, meeting the beautiful people that live here, I knew that I would want to come back again.
First walking into the compound last year was surprising. The profound poverty and deprivation that exists within the community were expected. But I knew there was something more at play here. I felt that instantly. Reverberating through these homes, travelling through the corrugated iron roofs, was music blaring from a shared speaker.Ā
The music providing a soundtrack for the joy and hope that prevails in a difficult environment. The place fizzed with vitality. I was a little uncertain, the first time I walked down the narrow concrete path that runs between the tiny homes of these wonderful people. I wondered what I would encounter.
But then I walked into the school. āAhap subu!ā Ah, that glorious phrase. The 50 children, vibrating with excitement in their tiny seats, were impatiently anticipating our arrival. Their collective enthusiasm was infectious. In that moment, I was certain that I was in the midst of something special.Ā
The children were so warm and loving. One moment that stands out to me from that first trip, happened on my second day of teaching. The volunteers were playing with some of the children after school had finished.
The day had been a bit hectic, moving from one lesson to the next. I was distracted. Until I felt a small hand examining my left elbow. I looked down to see a little girl, maybe eight years old, gently placing a purple plaster on me. She smiled up at me, revealing her dimpled cheeks. She had noticed a small graze.Ā
I find it easy to whir through life at home. Humming through my college commute, without ever really looking through the window of my train. Making so many plans, that I fail to see the life that is already happening in front of me. And this beautiful child opened my eyes to that fact. I miss the graze in need of a plaster.
That moment sums up so much of the beauty of the Badjao people. I had been welcomed into the tribe like an old friend, even though I had only known them for a matter of days. So, when I was told I could come back again this year, it was a no-brainer. Any chance to experience the warmth and generosity of the Badjao was an opportunity I couldnāt pass up.Ā
I had no idea just how much that āahap subuā would come to mean in my life, four years ago. But here I am. Writing this after spending a day singing, dancing, playing and learning with the kids. And I am finding it difficult to articulate how full that has made me feel. The experience of the Badjao tribe is something that I struggle to unravel.
The needs of the tribe are immense, but it is so far outweighed by their strength. Their resolute warmth, resilience and hope is a joy to witness. And even more so to feel. Itās a feeling that will linger, long after the trip is over.Ā
Mostly, I find myself overcome by the reality that being welcomed into the community once again, is a debt Iāll never be able to pay back. It has been a gift.
Magsukul.