Reflections of a Marawian

The real story behind the Marawi crisis is yet to unleash. Untold stories of baleful frustrations from people who lost homes and loved ones, from those whose ambitions were set-aside because of forced marriages or heightened socio-economic needs, and from those who do not see the light at the end of this dreadful tunnel, are yet to be uncovered and be remedied, otherwise, the worst is yet to come.

I am a Marawian and a native of Dansalan. Our Dansalan is the very ground where the airstrikes were thrown like omnivores in the city that have eaten everything that were painstakingly worked for by our families and ancestors. Our Marawi is now a zombie in its decaying state with no heartbeat and unemotional.

Will I be as devastated as my Marawi? Can I continue being silent as my people cry for justice? These are just among the reverberating questions that shout over and over my painful head and aching heart. I must write something—something that must express the truth amidst all these frustrations so I can be free.

I may be one of the 300,000 internally displaced persons of the Marawi crisis but I have this voice inside me that can at least be a medium to share what is within us.

For a Marawian like me, the siege is a nightmare for all of us. Most of the men, if not all, who planned the attack in my city are not natives of Marawi. The city is just a place of convergence among Lanao people from the surrounding municipalities. Some of these terrorists may have their houses within the city but were bought or leased from Marawi landowners. The real Marawianshonor justice and value Islam like a heartbeat.

I am sad and I worry so much about the untold stories of my co-IDPs. A new group of disgruntled individuals may rise out of these ashes brought to us by the shattered Marawi. These ruins may become their motivation in creating havoc after the other because of unfulfilled expectations from those who would have been there when we needed comfort.

Aside from the war-torn Marawi, our IDPs grow so restless in the evacuation centers.There, you will see the makeshift abodes, the rotten rice in every family’s invisible dining table, the uncomfortable beds that allow only a few of your family to share, the heat and smell of air coming from the latrines and garbage bins just beside your space. All these break my heart.

If only our voices will be heard and will reach the listening ears, our real rehabilitation is yet to be envisioned. The current help from the government is not enough and our non-government assistance is getting depleted each day.

Yes, we are Muslims who are taught to persevere all tests from the Almighty. But, are we going to be quiet so others will not be prickedor shall we be obtrusively loud to find solutions to this plight and be united in rising from these ashes? I choose to be free and tell the truth. Before I end this article, let me share this poem to all the restless hearts reading this article: Kailanman, Ikawangaking Marawi Kaila n man, hindi ako nags is in aako’ y ga ling sai yo, Kailanman, hindikokinahiya o ikakahiya, Kaila n man, hindi ako na gs isis inaika wang akin, Kaila n man, hindi ak on ang hi hi na yang… Ika wan gs yang na g big ayn gk a rang alan, Ika wan gs yang na gum pi sang akin gakda, Ika wang na g si lb ingi laws am a di limn aka hap on, Ika wang na g big ayng du non gm ula sam aykap al… Ma raw ian di yong pan gal anna hi nus ga han, Marawi and iyonggi tin gnasy ana mangninak aw, Ma raw iangiyongi lawn an ag li wan ag, Ma raw iangi yong says a yang na g big ayngp ag-as a… Ikawangaming Marawi, Kaila nm an, hindi kit at at ali ku ran.