Capiz recently experienced massive flooding in most areas. And as someone who grew up in Maayon, I’ve seen with my own eyes how vulnerable we are when disasters like this happen. Maayon is a farming town. Most families here depend on panguma as their main source of income.
My papa is a rice farmer. He’s the only one in the family nga ga baka-baka para sa amun ulomhan, bangod siya lang ang may ikasarang, kay sa balay puro kami babayi. It sad seeing papa, at 10PM, wanted to go to our rice farm, putting his boots on—and he said “E try ko salbar atun humay.”
Those words hit me hard. Ang iya bag-o lang nga garab nga humay, ginlumos sang baha. He was trying to save what was left of months of hard work. Makasulobo. As I watched him leave in the dark, carrying nothing but hope, I realized how helpless I felt. Ano gid ya ang mabulig ko? All I could do was hand him a cup of hot coffee when he returned, soaked and tired.
That’s the quiet pain many farmers face, the silent battles against forces they can’t control.
Roxas City was also flooded. A never-before disaster. Streets turned into rivers, homes into islands. Kung ang syudad gani nabudlayan, how much more sa kabukiran kag uma? Farmers are often the most affected, yet the least protected.
Capiz is an agricultural province. But ironically, our farmers remain among the most vulnerable. They plant hope in muddy soil, and when disaster strikes, daw wala man lang plano para sa ila. Relief goods may help temporarily, pero indi ina solusyon sa dugay nga problema.
We need better flood control systems, insurance for crops, and stronger support for local farmers. Indi lang ini personal nga istorya, ini istorya sang madamo nga pamilya sa Capiz. Behind every plate of rice is a farmer who gambled everything against the weather.
So, when we talk about development, I hope we also talk about the people who feed us. Ang atun mga mangunguma, like my papa, deserve more than just sympathy. They deserve action.
