Hajo

Upon finishing my second year in the polytechnic, I secured an internship in photography with a prestigious magazine. It was here that I received the opportunity of a lifetime. I was offered a chance to travel to the Philippines for a week together with a photojournalist at the magazine, Ray Gomez.

We were going to Mindanao Island located in Southern Philippines. The Abu Sayaf rebels had destroyed most of the villages there, causing grief and despair. The rebels had since been captured by the Philippine military but the conditions in the villages were terrible and the locals were still awaiting humanitarian aid.

Our lodgings were with Marcus, who was an old friend of Ray’s. He had been living in the village of Dastar for a year, trying to help the villagers. When we first arrived, the locals regarded us rather warily. As the days wore on, their friendliness overcame their cautiousness. I was amazed by the optimistic attitude many of them had, especially after what they had been through. However, there was one particular boy who grabbed my attention.

His name was Hajo and he was only nine years old. . He was a skinny, slightly undernourished boy. He was my constant companion throughout my stay in Dastar. Ray called him my shadow, as he would follow me wherever I went. We became firm friends and even though we could only manage to communicate with the little English Hajo knew, we still managed to understand each other perfectly.

Hajo’s father and sister had perished in the conflict with the Abu Sayaf rebels. My heart went out to the little boy and his mother, who were the only surviving members of their family. I was amazed by the joy that shone in his eyes. Hajo was always so full of life.

The end of the trip was nearing. I wanted to photograph a beautiful waterfall that Hajo had told me about before I left. It was located half an hour away from the village but Hajo was reluctant to show me where it was. There were rumours circulating that some of the Abu Sayaf rebels who had managed to escape were hiding in the area. I was so intent on photographing the waterfalls that I was willing to go alone. Hajo, who had taken to protecting me, reluctantly followed me.

It was still dark when we left, as I wanted to photograph the sunrise too, yet the humidity was stifling. My t-shirt was sticking to me and I tried unsuccessfully to wipe the perspiration of my face. Hajo was trying to teach me a Tagalog song as we walked along a dirt road, kicking up clouds of sand. It felt nice, being there with Hajo. I tried not to think of my impending departure and how I would have to leave him.

It was then that we heard the sound of jeep’s engine coming towards us. I could not make out the occupants of the jeep and hoped that it was just the police patrolling. Unfortunately, as the jeep drew nearer, I recognized the uniform of the Abu Sayaf rebels. Hajo must have recognized the same thing, as he reached out and gripped my hand.

The voices of the obviously drunk men could be heard from where we were standing. My stomach clenched in fear, but I squeezed Hajo’s hand in reassurance. Why, oh why did I have to be so stubborn? I never wanted to put Hajo in danger. We continued walking, our gazes fixed on the ground beneath our feet, praying that the jeep would pass us.

My heart plummeted when I heard the engine die. The sound of the jeep’s door opening and then slamming shut was amplified by the silence of the morning. We tried to walk faster only to be stopped by the rebels. I thought it was wise not to run, as the men would only catch us. One of them spoke to Hajo, dismissing me as a foreigner. My stomach churned, as I smelt the alcohol in his breath. I did not understand what the man was saying but Hajo tightened his grip on my hand.

Hajo was trembling like a leaf and his face had paled. It was only when I saw the man gesturing for Hajo to go to him that I understood his fear. I pulled Hajo to my side, unwilling to let him go. We were however pulled apart, and Hajo was dragged over to the men. My hands had gone clammy and I had a sneaking suspicion what was about to take place.
Hajo looked at the men, fear and panic evident in his eyes. His gaze shot to mine, seeking help. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized that there was no way I could possibly help him. Tears rolled down his face as he accepted his fate. He shouldn’t have been crying, waiting to die. He was only nine years old; he should have been out playing with his friends and having fun.

Just before the bullet entered his head, Hajo being the wonderful boy that he was, smiled. The image has stayed and will always remain in my memory forever. The men dropped Hajo to the ground and drove off. I was oblivious to everything except Hajo. I dropped down to where he lay and closed his eyes, which were staring unseeingly. Cradling his young body, I cried.

It was some time later when I became aware of my surroundings. It was already late morning by then. Slowly, under the hot sun, I made my way back to the village carrying Hajo. Everyone stared as if they could not believe what they saw. With some difficulty, I explained what had happened to Marcus. I could not look Hajo’s mother in the eye. She had just lost her only child due to my stubbornness.

The next day, before I returned to Singapore, I attended Hajo’s funeral. I felt so guilty, staring at the face of the young boy whose life had been taken away unexpectedly. On the flight back to Singapore, I could not stop crying. I cried for Hajo, the boy I would never see again and for his mother, who was now alone.

Over the next few months, I was overcome with depression. I could not concentrate on my studies and would just sleep when I wasn’t in school. It was when I was cleaning my room when I discovered the rolls of film of the pictures I had taken in the Philippines. I had yet to develop them.

Using the darkroom in my school, I developed the film. I looked down at the container, where the very first picture was slowly appearing. Hajo was smiling up at me. I had taken this picture the day before he died. It was that day, in the darkroom, when I finally accepted his death.

I smiled back at him.