Cesar was our family driver, and had been with us for many years so that he was treated like family. He came to us as a young man from Leyte, a province in the Visayas. Sometime later, he brought in his cousin, Aling, to help my mother keep house and cook. Ima insisted that Aling use only the recipes that she had taught her when she first came. She was picky about eating only Kapampangan dishes, not the ones Aling grew up with in Leyte.
Two soldiers arrived at the camp a short time later, escorting the pregnant young woman into the conference room. She looked tired as she waddled into the room. Before we were introduced, I was instructed by another guard to accompany him to the lobby. Arriving there, I found Cesar, who then handed me a small suitcase and a basket of food. Soon, other family members appeared, all bringing provisions. This would become a daily ritual. Cesar would come twice daily, arriving just before lunch, and then he would come again in the late afternoon, delivering dinner and breakfast for the next morning.
Later, when everyone’s food had been delivered, it was laid out on the conference table. The ones who were there earlier invited all the others to join in and to share their meals. We all sat down to eat. I picked at the food on my plate.
“What’s the matter? Not hungry?” one of the men asked me.
“No, not really,” I said. “Please go ahead. Take what you want.” He took the bowl of food I offered and started passing it around the table. I handed him the other bowls Cesar had brought. He passed those around too. All the men ate hungrily and seemed to be having a good time. How could they even eat?
We sat in companionable silence, and then, after a few minutes, people began chatting. Eating was mostly a forgettable experience that first night, while talking seemed like a perfunctory attempt at being polite.