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Long before the sun rises in Barangay Candawaga, Rizal in southern Palawan, the soft rustle of slippers against soil signals the start of another school day.
Children, some as young as five, begin their journey on foot through steep, muddy trails, navigating forested terrain just to reach a single bamboo classroom nestled in the mountains.
At Maruso Elementary School, where 96 children, mostly from the Indigenous Palaw’an community study, learning is not just a daily routine. It’s an act of courage.
With only four teachers, no electricity, a hand pump as a water source, and minimal infrastructure, the school operates on grit and heart.
Students squeeze together on plastic chairs, many sharing old, worn desks. The classrooms are held together by sawali walls and pawid roofing, with wide cracks letting in both sunlight and stormwater.
Yet amid the poverty, laughter still echoes. These children smile easily, finding joy in the smallest moments, a shared pencil, a kind teacher, a few minutes of story time. Their resilience is breathtaking.
Moved by this reality, I left my editorial post in Puerto Princesa and began a new chapter in Rizal, determined to make a difference.
Without an organization behind, a budget, or a blueprint, I relied solely on a calling and a vision for what the school could become. My days quickly filled with writing stories by morning and emailing non-governmental organizations, agencies, and potential supporters late into the night. The process was far from easy, with many unanswered messages, that left me hopeless sometimes.
I didn’t know if anyone would listen, but I kept going because these kids deserve a chance.
Eventually, support began flowing in, not only from organizations but also from family, friends, and strangers who believed in the cause.
Within my first week in Rizal, I secured:
- 96 pairs of slippers and 96 raincoats—one for each child
- Two sacks of 25-kilogram rice, plus P4,000 worth of instant noodles and canned sardines for daily feeding
- P15,000 worth of first aid essentials along with
- 96 notebooks, with crayons, pencils, sharpeners, plastic envelopes, and pad papers
- P7,000 specifically for the raincoat fund
- Five sheets of plywood and 140 pieces of pawid for roofing repairs
- P4,000 worth of fuel vouchers to cover local transport
- Boxes of used clothes and children’s books en route from Narra and Puerto Princesa
- Medicines from the Rizal Rural Health Unit
- Transport and logistical assistance from the Office of the Mayor of Rizal
- Vegetable seedlings
- Additional books and sacks of rice from The Book Bridge Project
- Volunteers from the Knights of Columbus at Saint Fatima Parish Church and the Alpha Kappa Rho Rizal Chapter committed to assist during the June 15 gift-giving and feeding program.
The efforts eventually also caught the attention of Palawan’s 2nd District representative, Jose Chaves Alvarez, who pledged to provide two much-needed classrooms for Maruso Elementary, a breakthrough that brought renewed hope to the community.
But the mission is far from over. I envision bigger things for the school: solar power, more chairs, a decent water source, additional classrooms, and even a hydroponic farm built right in the mountains.
The hydroponic farm is part of a long-term plan to sustain the school’s daily feeding program.
After previous support from ASA Philippines ran out, I am determined to ensure that no child learns on an empty stomach again. Through the farm, students will receive fresh vegetables year-round, with some harvests brought down to town to be sold, generating income to fund essential school needs, from chalk to books to teaching incentives.
This isn’t charity. This is stewardship. The goal is to make this mountain school self-sustaining.
Throughout my journey, I witnessed what I describe as God’s faithfulness. I began with little more than obedience to a calling, but every need has been met just in time—never early, never late, but right when needed.
If there’s one lesson this mountainside has taught me, it’s that when you move in faith, God moves in power. Though I started with nothing, I am never empty because God always fills the gaps.
The school year begins on June 16, and for the first time, the children of Maruso Elementary will return to school with slippers on their feet, notebooks in their bags, and warm food in their bellies.
I plan to volunteer-teach at least two to three days a week, giving me time and presence where it matters most. But Maruso is only the beginning.
There are more schools in the mountains that are just as forgotten. Some are here in Rizal. Others are farther, deep in Bataraza and Balabac, where Molbog children also walk hours each day just to reach a classroom. I can’t close my eyes to that.
My journey is now a wider mission, to reach not only Maruso but the countless other schools tucked in southern Palawan’s forested ridges, where education struggles to take root in the mud.
And perhaps it is only fitting that Maruso, in the Palaw’an dialect, means “maputik” — muddy.
Because from the thickest mud often grow the strongest roots. And on this mountainside, where every path is wet and worn, something beautiful is beginning to bloom.
What started as a quiet response to a cry for help has blossomed into a movement of provision and purpose. The road ahead remains long, but these children no longer walk it alone.
At the heart of it all are 96 Palaw’an dreams, tiny feet trudging up the mountain in hope, eager to learn, eager to rise, and eager to change not just their own futures, but the future of their community. – Rappler.com
Hanna Zapanta is a journalist for Palawan Daily News, covering grassroots issues, local governance, and overlooked communities across the province. Outside the newsroom, she volunteers as a mentor for indigenous children, and advocates for sustainable farming practices like hydroponics as part of a community empowerment effort.