­­­Compressor divers

 Compressor divers use plastic hoses that have air pumped through by a gasoline engine using a bottle of Sprite - and there you have it- breathable air- perfect for diving up to 50 meters deep. Regulating the air is a matter of biting on the hose. Here, the Filipino ingenuity really shines through. The fins are usually made out of plywood with interior tires holding the feet. Flashlights are attached to the head with a children’s bicycle tire. If you need more light, you can always add one or more flashlights.

I cannot describe how I respect these men. They risk their lives daily. They usually go down risky depths, with strong currents, dangerous water life and not to mention the drop in temperature of the water the deeper they go with no wet suits to protect them, only second hand (first world) clothing. Just a few weeks ago there were six guys paralyzed in a week from the waste down as a result of this.

I could tell thousand stories of these men.

The old fishermen belief that women do not belong on the sea - especially not on fishing boats and absolutely not when it is that time of the month. I have been asking to come along the fishing boats since 2003. And only in 2010 did I finally have the chance.

It seems like the younger generation are slowly letting go of these ideas. On this particular issue, I am relieved, I think a woman does no harm by being on the boat, though I have to admit that you need to be physically strong to be able to handle this type of work.

I finally had the chance to come along fishing with Roque (captain and owner of the banka), Panoy and AL-al. The funny thing I have learned about fishers is the sense of time. When you ask a fisherman what time to meet, or what time to leave, he talks about the position of the moon or sun, which I always get wrong. It is either that I am too early, or I get left behind.

So this particular day, the first time I came along on a compressor boat, I was on the shore at 3am and we left at 6am. It was stormy and the waves were quite high. The instant we left, our faces were wet, and in moments we were soaking. The men seemed worried about me, first I figured because they do not want to be responsible for me, but later I realized it was because I have the biggest uncontrollable smile on my face which is not quite fitting to the situation.

I too was worried for a moment. The night before, we had agreed that I could come along leaving me to wonder why the weather had turned sour all of a sudden.

Half-way there (I have no sense of time) the pans and plastic containers with food were pulled out. The engine was screaming, hardly was word exchanged while we ate. Roque ate while steering, Al-al at the back where the engine fumes blast, and Panoy sat on the compressor hoses. Perfectly timed, we finished our meal and we stopped. Cigarettes were lit, and the gear was put on. Half finished cigarettes flicked in the water- plomp- and gone they were. Hold on. Wasn’t I supposed to be filming this?

That day, the compressor divers decided to dive close to Tanguigue Island, a tiny island kilometers away from Bantayan, where my grandfather was a lighthouse watcher for about 20 years.