Project HATS: Marawi kids, parents take healing steps
Children from Marawi City are made to undergo counseling and therapy upon transferring to Manila schools.—Photo by Rodel Sampang
Annie Tamam recalled how she and her three young children hid under their bed whenever gunshots interrupted the long silences in their Marawi City neighborhood in the last week of May.
They coped this way for three consecutive days as the city — now a battleground between government troops and Islamic State-affiliated terrorists — crumbled under street gunfire and aerial bombardment.
By the time the Tamams mustered the courage to leave, their part of the city had been reduced to a ghost town, the homes standing empty and silent, the once-busy roads showing no signs of life but for the stirrings of famished, abandoned dogs.
With only a few clothes, the kids’ school materials, and food provisions hurriedly packed that Annie didn’t realize they were already spoiled, they were forced to walk for hours as they had no money for transport, which by then had grown scarce.
They came across checkpoints set up by masked gunmen who, looking for fresh “recruits,” spotted Annie’s 10-year-old son. To save her boy, she had to lie by saying her husband had stayed behind in Marawi, guarding their home. In truth, the 48-year-old Tamam became a widow 10 years ago.
“My boy was shaking in fear that day. I thank Allah for keeping all of us safe,” she said.
These are the harrowing stories Annie and several other families brought with them as they escaped from Marawi and found refuge at the Islamic Center in Quiapo, Manila.
The long journey for the Tamams included staying for several days at evacuation centers in Iligan City and Saguiaran, Lanao del Sur, and a three-day boat ride from Cagayan de Oro.
Fortunately for Annie, she has a brother living in Quiapo, who took her and the children in when they arrived on June 28.
In an interview with the Inquirer last week, Annie said she really made sure they wouldn’t remain “bakwit”—or evacuees—for long because “education is important for my children.”
The local government of Manila has taken note of the arrival of displaced Marawi families in the city and, like Tamam, recognized that getting their children back in school can be a first step in their recovery from a traumatic experience.
School transferees
According to Dr. Wilfredo Cabral, superintendent of the Division of City Schools-Manila, 260 children from Marawi have since been enrolled in elementary and high schools across the city.
Children like them normally do not exhibit the usual signs of trauma right away, thus the need to give them “psychological first aid,” Cabral said. “We need to hear their stories, we need to let them express their minds and emotions, so we could help them respond to their new environment.”
With the help of guidance counselors, trauma therapists, social workers and volunteer teachers, the division launched Project HATS (Healing After Trauma Services), a treatment program specially intended for displaced children from Marawi.
The program, which started in July 13, has since catered to 170 children who had been caught in the crossfire or had witnessed violence. Its 11 modules are spread across a three-day schedule, including counseling, storytelling and art activities.
Among the beneficiaries are two of Tamam’s children who are now enrolled at Geronimo Santiago Elementary School in San Miguel, one in Grade 4 while the other in Grade 5.
Another child from Marawi, 4-year-old Jasmin, has been admitted in kindergarten at the same school.
Jasmin may be too young to understand the reasons why her family had to leave, but she recalled the sounds (“there were gunshots”) and sights (“mother and father cried)” that prompted their departure. She also remembered seeing “big grey kites” in the sky (warplanes).
When the Inquirer saw her, Jasmin was all smiles in her school uniform — which the grownups around her took as a sign that she’ll be fine.
The night ‘Isis’ came
But the path to healing may be longer and different for Sameera, a sixth grader, whose memories of the conflict were so stark that she would flinch at the mere mention of the words “putok (gunshot)” and “Isis.”
Sameera said she, her mother, and her younger brother decided to evacuate on the first night they heard gunfire in the streets. “We were roused from sleep but we couldn’t just leave. We wanted to hide. We were so terrified.”
Her 51-year-old mother rushed to pack some clothes and they were soon out of the house. “All I could think of was that Isis would come for us any minute and shoot us. That we should move quietly because they might hear us,” she said.
Before entering the Project HATS program, Sameera would suffer anxiety attacks whenever reminded of that night. But thanks to art therapy, for example, she managed to crawl out of the fear and reach back into more reassuring visions of home: the green fields where she played with friends, their old campus. Drawing them on paper made her feel connected again, not alone, despite the sudden, painful relocation to Manila.
“I love Marawi and I want to go back there when there are no more gunshots, because that’s where I grew up. But I have learned to love Manila, too. Here, at least we are safe,” she said.
Cases like Sameera’s demonstrate the healing power of child counseling, Cabrera said, adding that the program had so far achieved the city government’s goal for the children.
“We were able to draw from their experiences and how they see them in reality. Their output—the drawings and sketches—shows a new perspective so far,” he said.
According to their teachers, the children are now happier and more eager to tell stories. It is hoped that when they grow up, their painful tales would only be part of a distant memory.
Still, Project HATS’ most crucial partner may be the children’s parents themselves. They include determined mothers like Annie Tamam, who has been regularly joining her children in their counseling and therapy sessions.
“I didn’t know exactly when I stopped crying,” she said. “I never thought I’d come to see the day that Marawi—our home—would be destroyed like this. It’s painful for me and my children. And now there’s martial law in Mindanao, and I don’t know how that could guarantee our safety there. We hope this will all end soon.”
