MANILA, Philippines (AP) — A Filipino villager plans to be nailed to a wooden cross for the 35th time to reenact Jesus Christ’s suffering in a brutal Good Friday tradition he said he would devote to pray for peace in Ukraine, Gaza and the disputed South China Sea.
Ruben Enaje, a 63-year-old carpenter and sign painter, said he and seven other villagers have registered for the real-life crucifixions, which have become an annual religious spectacle that draws hundreds of tourists in three rural communities in Pampanga province north of Manila.
The gory ritual resumed last year after a three-year pause due to the coronavirus pandemic. It has turned Enaje into a village celebrity for his role as the “Christ” in the Lenten reenactment of the Way of the Cross.
Ahead of the crucifixions, Enaje told The Associated Press by telephone Thursday night that he has considered ending his annual religious penitence due to his age but said he could not turn down requests from villagers for him to pray for sick relatives and all other kinds of maladies.
The need for prayers has also deepened in an alarming period of wars and conflicts worldwide, he said.
“If these wars worsen and spread, more people, especially the young and old, would be affected. These are innocent people who have totally nothing to do with these wars,” Enaje said.
Despite the distance, the wars in Ukraine and Gaza have helped send the prices of oil, gas and food soaring elsewhere, including in the Philippines, making it harder for poor people to stretch their meagre income, he said.
Closer to home, the escalating territorial dispute between China and the Philippines in the South China Sea has also sparked worries because it’s obviously a lopsided conflict, Enaje said. “China has many big ships. Can you imagine what they could do?” he asked.
“This is why I always pray for peace in the world,” he said and added he would also seek relief for people in southern Philippine provinces, which have been hit recently by flooding and earthquakes.
In the 1980s, Enaje survived nearly unscathed when he accidentally fell from a three-story building, prompting him to undergo the crucifixion as thanksgiving for what he considered a miracle. He extended the ritual after loved ones recovered from serious illnesses, one after another, and he landed more carpentry and sign-painting job contracts.
During the annual crucifixions on a dusty hill in Enaje’s village of San Pedro Cutud in Pampanga and two other nearby communities, he and other religious devotees, wearing thorny crowns of twigs, carry heavy wooden crosses on their backs for more than a kilometer (more than half a mile) often in the scorching summer heat. Village actors dressed as Roman centurions later hammer 4-inch (10-centimeter) stainless steel nails through their palms and feet, then set them aloft on wooden crosses under the sun for about 10 minutes as a large crowd prays and snaps pictures.
Other penitents walk barefoot through village streets and beat their bare backs with sharp bamboo sticks and pieces of wood. Some participants in the past opened cuts in the penitents’ backs using broken glass to ensure the ritual was sufficiently bloody.
Many of the mostly impoverished penitents undergo the ritual to atone for their sins, pray for the sick or for a better life, and give thanks for miracles.
The gruesome spectacle reflects the Philippines’ unique brand of Catholicism, which merges church traditions with folk superstitions.
Church leaders in the Philippines, the largest Catholic nation in Asia, have frowned on the crucifixions and self-flagellations. Filipinos can show their faith and religious devotion, they say, without hurting themselves and by doing charity work instead, such as donating blood, but the tradition has lasted for decades.
Increase in migrants trying to cross U.S.-Mexico border in states farther West – CBS News
Watch CBS News
There’s been a dramatic shift in routes of migrants trying to cross the U.S.-Mexico border, with a big drop in Texas and an increase in states farther West like Arizona and California.
Be the first to know
Get browser notifications for breaking news, live events, and exclusive reporting.
With their large, padded feet, elephants can be remarkably quiet. It’s our third evening of waiting to see these giants cross a dust road. Our guide, Mojita, assures us they’re very close. “They’re collecting just there, in the bush,” he whispers.
We’ve been told: “It’s elephant central up there, you’ll see plenty of them.” But so far there has been no sign of the actual animals, other than large piles of dung and prints in the sand.
“They’re just there,” Mojita whispers again.
I can hear and see nothing, other than trees and bushes.
We are at the top of the Okavango Delta in northern Botswana, standing in the middle of an “elephant corridor” – one of the regular routes taken by elephants in their daily commute between their feeding grounds on one side and water on the other.
“There!” Mojita points. And, yes, now I can hear the occasional low rumbling sounds – as I spot parts of a giant head peering at us through the bushes. “They can smell us,” Mojita explains. “They’re wary, they’re going around [us].”
Then whoosh! About 100m away, dozens of elephants of all sizes burst from cover and dash across the road, into the bush on the other side. For the next few minutes, a whole herd crosses, some flapping their ears and trumpeting. They are warning each other and us to keep away, Mojita explains.
“You can tell with the speed that they move as they go to the river, that they [don’t want] to be disturbed,” says Mojita in hushed tones. “They’re thirsty and just need to go and drink some water… It can be very dangerous. With the speed they’re going, they don’t even see what’s going on, they just go straight.”
Over the next quarter of an hour about 150 elephants cross the road. The last two are slower-moving, a mother with her one-week-old baby. It is exhilarating to see them in the wild like this and to experience them so close up. Thankfully, as Mojita explains, their keen sense of smell keeps them a safe distance from us.
Mojita (full name Ohitiseng Mosupi) works for Ecoexist Trust
Every year at least one person is killed by elephants in this area. Warning signs by the roadside mark out the elephant corridors, so the locals know to keep clear of their usual paths. Part of a government initiative, the signs were put up with help from Mojita’s employer, the Ecoexist Trust.
Ecoexist works in 14 villages along a 75 mile (120km) stretch of road, in the so-called Okavango Panhandle. This long, thin stretch of land and water opens into the world’s largest inland delta, a green jewel in the Kalahari Desert. The trust’s mission is to make elephants an asset, rather than a threat, for local people.
Okavango Delta
A hundred years ago, about 10 million elephants roamed the continent. Poaching, habitat loss and disease mean there are now fewer than half a million left in Africa – and roughly a third of them are in Botswana.
Experts say the elephant population in the country is increasing at a rate of 6% a year – about as fast as it can biologically grow.
As a result, the Botswanan government controversially lifted the ban on elephant hunting in 2019. It argues that it provides a good source of income for the local community – and says trophy hunting is licensed and strictly controlled.
In this area, near the village of Seronga, elephants outnumber people. But that can pose problems, especially for local subsistence farmers. A crop raid by elephants can destroy a family’s annual food supply in just one night.
There are more elephants than people in the area near Seronga
Farmers take simple measures to keep the elephants out, hanging strings of tin cans, plastic bottles, even plastic bags from wires around their fields. More recently, chilli “fences” (chilli-infused cloths hanging from a metal wire) and “beehive fences” have been introduced. Elephants really do not like buzzing bees.
“You need a whole range of techniques,” Mojita explains. “An elephant can come and observe the tin-can fence and see if there is any movement or if it’s harmful… It will learn and, at one point, it will end up breaking through and coming in.”
Listen on BBC Sounds
Listen on BBC Sounds
That’s what happened to Dimbo Kagidizoro. He greets us dressed in his best suit and shoes and shows us around his land. Ten people depend on the crops he grows. One night last month he was woken by the sound of elephants. “I banged my drum to scare them away,” Dimbo says. “I banged and banged and banged. Then I heard a crash.”
Once the elephants had gone, he went out and discovered the damage. They had pulled down and destroyed his prized and most expensive possession: a large, round, green plastic water tank.
About 2m (6.5ft) across, the tank held 5,000 litres of water, hoisted up on some stilts under a tree. Dimbo used it to irrigate his vegetable plot. Now it lies in pieces on the ground. He might get some minimal compensation from the government, but it won’t pay for a new tank.
Dimbo Kagidizoro’s prized water tank was destroyed by elephants
“You can shoot elephants if you catch them on your land,” Dimbo says. He may have suffered recently, but he says he understands that elephants do bring benefits to the local area, because they attract tourists, which creates local jobs. In turn, that provides a market for any surplus vegetables he grows.
A few miles down the road, we meet Bycheni Kapande who lives in one of the villages where Ecoexist works. She sings and dances as part of a group called Living with Elephants, which performs traditional songs for tourists. The day after our visit, a group was to be flown in by helicopter to be entertained by Bycheni and other villagers. “My children can put on uniforms to go to school, and I have money to buy food, so elephants have brought good things,” she says. “The community is improving.”
But bringing up children around such large creatures can also be daunting. To allay the fears of parents, Ecoexist has found backing for a minibus service, the Elephant Express, which ferries children to school safely across those elephant corridors.
Ecoexist set up a bus service to take children to school
The trust also pays local farmers a premium price for their millet if they promise to protect elephants.
The millet is used in a craft brewery set up in the town of Maun, making beer for thirsty tourists.
All this is part of what’s known as the “elephant economy” – local people earning money from elephants and growing to appreciate these large, sometimes destructive, mammals.
Elephant corridors
On the dust road, Mojita scans the trees and bushes with binoculars, looking out for more elephants. A couple of young women walk past. With population growth on both sides – human and elephant – keeping the peace could become increasingly difficult, he admits.
“If we don’t mitigate the situation now, we may end up with a situation of elephants killing people and people killing elephants… because they’ll be fighting for limited resources.”
There are other potential dangers on the horizon.
Willemien le Roux has lived on the banks of a lagoon on the western shores of the delta for more than 30 years.
Willemien le Roux
“The river has changed,” Willemien says. “It used to be the most clear stream… you could see the hippo tracks on the bottom. These days the water remains murky… the fish numbers seem to decline, the floods come at a different time and it doesn’t reach the peaks it used to.”
Hydrologists worry that major dam and irrigation projects upriver in Angola could seriously impact the flow of water to the delta. That would damage this precious ecosystem, including the people and elephants that depend upon it.
For now, though, the immediate challenge is to keep the peace between people and elephants. So far, at least in the Seronga area, the signs are positive.
Elephant taking a bath in the wetlands of the Okavango Delta
“Co-existence is something we want to see happening,” says Mojita. “Because this place is for elephants and humans as well… We need to educate people because it’s easier to live with [elephants] if you understand [them]. We need to start now and build for the future.”
While Texas Gov. Greg Abbott places buoys in the Rio Grande to make it harder for migrants to cross into his state, a growing number of migrants have braved record-breaking heat and dangerous terrain to cross into Arizona.
Long considered the most dangerous area to cross the U.S.-Mexico border, the Tucson sector is now also its busiest. On average, more than 1,300 migrants cross daily despite temperatures that regularly top 100 degrees, according to Customs and Border Protection data obtained by NBC News.
“This is a very rough, rough entrance into the United States,” said Jim Chilton, a rancher in Arivaca, Arizona, who regularly sees migrants cross his 50,000 acres of land.
“It’s gotten worse,” he said, noting a seemingly undeterred migrant population traversing his ranch.
Most of the migrants trying to cross Chilton’s property are single adult men trying to evade detection by Border Patrol. But in other areas, like around Nogales, families with young children are turning themselves in to agents to seek asylum.
NBC News recently traveled with Border Patrol agents in Nogales as they apprehended a group of 20 women and children who had crossed the border early in the morning, when the air was still cool.
A group of migrants are apprehended by Border Patrol shortly before sunrise in Nogales, Ariz.NBC
One mother traveling with her 16-year-old son said they had been sleeping in the mountains and decided to turn themselves in to U.S. Border Patrol because they were exhausted and had nothing to eat.
The increase in families is especially concerning to Border Patrol agents and rescue workers, given this summer’s temperatures.
Agent Ronaldo Rios, the acting director of the Arizona Air Coordination Center, told NBC News he has seen groups crossing with more than 200 women and children, including babies and toddlers.
“The common hazard that folks are hearing about is going to be the heat,” said Rios. “Exposure to the elements — being out in our terrain or mountainous terrain for long periods of time — without any water.”
John Russell, a Border Patrol agent who flies Black Hawk helicopters for Customs and Border Protection’s Air and Marine operations, said that his unit recently received 26 calls for help in a single day. Many migrants who were trying to cross the border in remote terrain called for help during the first storm of southern Arizona’s annual monsoon season.
Calls to 911 “started rolling in,” said Russell. “There were three that we weren’t able to get to due to weather, aircraft availability. One of those was later found deceased. He didn’t make it. He succumbed to the weather.”
Department of Homeland Security officials are worried about the overall rise in families crossing the border as well. In Tucson, in particular, the rise in families could mean more migrant deaths.
“We are seeing very little kids that need water,” said Alejandro Avirde, a border patrol agent. “They’ve been doing this hike for five hours, and they’re in need of water.”
Julia Ainsley
Julia Ainsley is homeland security correspondent for NBC News and covers the Department of Homeland Security and the Justice Department for the NBC News Investigative Unit.
Didi Martinez
Didi Martinez is an associate producer with the NBC News Investigative Unit.
