When I heard the helicopters, I knew that something was wrong. I hadn’t heard a plane or a helicopter overhead since I left Denver. I knew they must be looking for Julia, and the helicopters weren’t a good sign.
Julia Campbell, a 40 year-old Peace Corps Volunteer in the Philippines, has been missing in my research site of Banaue since April 8th. As of this writing, it’s April 17th; she’s been missing for 10 days.
A few days ago, Adam and I went to the helicopter pad up near Banaue Hotel to see if we could get some information. We headed up the road, past a car full of Philippine National Policemen (PNP) and headed for the man who looked the most official. He stood near the concrete landing pad in his uniform, his hair smooth and gelled, his clothes crisp and tucked in. Around us, children in loose tee shirts and baggy shorts screamed and played on the landing pad—one of the few flat surfaces in Banaue besides the school grounds.
Adam spoke to the officer in Ifugao and told him he was the local Peace Corps volunteer. The officer relaxed a bit and shared some information with us: Julia was last seen in Batad, one of my favorite hiking spots. She arrived at the visitors’ center after hiking in and introduced herself to several locals. Apparently she’d made reservations for the next night (April 9th) on the Autobus to go to Manila, but never showed.
They had the Philippine military, the National Police and Embassy forces out looking for her. They were hiking the common trails—the waterfall trail and trekking trail between several villages, and they were searching the villages as well. If she was just on a trek or staying with a village family, surely she’d be found. If she was injured, or worse, it would be more difficult. The hillsides are steep and jungle-thick. It would be easy for her to remain hidden under the forest cover indefinitely.
Adam and I turned to each other and I could see the pain on his face. “I just wish there was something I could do,” he said. “I want to go out there on those trails and help find her.”
We both knew they wouldn’t want him in the way, but I had the same urge myself. She was in our territory and somehow we felt responsible, we wanted to help solve the problem. As much as I dislike how Americans get special treatment, how American life often seems more valuable than a Filipino’s, I did feel a connection to her—the choices she made, the confidence she had in her ability to navigate the countryside without a guide—I would have done all the same things in her shoes. She could have easily been me.
“Have you looked in all the local’s houses?” Adam asked. “Peace Corps volunteers like to meet the locals and stay with them; that’s what they do.”
“No, it’s different,” the officer said. “You speak Ifugao and she speaks another dialect. She wouldn’t have done that.”
Adam and I looked at each other—we knew that he was wrong.
“But when you live here for a long time,” I said, “You get comfortable. Even when I hardly spoke Ifugao, I hiked without a guide, and might have stayed with a family if they let me. She has lived here for two years now so she feels very comfortable wherever she is.”
The officer nodded his head. Still, we all knew that if she was alive in a village, word of mouth would ensure that they’d find out soon.
As we spoke, the helicopters circled in the sky around us. One of them headed for the landing pad. The children all yelled and ran away, their hair and clothes whipping around them. The officers around us stood behind their vehicle. At first I looked directly at the helicopter as it got closer, mesmerized by the way it tossed the plants and bushes around us, by the way it tossed the trash into the air. A man even stood next to me with his video camera, taping the event. But then it felt as if a sudden tornado had descended and the wind hit with such a force that I went and hid behind the vehicle too, shielding my eyes as my hair lashed my face. Something that powerful, I thought, should be able to find Julia, right?
An American man stepped off the helicopter and walked toward the officers, shielding his eyes. His face was taut—I knew he was probably in charge of the rescue operation, at least until the official in Washington arrived in a few days. I couldn’t imagine the responsibility he felt—to the woman, to her family, to the Embassy, to the country. The world was breathing down his neck and I could see it. I thought about Julia’s family, her friends in the Peace Corps and back home, and what they must be going through. My heart ached for them.
But all around us, life went on as usual while the search continued. Some of the locals knew about what happened, but others had no idea. Earlier that day, we talked to the head of the tricycle association and he expressed his deep concerns for her.
“I just hope no one did anything bad to her,” he said, referring to a possible abduction or worse. “You know, we love Americans here—so many of our people live in that country and we have a close connection. And we are really grateful for our Peace Corps volunteers. We just have to hope and pray that she’s alright,” he said, shaking his head.
“No,” Adam said, “We have to do much more than that.”
But the kids—their bodies pressed to the walls as they shielded themselves from the wind—they had no idea what was going on. To them, this was a moment with a helicopter; a rare event. After the American official stepped away and walked towards the officer, the helicopter flew away again in a torrent of wind and dust. The landing pad was clear for a moment, but as soon as I could look again, as soon as the dust had settled, the children were out there again, playing and laughing on the cement in the afternoon sun.
Picture of Julia Campell
Julia Campbell, a 40 year-old Peace Corps Volunteer in the Philippines, has been missing in my research site of Banaue since April 8th. As of this writing, it’s April 17th; she’s been missing for 10 days.
A few days ago, Adam and I went to the helicopter pad up near Banaue Hotel to see if we could get some information. We headed up the road, past a car full of Philippine National Policemen (PNP) and headed for the man who looked the most official. He stood near the concrete landing pad in his uniform, his hair smooth and gelled, his clothes crisp and tucked in. Around us, children in loose tee shirts and baggy shorts screamed and played on the landing pad—one of the few flat surfaces in Banaue besides the school grounds.
Adam spoke to the officer in Ifugao and told him he was the local Peace Corps volunteer. The officer relaxed a bit and shared some information with us: Julia was last seen in Batad, one of my favorite hiking spots. She arrived at the visitors’ center after hiking in and introduced herself to several locals. Apparently she’d made reservations for the next night (April 9th) on the Autobus to go to Manila, but never showed.
They had the Philippine military, the National Police and Embassy forces out looking for her. They were hiking the common trails—the waterfall trail and trekking trail between several villages, and they were searching the villages as well. If she was just on a trek or staying with a village family, surely she’d be found. If she was injured, or worse, it would be more difficult. The hillsides are steep and jungle-thick. It would be easy for her to remain hidden under the forest cover indefinitely.
Adam and I turned to each other and I could see the pain on his face. “I just wish there was something I could do,” he said. “I want to go out there on those trails and help find her.”
We both knew they wouldn’t want him in the way, but I had the same urge myself. She was in our territory and somehow we felt responsible, we wanted to help solve the problem. As much as I dislike how Americans get special treatment, how American life often seems more valuable than a Filipino’s, I did feel a connection to her—the choices she made, the confidence she had in her ability to navigate the countryside without a guide—I would have done all the same things in her shoes. She could have easily been me.
“Have you looked in all the local’s houses?” Adam asked. “Peace Corps volunteers like to meet the locals and stay with them; that’s what they do.”
“No, it’s different,” the officer said. “You speak Ifugao and she speaks another dialect. She wouldn’t have done that.”
Adam and I looked at each other—we knew that he was wrong.
“But when you live here for a long time,” I said, “You get comfortable. Even when I hardly spoke Ifugao, I hiked without a guide, and might have stayed with a family if they let me. She has lived here for two years now so she feels very comfortable wherever she is.”
The officer nodded his head. Still, we all knew that if she was alive in a village, word of mouth would ensure that they’d find out soon.
As we spoke, the helicopters circled in the sky around us. One of them headed for the landing pad. The children all yelled and ran away, their hair and clothes whipping around them. The officers around us stood behind their vehicle. At first I looked directly at the helicopter as it got closer, mesmerized by the way it tossed the plants and bushes around us, by the way it tossed the trash into the air. A man even stood next to me with his video camera, taping the event. But then it felt as if a sudden tornado had descended and the wind hit with such a force that I went and hid behind the vehicle too, shielding my eyes as my hair lashed my face. Something that powerful, I thought, should be able to find Julia, right?
An American man stepped off the helicopter and walked toward the officers, shielding his eyes. His face was taut—I knew he was probably in charge of the rescue operation, at least until the official in Washington arrived in a few days. I couldn’t imagine the responsibility he felt—to the woman, to her family, to the Embassy, to the country. The world was breathing down his neck and I could see it. I thought about Julia’s family, her friends in the Peace Corps and back home, and what they must be going through. My heart ached for them.
But all around us, life went on as usual while the search continued. Some of the locals knew about what happened, but others had no idea. Earlier that day, we talked to the head of the tricycle association and he expressed his deep concerns for her.
“I just hope no one did anything bad to her,” he said, referring to a possible abduction or worse. “You know, we love Americans here—so many of our people live in that country and we have a close connection. And we are really grateful for our Peace Corps volunteers. We just have to hope and pray that she’s alright,” he said, shaking his head.
“No,” Adam said, “We have to do much more than that.”
But the kids—their bodies pressed to the walls as they shielded themselves from the wind—they had no idea what was going on. To them, this was a moment with a helicopter; a rare event. After the American official stepped away and walked towards the officer, the helicopter flew away again in a torrent of wind and dust. The landing pad was clear for a moment, but as soon as I could look again, as soon as the dust had settled, the children were out there again, playing and laughing on the cement in the afternoon sun.
Picture of Julia Campell
Anyone who has seen Ms. Campbell anytime after April 8, or who may have information on her movements or current location, should call Mr. John Borja, Safety and Security Officer of the Peace Corps - Philippines at 0920-900-5270, or contact the U.S. Embassy in Manila at (02)-528-6300.
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