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As a freelance journalist based in Manila, I cover geopolitics, social issues, crime and justice in the Philippines and am often immersed in the dark realities of power and violence.
In November 2024, I helped cover the assassination threat against President Ferdinand R. Marcos Jr. for The New York Times. Last month, the reporter Jonathan Wolfe and I wrote about the unusual collision of two Chinese ships, as they chased a Philippine Coast Guard vessel in contested waters of the South China Sea.
But I feel most alive when documenting places and lives that readers might not expect — including things of the mysterious sort. One night in 2016, while working on a story, a few colleagues and I traded anecdotes about Philippine folklore and the dark forces said to roam after midnight.
A researcher, Rica Concepcion, mentioned a festival for witches in Siquijor, a remote island about 400 miles south of Manila with a blend of Catholic and pagan traditions. Every Holy Week before Easter, traditional healers, or “witches,” gather on the island to brew potions and perform rituals during the most sacred week in the Catholic calendar, she explained.
I wanted to write about these mysterious rituals, but there were always bigger stories to chase in the Philippines: the drug war’s mounting toll, Covid-19’s devastation, the return of the Marcos family to power.
Still, Siquijor lingered in my mind like Ithaca to Homer’s Odysseus, an island that called but somehow kept me away.
Nine years later, fate delivered the opportunity to go. After a popular actress went viral for a stunt she performed on Siquijor this spring, I sent a pitch to Sui-Lee Wee, the Southeast Asia bureau chief for The Times, days before the beginning of Holy Week.
My goal was to finally attend this so-called witches festival, and to see how the rituals and traditions were being passed down and transformed in the age of TikTok and Instagram.
Rica and I arrived on Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week, to prepare for the festival. While she reconnected with old contacts there, I reached out to government offices and folk healers for fresh perspectives. I also gathered practical tips from colleagues who had recently visited the island.
We began each day early to avoid the oppressive April heat, mapping locations and following leads.
I met a local social science professor, Josel Mansueto, with the help of Engr. Mario E. de la Peña, the provincial head of the Department of Science and Technology, who persuaded her that we weren’t doing another horror story about their hometown. They handed me a hardcover volume of their five-year study on medicinal plants.
Tourists also became essential voices in our story. A French backpacker said he had sought witches and never found them. At an event teaching love potion-making, we met a theater student who had once wanted to be a doctor, but life had other plans. Her great-grandfather was a healer.
I had crossed oceans for mystery, only to find a festival that had stripped away most of the occult: The centuries-old tradition of love potions were now sold with government seals.
I did, however, get to participate in one enigmatic ritual. On Holy Tuesday, one healer led me through tuob, a fumigation process intended to drive away bad spirits. She whispered a prayer in my ear, then studied my palm. “No bad spirits,” she said.
The next day, I fell ill.
After standing under the hot morning sun watching a love potion being made, I developed a throbbing headache. That night, I rushed to the provincial hospital, only to face another twist: The ECG machine worked on others but malfunctioned when hooked up to me.
My pain returned on Holy Thursday. I stayed in to rest while Rica and the photographer Jes Aznar continued shooting. When pain refused to subside, I booked the earliest ferry off the island, departing on Good Friday at dawn.
What struck me most about Siquijor wasn’t its mysticism but its humanity. Neighbors drove me to the hospital. Healers welcomed us even when power failed. Locals spoke of how mainstream media had demonized their home as a cursed island, damaging their reputation and livelihoods.
Tourism was both blessing and curse. Development affected places where medicinal plants once grew. Tricycle drivers pointed out land snapped up by wealthy outsiders, driving prices up.
Back in Manila, my headache persisted for months. I underwent brain scans, cardiac tests, blood panels. Every result came back normal. But the pain continued, forcing the article to be put on hold.
My headache went away, and my article was finally published online last month. My reporting answered many questions I had about Siquijor, though I still have many more. Perhaps a healer might one day concoct some answers for me.
The post Curiosity Summons a Reporter to an Island Known for the Occult appeared first on New York Times.
