We all know it. Walked it every day. But none of them were like these.
The world's most dangerous ways to school. Freezing. Climbing. risking their lives all for the chance of a better future.
Spectacular and sometimes simply beautiful. The world's most dangerous ways to school. Zamboanga del Norte, a peninsula in the southern Philippines.
Children who want to get an education here have one of the most dangerous and most extraordinary ways to school. Their school is located in the heart of the mountains, deep in the rainforest. In circumstances like this, it's hard for many students to get an education. Some walk alone through the jungle for hours. Others risk their lives in order to make it past this.
Pampang. A steep face of rock and boulders, overgrown with moss and tree roots. A gigantic wall that the children must climb every single day, in the hopes of a better future.
When the sun rises on Mindanao at 5.30 a.m., it gets light quite suddenly. The day begins early this close to the equator. Zamboanga is located in the northwest of the second largest island in the Philippines. The thinly populated coastal strip gives way to sharply rising mountains. In the tiny fishing settlement of Madi Bago, the day begins with a break of dawn and thus also begins one of the most dangerous ways to school in the world.
When the rooster crows, Aida Proceso wakes her family. There's no time to lose. Her daughter, Ivy, has class in two and a half hours. Before getting ready, she helps her mother make breakfast.
Like every morning, there's rice, fish, and moringa. The procesos can't afford anything else. Like 86% of the Filipino population, the family lives in poverty. I go to high school in Oro.
It's a long and very difficult journey every day. Down here on the coast, there is no school for the 11-year-old. Every day, she has to walk uphill through the jungle.
It's no coincidence that her school is located on the neighboring mountain. Nor is it bad planning. In this region of the Philippines, families live far apart from one another.
Scattered across the mountain slopes, the coast and the woods. The Oro Elementary and High School has a central location. More than 2,500 feet further up, Ibee's classmate Ryan gazes dreamily down on the fishing bay. The 12-year-old lives high up on the summit. For him, it's already high time he started off to school.
But first, Ryan has to help his grandmother. Or dependent on rain up here. If it doesn't rain, we don't have any water to drink. Then I have to come down here before school to get water from the fountain.
Only then can we go to school. It's over half a mile to the fountain and back. But more than the long distances, it's the isolation up here that makes life so hard for Ryan.
He lives in a small cottage along with his grandmother. And all his friends from school live far away. Together they raise pigs. Every couple of months, Ryan's grandma sells one down in the markets in the villages.
That's enough for them to survive on. But she wants Ryan to have a better life someday. School is the first step.
Ryan isn't like other children. He's wonderful. He helps me with the housework and with other work. He always does what I tell him to do.
But he only has a few friends. He has friends to play with up here. He is playing on his own most of the time.
He's a daydreamer. Ryan's parents live in the capital, Manila, 500 miles away. The dream? At least a little prosperity. The reality?
Ryan's father doesn't have a good education, and has to make his living as a motorbike taxi driver. He doesn't earn enough money to feed his son in the city. So ever since his third birthday, Ryan has lived here. Every month his father sends a support check, about 17 US dollars.
Even in the mountains of Mindanao, that's not much. It's just enough for a breakfast of rice and instant noodles. Ryan's grandmother packs the leftovers for his school lunch. I go to school because my dream is to be an engineer, to earn enough money to fly to my parents. To realize his dream, the boy has to walk more than two hours to school.
Every morning when I see him go, it breaks my heart. Every day he takes the path down to Oro without complaining. The jungle, the roads, a child shouldn't have to go to school like that.
But what can I do? It's the only school and his only chance to become something decent. To get to school, Ryan must descend for miles through nearly unspoiled nature. And the 12-year-old has to hurry. In fact, he's already late.
Class starts in two hours. Six in the morning. Time is also getting short for the Proceso family in the fishing settlement of Madibago. Right after eating breakfast, Aibi has to go to school. Until a few months ago, her older brothers accompanied her.
But since they graduated, they've been looking for work in the city. It was good when my brothers were still there. They could tell me where I should step or what I could hold on to. I felt safer.
Now, I have to find my way by myself. One last touch up in the mirror before going. An 11-year-old girl should have other things on her mind than worrying about how she'll make her way to school today without getting hurt. Ibe's mother used to be a teacher at her school.
Ida climbed the path with her children together, but she's no longer physically capable of making it on her daughter's route. Whenever I see Ibe go, I'm always reminded of the accident. I was with her.
I was climbing a few feet underneath her. All of a sudden, she fell towards me. Luckily, I was able to hold on to her.
I can't bear to think that she's alone on the wall now. The closest larger town, in which there's something like medical care, is about 12 miles from Madibago. Dapitan City.
Someone lives here who knows the way over the steep face better than almost anyone else. Frederick comes from Ivey's settlement. Today, he's the principal in Oro.
I know exactly how dangerous it is for the children. I went that way for years myself. And that's why I actually don't want the children coming to school over the crack.
But I also know that some don't have any choice. Because of his own experience, Frederick, along with the school board, has even officially prohibited families from taking the route over the steep face. But he also knows, on the one hand he can't tell anyone which path to take. And on the other hand, it sounds much easier than it actually is for the children.
Shortly after he leaves the city on his motorbike, it becomes apparent why. That's the street to Madibago. This is the only street to the school in Oro.
You have to go along the coast first, and then it's twice that distance to get to the school. the school it's an uphill walk most people can't afford a taxi one US dollar that's how much a ride and a motor motorbike taxi to school costs. But Ibi's family simply doesn't have the money.
And going around could mean walking for hours. So for decades, children from Madibago have been taking the shortcut through the jungle. And they have to make it over this, a steep face. The people here simply call it pang pang, which means something like short crossing, a crossing from the coast to the mountains, from water to rock. It rises all of a sudden like a huge wall.
In some places its slope is 90 degrees. The naked rock is overgrown with slippery moss and roots. Many people have fallen here.
Some have critically injured themselves while trying to climb Pampang. That's why the children from Maribago prefer to go together. I hope there are some older kids today.
If not, I have to lead the younger ones. In fact, other children are already waiting at the meeting place, so they can climb Pampang together. eight-year-old Shomari and his younger brother Chanel who will share the path with IB today. At the age of 11 IB is the oldest and as such is responsible for the other children. School is compulsory in the Philippines too, but only through sixth grade.
And many children simply don't go to school. One in ten is illiterate. Meanwhile, Ryan has reached Cobra Rock, which is inhabited by highly poisonous, but thankfully, timid snakes. Ryan is not afraid of them. He likes to play in the high grass too much.
And he has encountered snakes more than once while doing so. Once I was running up the hill in the afternoon. I wasn't looking down.
All of a sudden I heard tack, tack and my leg hurt. A snake in the grass lunged at me and bit me here in the calf. Luckily for Ryan, it was only a few days later. Asawi, a non-poisonous variety of snake.
Not the Filipino spitting cobra, which lives here in the mountains and can kill with one bite. 6.30. School starts in one and a half hours.
Ryan still hasn't covered even one-fourth of the way yet. The three children at the foot of the mountain have also made little progress. They're approaching the most difficult part of their daily route. I always get a bit nervous when we get close to Pompom. It scares me.
Chaud-Marie and his brother Janelle are in second grade. Their trail, which children in flip-flops have trodden down over decades through the jungle, is getting increasingly steep. Even this early in the morning, the temperature on their way to school is already over 85 degrees Fahrenheit.
In addition, there's also the high humidity of the jungle and they haven't even gotten to the hardest part yet. Meanwhile, up on the mountain, Ryan has reached the coconut fields. Sometimes he encounters the coconut farmers here, cutting new notches in the palm trees with their machetes.
They use these notches as steps to climb up the trees and harvest the coconuts by hand. Along with rice and mangoes, coconuts are the most important crop in the region. But the yields from the mountain fields aren't big enough to play a role in the large-scale export business.
It's too difficult to transport the coconuts down to the cities. Most are sold at markets in the mountain villages. It's almost seven o'clock already. School begins in one hour, but the heat is getting to Ryan. Sometimes, when the farmers let him, the 12-year-old takes a short break and catches a breeze.
Coconut trees reach a height of 65 to 100 feet. One mistake and Ryan would fall straight down. But the mountain children learn the special climbing technique at a young age.
And the notch steps provide good support. Although time is getting short, Ryan isn't thinking of getting right back to the trail at school. He's even better at doing handicrafts and inventing things than he is at climbing trees. As long as he's already up here, the daydreamer is happy to take a breather. He dreams of working as an engineer and of someday visiting his parents in Manila.
But he also knows that the key to realizing his dreams isn't up in the crown of a palm tree, but a couple miles further down the mountain. I.B., Chaud-Marie and Chanel have reached the steepest part. Every time she gets here, I.B.
thinks about the day her mother saved her life in the next century. It rained that day. Right up there.
That's where I slipped. She would have been dashed against the rocks if Ida hadn't caught her. But Iby's mother isn't there today. The 11-year-old is on her own and has to lead the younger children.
Right as the children are about to get started, someone comes from the other direction. The iron rule on Pham Phang, the person climbing down has right of way. At some parts, the rock ledges and roots are so narrow that only one person at a time can climb on them.
It's one of the fishermen who climb down every day from their homes in the mountains to feed their families. For them, Pampang is more than a shortcut. It is the most important connection between life on the mountain and life on the coast.
Hold on tight, kids. It's very slippery today. A quick, well-intentioned piece of advice. And then the children are all alone again.
Their way up the steep face is now free. Ibee's father is also a fisherman. While she's up here climbing, he's making the families living on the Sulu Sea, a marginal sea of the Pacific Ocean.
The Sulu Sea is quite shallow along the coast. The fishermen can walk hundreds of yards out to their boats. But a little later, the ocean floor drops off sharply, to a depth of up to four and a half miles. Ben Proceso never got an education, but he knows his children's way to school very well. She should be up there right about now.
I always look up when I paddle out to go fishing. I wonder if it's right to send my daughter on a path like that. But what can I do?
After all, she has to go to school. Traditionally, the fishermen cast nets into the bay to catch fish. There were times when enough fish swam into his net, when Ben could actually afford a motorbike taxi for his children.
But this luxury has become rarer and rarer. The catches are getting worse and worse. Three fish, that's actually pretty good for one morning.
Sometimes I even get five. I don't want my children to become fishermen. Well, if that's what they want, then okay. But they ought to learn something useful. That's why they have to go to school.
Once again, the catch is just large enough to feed his own family. Ben hasn't sold fish for a long time now. And that's why he simply doesn't have the money to spare his daughter the dangerous journey to school.
Frederick, the teacher, is proof that education can function as a path out of poverty. He too came from a fisherman's family in Madibago, and he took the way to school over Pampang every day. Oro has one primary and one secondary school with a total of 340 students. Frederick teaches first through fourth grade plus kindergarten. Fifth through tenth grades, which Ivy and Ryan attend, are in a separate building right next door.
I think I'm kind of a role model for the children. I'm an example for them that they shouldn't give up, that the path is worth taking no matter how difficult it is, that, in a metaphorical sense, The path is also a path to one's goals in life. Ryan's break in the palm tree lasted a bit longer than he planned.
It's 7.15. At 8 o'clock, that is in 45 minutes, class starts. If Ryan doesn't hurry up now, he'll get there too late. Instead of getting a move on, he enjoys a coconut that he has just scavenged.
Again and again, along the lonely path over the mountain ridge, the 12-year-old gets lost in his own thoughts. I think of my parents a lot up here. I don't know when I saw them last. It's been a couple of years now.
I miss them a lot. I wish they were here. Several hundred feet below, Aibi, Chou Marie and the seven-year-old Chanel have other problems to deal with.
The three children have reached the steepest part of Pham Phang. This is where most accidents happen. The wall changes constantly according to the weather conditions.
Each day the children need to read it afresh and find new paths up it. The only thing they have to hold on to are the roots that grow out of the wet soil and wrap themselves around the rocks. Some are sturdy, some are not. I'm really afraid of this part.
I've slipped here a couple of times. The children climb slowly, following the three-point rule. That means they should seek a new support with only one arm or leg at a time. A necessity if they want to survive on their way to school. Another rule.
The oldest goes last. Thus Ivy keeps her eye on the others, can guide them from below, and in an emergency, can perhaps still react and catch them. While her daughter continues to climb up Pampang, Ibee's mother walks a few hundred yards along the road to her new job.
To save the very youngest children from having to make the climb, the government has at least opened a kindergarten on the coast. And Aida is the teacher. In return for working there six days a week, Aibi's mother gets about 23 US dollars a month. The children in the kindergarten always remind her of her own daughter. When Ivy was that age, she was a very shy girl.
That didn't change until she suddenly had to climb Pampang alone. Since then, I barely recognize my child. She's suddenly an adult. And she pays a high price for it, just like those children who now go to kindergarten soon will.
As long as there is no school on the thin strip of coast, they will also have to take the dangerous path. There is no longer any trace of Ivy's earlier timidity. Courageous and confident, she leads the 7 and 8 year old up the crag.
Their strength is fading. Climbing takes it out of them, especially the two boys. It's important for them to maintain their concentration, as it's especially slippery today. Done.
Exhausted, the children struggle the last few feet up the crag. Their arduous ascent has taken them more than a half hour. For the moment, Iby is relieved. The 11-year-old has led the boys to safety. The campground was extremely difficult today.
But their journey isn't over yet. No time to rest. School starts in 40 minutes.
And from this point, the children still need at least that much. If they hurry. Up on the plateau, several children from the surrounding villages have already reached the school in Oro.
And they're supposed to be there early. Every morning before school starts, all the students and the teachers clean the grounds. The children from Adibago and the remote mountain settlements rarely participate. Frederick, the principal, doesn't have the heart to punish them or to be mad at them. Those children who live far away almost always come too late.
All we can do is offer to spend time in the air. afternoon reviewing the material they've missed. From the other side of the ridge, Ryan finally reaches a building. A building he knows only too well. It's the Daro Elementary School, the village school he used to attend.
It also has a kindergarten. There are only three rooms and three teachers. First and second grade share one room, and one teacher as do third and fourth grade. I went here from kindergarten to fourth grade. That's all the further it goes.
There's no secondary school here. That's why I'm here. That's why Ryan now has to go all the way to Oro.
At least from here on he walks along the road. Many of his former classmates don't go to school anymore. The way is simply too long for them.
Almost 8 o'clock. After the climb, Ivy and the two boys are hurrying through the undergrowth of the mangrove forest. The 11-year-old is determined not to arrive too late. They reach the school grounds just in time.
Many children from the surrounding area are already there. The children from Madibago are happy each time they manage to beat the bell. Like today. School begins at 8 o'clock sharp with a traditional flag ceremony.
Frederick, the teacher, takes attendance for each class. A handful of students are just about always missing at this time of day. Nevertheless, school begins as planned with the national anthem. I am a hero, see the mind that... As usual, Ryan misses it.
The 12-year-old has been walking for over two hours all alone. Sometimes someone on a motorbike is nice enough to let him ride along for a while. for a bit, and that saves him a lot of time, but not today. No one with a free space has driven by. I know, I'm definitely too late.
I always try to be on time, but even when I hurry, class has usually already begun when I get there. He gets to school at 8.45. Ryan has missed the first class. Not for the first time this week. And he's not the only one to miss it today.
In second grade, the lesson is well underway. And eight-year-old Chou-Marie and his seven-year-old brother are there today. The children's classes are math, English, social studies, and science, Filipino, and local dialects. But not all the children seem to be paying attention.
The exhausting climb up Pampang has taken its toll. You can recognize children from Maribago like Jean-Marie and Janelle immediately. Their inability to concentrate makes them stand out.
They're tired. I have to give them special attention to make sure they participate. There's a long break at 11.30. The school doesn't have a real cafeteria, but a few mothers from the surrounding villages sell food in the pavilion.
There's a kind of donut, polenta, eggs and chicken, all for one. That's about 5 to 25 cents. At that price, even the poorer children can sometimes buy something to accompany the rice they've brought with them.
Ryan and Ibie are in seventh grade. In the afternoon, they go to the market. In the afternoon they have history class.
Why is the revolution between Italy and Germany Rome-Berlin? Why? Or why?
Because Italy, Rome is capital of Italy. They've been learning about the Second World War. At home, I.B.
prepared a report about Spain's participation in the war. The Philippines were a Spanish colony for centuries. centuries. Even today, the influence of that time can be seen in the country's food, culture, and language.
I am very happy for you all. This is the work of the Bangka Isa. The second battle of the war has begun. The events that happened and the two battles of the war are coming to an end. IB is an exception.
The kids with a long walk to school do worse in class than the others. Take Ryan. I know he walks down from the mountain every day.
He's very intelligent, but he can't concentrate and almost always misses the first class. School ends at 3.30. The pavilion has transformed from an improvised cafeteria into a taxi stand.
Many motorbike drivers from the region, some of them the same age as the students, are waiting in the hopes of earning a little extra money. Chaumarie and Chanel are in luck. Another student from the coast has enough money for a motorbike taxi and takes them with her.
Today, the two boys don't have to climb back down Pampang. Ryan has also found a ride. A farmer going his way can take him along for part of the journey.
A rare stroke of luck. Most of the other children stay at school. The grounds are open to everyone in the afternoon.
Teenagers who live far apart from one another use the opportunity to play basketball together, the national sport of the Philippines, or just to spend time with their friends. Like Ivy. My friends are here.
This is my only chance to be with them. Getting a ride from the farmer saves Ryan a whole lot of time. Over one hour on foot. I want to get home fast.
For a change, the 12-year-old does not dawdle on the way home. As happens so often, a storm is drawing near. The weather can change suddenly in the Philippines.
Thanks to the high humidity, short, heavy rain showers tend to be the rule, even in the dry season. This is no problem for most of the children. The clouds often disperse as quickly as they've gathered. But for Ivy, it means even greater danger on her way home from school. The roots, the rocks, the soil.
Pampang is now even more slippery than usual. I hate it when it has rained. In addition, climbing down is more difficult than climbing up. Aybi's mother, Ayda, dislikes the rain as much as her daughter. Her concern grows with each passing minute.
Her fear that Ivy might slip a second time. Last time, Ida managed to save her in the nick of time. A couple bruises, a couple scrapes. Luckily, that was the extent of the damage.
Ivey was eight years old then. I always look for something to do when the weather is like this, to distract myself. Otherwise, all I do is think of Ivey and how she's hanging on to the roots.
I can't stand it. At that very moment, Ivy has reached the steepest part of Pham Phang. And the rain is getting stronger.
There's no one around to help her in an emergency. The way home lasts longer than usual. Normally Ivy would be home by now. At a certain point no shirt in need of mending could distract Ida anymore. She must keep a lookout for her daughter.
What Aida would really like to do is embrace her daughter. But she doesn't want Aibi to notice how concerned she is. Ultimately, tomorrow is another school day, and so no exceptions can be made today. Aibi has to do her homework.
I want to be a police officer and put criminals in jail. The school day comes to a close on top of the mountain too. Like every evening, Ryan does his homework while eating dinner.
He's pretty tired. But that doesn't keep the 12-year-old from chasing his dreams. My biggest wish is to have enough money someday to go to Manila.
I like to visit my parents so much. It's really my biggest wish. Even before the sun has completely disappeared behind the horizon, 11-year-old Ivy goes to bed, exhausted. Ryan also goes to bed early, like always. The children from Zamboanga del Norte.
They've got to get started again at the break of dawn. Starting along one of the world's most dangerous ways to school.