Romblon: Poverty & Beauty In Marble

Romblon is famous for its marble. Everything here is made of marble. Tiles, washbasins, fence posts, even street lamps. Romblon is not rich, but there is plenty of stone and labour. The locals live well together with the foreigners. The mix is pleasant. There’s hardly anything on Boracay that belongs to Filipinos. Supposedly almost everything is Korean black money.

I hire a Chinese dirt bike and cycle around Romblon. The route is just 50 kilometres long, but quite tough. There was also heavy rain and flooding here a few days ago. Even when the road is tarred, there is not much difference to the usual dirt track. Streams and roads, all one.

As in Tablas, some of the poorest inhabitants earn their money here by sorting gravel according to grain size. A lot of it is used for road construction, because when they are paved, it is always in reinforced concrete. Even this often does not prevent them from sliding at least halfway into the sea after undercutting.

In the mountains north of Romblon, I finally arrive at the marble quarries. The path is nothing but mud. I can see a quarry in the distance. I turn off the main road into a steep valley. After a few metres, the path ends bizarrely in an even steeper dirt track covered with broken marble slabs. I turn round. The concrete slab is covered in moss. Just accelerating on the steep incline is enough to make the rear wheel skid. I’m thrown, nothing happens to me or the bike.

In all the village schools on the island, the children are practising for the big Ati-Ahan festival on Saturday. All the tribes come to Romblon Town, there’s a big parade and lots of competitions, Miss Romblon is elected, Miss Gay Romblon too. The whole island will be immersed in a gigantic party for three days. But without me. I have to get going.

I drive on to the northern tip of Romblon. A small village behind a mangrove grove. In front of a marble quarry right by the sea, a boy is working a boulder with a hammer and chisel. I was told to take more pictures of people. The people here are very poor. I feel like I’m stealing something from them. Even the fact that I give the boy some money for the picture doesn’t change that.