This footbridge, connecting families to education, commerce, and neighboring communities, now stands proudly where a precarious bamboo structure once swayed dangerously with each step. For years, children, elderly residents, and pregnant women risked injury just to cross to the other side. Children clutched their schoolbags tightly, pregnant women hesitated with each crossing, and the elderly moved with painful caution. Accidents were common; injuries, an accepted risk. The old bridge, fragile and often slippery, was a constant reminder of neglect—until now.

But today, a sturdy concrete footbridge stands in its place—a symbol of resilience, safety, and newfound hope.

Constructed through the Department of Social Welfare and Development’s (DSWD) KALAHI-CIDSS program, the footbridge is more than just a structure—it is a lifeline. With three sections spanning 107.2 meters in length and 1.2 meters in width, it connects families to schools, commerce, and neighboring communities.

Aksan Sawadjaan, the Indigenous People Mandatory Representative (IPMR) of the barangay, beams with pride as he recalls the bridge’s construction. “𝘞𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺,” he says, his voice heavy with the memory of those days. No longer do parents hold their breath as their children cross to reach class. No longer do fishermen and vendors fear losing their goods to the water below.

“I personally helped in its implementation,” he shares.“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 (𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘰-𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘰) 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴.” The effort was grueling, but the community pressed on, driven by the promise of safety and progress.

According to Sawadjaan, the posts used here are significantly more robust than those in previous footbridge projects in their area.

But beyond its physical strength, the footbridge is a testament to the community’s perseverance and collective will. Built with the hands and hearts of the community members themselves, every concrete slab poured and every pillar erected is imbued with a deep sense of ownership and pride.

The community didn’t stop there. With leftover funds from the project, they installed 18 solar lamp posts along the footbridge, illuminating the path for night-time travelers. The glow of these lights is more than practical—it’s a testament to the people’s determination to safeguard their future.

Sawadjaan, who also chairs the Operations and Maintenance team, vows to protect this hard-won progress. “𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥,” he declares. It’s a promise born of collective effort—a reminder that development is not just built by concrete and steel, but by the hands and hearts of those who use it.

As the sun sets over Kaumpurnah Zone III, the footbridge stands firm against the tides, its solar lights flickering to life. For the Badjao families who cross it daily, it is more than a pathway—it is a promise. A promise that their children will walk safely to school, that pregnant mothers will no longer fear for their unborn babies, and that their community can move forward—one steady step at a time.

In a place where the sea has always dictated the rhythm of life, this bridge is a defiant, hopeful beat—a declaration that progress, no matter how hard-won, will not be washed away.