It comes with no surprise that the landscape of the island of Camiguin was shaped by volcanic activity. It is, after all, called the Island Born of Fire. The island was not just born of fire though. Its people were likewise formed and forged by the power of nature to be ever resilient, writing their history of indomitable spirit as they chart lives filled with strength to pursue a better tomorrow.

A perpetual reminder that the life of Camiguin is tied to the volcanoes of the island is the existence of the Bonbon Church Ruins in the town of Catarman. Built in the 17th century, the church was destroyed in the 1871 eruption of Mt. Vulcan, leaving only parts of the nave, the belfry and the rectory.

The church ruins of Bonbon were our next destination in Camiguin, after we freshened up and rested in our accommodation from our trip to the White Island. It was already past 03:00 PM when we got there, just as when the sun was at its brightest but no longer at its hottest. If one considers the tragic history that left those stones behind, the afternoon sun did a masterful job of casting a nostalgic, golden sepia hue against the centuries-old rocks now subsumed by vegetation.

The first few structures one sees upon entering the ruins.

We first stepped into what would have been the nave of the church. For a 17th-century structure on a small island, the church is remarkably imposing, a silent testament to its role as the central parish back when Catarman, then known as Cotta Bato, served as the capital of Camiguin. From there, we went around the perimeter of the main church, some parts visibly reclaimed by the earth through the passing of years.

What was left of the main church.

The Renegade Duo in the church ruins.

The perimeter of the ruins of the main church.

From the main church ruins, we made our way to what was left of the belfry. It stands near the edge of the land that overlooks the sea, but it is hard to tell whether it also used to function as a sentinel tower hence its location. It could likewise be plausible that the tectonic shifts, especially the ones created by the 1871 Mt. Vulcan eruption, only caused the earth beside it to recede and be claimed by the sea.

In any case, I could only stand in wonder: was the bellringer able to run to the bell tower to ring the bells to warn the people of the impending doom?

Just a glance away from the belfry ruins stands what is left of the rectory, which much like the bell tower is also overlooking the sea. In the past as it is in the present day, parish priests reside in a rectory that is adjacent with the main church. As the rectory is a living quarter, its structure is somehow different from the church building, as evidenced by the columns that remain sticking out. One could only picture that the spaces between the columns could be the spaces left of windows that once were in place to keep the rectory ventilated.

After we have gone through all the points of interest in the ruins complex, we took some more photos to immortalize our visit to the place itself immortalized in stone.

As we started to walk our way out of the ruins complex, we were not able to help but look up to the two imposing mountains before us, literally across the road. There they were: Mt. Vulcan and Mt. Hibok–Hibok, looming like silent, verdant giants over the very wreckage they created. It is a surreal vantage point, standing in the hollowed-out bones of a 17th-century dream while staring directly at the volcanic architects that brought it all down. In the Island Born of Fire, the ruins are the scar tissue that proves that the body survived, and the mountains are a constant reminder that the earth is never truly finished with its work.

Just before we hit the road, we stopped at a local vendor who was selling kiping, a crisp, round wafer made from cassava, drizzled with dark, sweet sauce. It seemed simple, but there was so much delight in its simplicity, it was almost poetic. It was our first time to try the local delicacy, and there was something lyrical about the experience. Holding that golden, disk-shaped cassava wafer felt like holding a fragment of the afternoon sun itself. The wafer was brittle and delicate, much like the history of Cotta Bato, but drizzled in a dark, rich sweetness that spoke of the island’s enduring life.

According to historical accounts, the 1871 eruption of Mt. Vulcan happened around 06:00 PM, a time when people were probably anticipating to hear the bells for the Angelus. Families could be preparing for dinner just as the priests could be preparing to say their vespers. Instead of the Angelus bells, however, they stopped whatever they were doing for a different reason on that fateful evening. It was not the bells, if they even rang. It was the earth.

Standing on that very same earth today, the stillness of the ruins suggests that Bonbon isn’t just a site of tragedy; it is a lesson in how to thrive in the shadow of giants. The ground that once trembled is now the anchor for an island’s resilience—a place where history was not ended, but rewritten in the face of fire. We left the golden sepia light behind, heading toward the coast where we would see the Sunken Cemetery, ready to see what else the sea had claimed while carrying the taste of the volcano’s soil and the sweetness of survival with us.