THE TRUTH is that even before these saitan began tormenting them, the Bajau never really had it easy, despite the romantic portrayals of the tribe by filmmakers. But when they were still living at sea, the Bajau were at least free from the everyday disdain of people like the Tausug and the Samal.

It is unclear why the Tausug and the Samal think of the Bajau as social inferiors. In a recent study, however, Professor Aurora Roxas-Lim of the University of the Philippines' Asian Center, says that the prejudices against the Bajau often stem from the preconception that all nomadic people are by nature shiftless, rootless, irresponsible and unreliable.

Whatever the reason, it is obvious that the insults flung at the tribe hurt, and hurt deeply. Jainal, an 11-year-old Bajau who is lucky enough to attend school, says, "My Muslim classmates despise the Bajau because, they say, we are ugly and we smell bad."

Estrellita Vicente, who last February headed a conference in Zamboanga City on the history and culture of the tribe, also says discrimination against the Bajau may be partly why it always seems as if they are "overwhelmingly outnumbered" by their Tausug and Samal neighbors. As Vicente sees it, the inferior status accorded to the Bajau may have led tribal members now living onshore to identify themselves to census takers as Tausug and Samal.

Some Bajau, especially those who have married Samal or other land dwellers, have also adopted modern practices, thereby making them less distinct from other people. Hadji Musa Malabong, a Bajau from Sitangkai who now works with the Department of Education, Culture and Sports, said that in the old days, the sound of the tribe's musical instruments such as the tambul, kulintangan and agung could be heard from miles during celebrations such as weddings. Today, though, the Bajau on land would rather hire bands or rent karaoke sets. They also rarely perform traditional dances, such as the igal, which the women used to do while at sea, on the boat. There is radio to listen to, and beer to swill, instead.

The practice of blackening their teeth with wet tobacco, betel nut and lime is seldom done today as well. For the young Bajau, chewing tobacco is dirty. They would rather smoke cigarettes, which they consider a symbol of affluence.

Not surprisingly, traditional weddings, where the bride and groom would have their faces decorated with white powder and dotted with fine charcoal, have become uncommon. These days, the Bajau would rather hire beauticians who like to follow the latest looks in movieland. The Bajau bride of today no longer dons the batawi, a tight-fitting and bejeweled blouse that is paired with a cotton belt known as kandit, for her special day; it now has to be a Western-style wedding gown. As for the groom, gone are the native Badjuh lapeh, a three-quarters long-sleeved shirt opened at the chest, and the fez, a large woven kerchief that is sometimes placed around the shoulder or tied on the head. For the Bajau man about to wed, the clothing of choice is either the barong tagalog or the americana.

Yet for all these attempts to be like the land dwellers, the Bajau remain on the fringe of society. Observers say this is partly because of the tribe's own tendency to keep to itself. When it has something to sell, for instance, it does so not in the public market, but on the street, well away from other vendors.

Some social workers also say that the Bajau's distrust of outsiders is a hindrance to efforts to help the tribe "develop." Arnel Alcober, a Claretian missionary working with the Bajau in Teheman, says that when he first arrived here, he found himself sighing in frustration several times. He recalls, "It was very difficult at the start, not only because they were wary of me but also because of cultural barriers."

But Alcober says that once one earns the trust of the Bajau, "they can be very warm." Bajau children now greet him happily every time he visits the community.

Helping the Bajau has been his most challenging task as a missionary, says Alcober, who had to learn to speak the Sama language used by the Bajau. Fortunately, because of radio programs from nearby Jolo and Zamboanga, most children studying under Claret's literacy program now speak Filipino.

Like many other indigenous peoples, the Bajau have no sense of birth dates. Most of them do not know their age and many do not even have names. Alcober has merely made estimates of their ages, especially of the children who are under the Claretian literacy program. "For the girls, we base their ages from the date of their first menstruation," he says. "The boys, we just make a guess."

At first, while the children were at school, the Bajau parents were taught as well to read and write. But Alcober says he realized that this might not be the kind of education suited to the Bajau. He says, "The Bajau just want to survive. The need to learn how to read and write sometimes escapes their understanding."

He has since changed the approach of the adult literacy program, and the Bajau grown-ups are now being taught operational literacy. "Like how to compute numbers if they would want to run a sari-sari store, or to know if they're getting the right amount every time people buy their fish," explains Alcober. He reports that little by little, the Bajau are learning, adding, "To teach them is really a struggle but it is also a self-actualization which makes the best in people come out."