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My Banana Republic Memoirs Part III
Papô Ake (the gentleman on the right) sitting
on the running board of an old car
Still reminiscing Botolan…
I was my Papô Ake’s sidekick when I
was in grade school. I go where he goes or at least follow him whenever he goes
somewhere, especially to the farm. Although walking with a noticeable limp (his
left leg is shorter) he can walk miles barefoot without resting. Of course I
never asked him if it was inborn or he had been in an accident. Kids those days
didn’t ask any personal questions like that. Just like older folks who worked in
the farms he always wore his shorts, his buri hambalelo and his utàk
or bolo in a bamboo sheath tied to his waist with a string. I
brought that utàk back to the States with me the last time I visited,
although the wood sheath was already falling apart. Another souvenir I now have
is his wooden nameplate with the “D. Guiang” spelled in aluminum foil. The “D”
stands for Dalmacio. He retired from the Provincial treasury. Now it suddenly
makes sense how and where my big brother Kakâ Rene and I got those hundreds
of brand spanking new rubber bands we played with when we were little.And it also explains the fact that he was
always typing or writing something when he was home. And just like me, we’re
both an office and field type and very much a handy man at home or
jack-of-all-trades.
My Lolo was a hard working, industrious and a very patient person. I
never saw him get frustrated nor heard him raise his voice. I remember him making sawalî partitions from balsa wood scraps
all day without complaints of aching back or arms. His hands were full of
calluses from years of hard work. He also knew how to make his own ropes from
rattans soaked in water. I even remember him fixing his the bamboo fence in the
middle of a storm to keep the beast of burdens in their pens, his kapyaw, half-poncho like gear made of palm leaves to cover one's back during storm, tied to his neck.
Although his flattop had gone white, I cannot
not remember him going bald. He wore the camisa chinos with his karsonsilyos
when in the house. He was not the talkative type but always business like
although very much approachable not stern. Grandpa did not drink nor smoke, not
like my Grandma. I don’t remember him riding the back of the carabao either. He
would always walk and lead the carabao with its short leash while I ride ‘em.
But he rides the kangàh and bagòn while I steer (with his
directions) the carabao.
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At night I would either share the bed with
my Papôs. I don’t remember them sharing the same hilal mats. I
always prepare their separate mats on the floor of different parts of the
house. I would unfold or unroll the amàks or búri mats and pitch
the moskitiros or mosquito nets for them. Then put them away when we
woke up.
I remember waking up my Lolo in the
middle of the night because I could feel an insect crawling into my ear canal. He
would shine his flashlight and patiently and carefully try to dislodge the
creature but most of the time he would tell me that he sees nothing. I believe I
did this so many times and but he never got angry for the false alarms.
Papô Bae and myself
My Papô Inyang(Bae) whose real name
is Eugenia Basa was dimunitive. I believed she was barely 5 feet tall. While
most older folks call me ‘Berto” or “Berting” when I was a kid, she called me
‘Remberto” all the time. I never knew why. She wore the háyah and could
“relieve” herself while standing with her feet spread wide apart. Always wore turban over her head and tied to her chin. The purpose of the turban is two
fold - as a sun shield and to carry the pabawon or “to go” when she went
to fiestas or lamays. I always anticipated her coming home from a padahal
or fiesta.
Oh, but can my Papô Bae talk
up a storm. She is the opposite of my quiet Lolo. Her mouth never
stopped. Barrio folks loved her and call her “mamurakarak” or rapid fire
for motor mouth. She smokes the sweet cigarettes with the lit end inside her
mouth. Thus always asked me for the posporo to re-lit her wet cigarette.
She walks faster than most folks her age and can walk from Tampo to the barrio
of Mambog, a distance of about 3 to 4 miles non-stop in her wooden shoes. I
could hardly keep up with her. She doesn’t carry handbags or purse- just the
plain handkerchief to carry her coins and peso bills, which she always secured
with safety pins inside her blouse.
I also remember a brown dog that did not
have a name. Come to think of it, we don’t name our dogs not like here in the
States where pets are treated as members of the family. The brown dog looked
like my present one-year-old Australian cattle dog Kiddo. He went to the farm
with us and rode the cart or followed the damuwag. It was a sad day for
me when I did not see him after he got run over by a truck on the way to
Mambog. Kakâ Rene told us that our late Tatay Julio got paid P15
by the driver for the dog but did not tell my Papô.
My grandpa is the brain of the Guiang
Botolan clan. I am pretty sure that it is from his genes that the “Smart”
Guiangs got their brains. He was always reading or writing something. He was
the one who typed my application to the U. S. navy. He saw the ad for
enlistment in Manila Times when he was
staying with us in Mandaluyong and asked me if I wanted to join although I was
going to college then. "Papô, malake ya salamat" (Many
thanks, Grandpa).
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I am now a firm believer that there is life
after death. My grandpa visited me when he passed away. I was stationed at the
Naval Air Facility in Keflavik, Iceland then. I
did not receive the news until a couple of weeks after it happened. When I got
the letter from my dad, and found out that my grandpa passed at a certain date,
I tried to remember what I was doing that day.
I remember getting plastered that night
although I was not a drinker. Being the Senior Petty Officer resident of the
third deck my room has to be inspection ready at all times. The morning after
his death, I found my room in disarray. Things were all over the place and
looked like some kids played and did not put the things back in their places.
The room definitely needed a good housekeeping and “field day” when I woke up
late the next day. I remember as clear as day that my grandpa was in with me
the night he died.
IN MEMORY OF MY PAPÔS:
I wrote this piece as a tribute to my late
Grandfather Dalmacio Guiang Sr. and Grandmother Eugenia Basa Guiang, whom I
never got to see much after I joined the U. S. Navy. Thus they never found out
how I turned out to be and how much I cherished the memories of living with
them.
Bert Guiang
Tampo, Botolan, Zambales
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