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My Banana Republic Memoirs Part IV
A pleasing view in one of the barrios in Botolan
Still reminiscing Botolan… barrio Mambog in particular.
Like everywhere else, summer break is
always fun and oftentimes memorable for kids. In Botolan, it was the season for
katimòn or watermelon, kamah or jicama, and tubòh or
sugarcane harvest time. Since there was no school to worry about, us kids had
fun helping out during the harvest.
I did not know it prior to this article
that we were chewing grass too just like our carabaos that are always chewing grass
or cuds. I recently found out that
sugarcane like bamboo is a variety of grass. I used to chew and sucked the canes
internal filament after removing the outside rind. Although I hate it when I get fibrils between my teeth. I have to find me a walis tingting (veins of
coconut fronds made into a broom) to pick my tooth.
I remember a kabyawan at the foot
of the Mambog Bridge. This was where the farmers who planted sugar cane took
their freshly cut canes to make panutsas (not the Spanish version but
the raw brown sugar). I vaguely remember
the exact mechanics of the set-up except that a carabao was pulling a wooden
pole, which turns a wheel that goes around and moves two great pillars, which
are round, probably bound about with iron made to come close to each other but
not touch. This crusher/or masher was used to squeeze the sweet juice. There
was a counter- balance weight at the end of the pole to eliminate undue strain
to the carabao. The short canes were cut and feed between the crusher. The
circular bottom part is stationary and had grooves for the juice to drain into
large containers. (At this point I am not sure if lime was used to sanitize).
The juice was then boiled in large vats for evaporation until the sediments
settle and scum rises to the surface, which was then skimmed off. When the hot
liquid crystallizes, it was poured into cleaned coconut half-shells, or short
bamboo poles using a ladle made of coconut half-shell with a bamboo
handle. The liquid is then left to cool
off to harden into half- round panutsas.
I will never forget being scalded by the
drips of the crystallizing hot liquid while in its taffy-like consistency. My
dad dipped a short piece of fresh sugar cane to get me some chewy taffy when I
got too eager and grabbed the cane. The cane was still dripping when I got a
hold of it and I suffered a third degree
burn in my arm.
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Incidentally, the Mambog Bridge was one of
the “haunted” spots in some old folks tale. We were told that a Kapre
resides there and that sometimes people see a lighted candle “moving about”. There
was also a ghost - lady dressed in a white showing up at night. Hearing all of
these tales, I always make it a point not to cross that bridge at night (no
electricity, no street lights). If I had to spend the night under a mound of
rice sheaves (pinag-geekan) during fiestas so be it. It is no wonder
that our carabao was always spooked crossing that bridge and would refuse to
walk forward and had his tail between his legs. I had to get up on its back,
pat it on its neck while tapping his tummy gently with my legs to coax him to
move forward. Hmmnnn....
I used to take the carabao for a bath at a
place we called Piloto, which was downstream of the Bridge about a mile
west or babà, where most of the sugar canes are grown. My grandpa had a
few hectares of high yielding fields in that place. I remember the narrow and
shallow creek being full of leeches. I had to pick leeches off of my legs and
the carabao's body after taking a refreshing bath. That is why I was never
afraid of leeches since, it is simply a nuisance to me now if I ever see one
again.
Way back during the good old days, most
barrio folks knew each other. Since the popular mode of transportation was "da
feet", people walked a lot. Women carried things on their head cushioned and leveled
with cloth buns, while men carried things on their shoulders. They would often
stop to talk to others when they meet (while taking a brief respite). People
will give a carabao-powered cart ride to any pedestrian they pass, and
thumbing a ride was never heard of. If the cart is already full to capacity then the men hitch a ride on the
carabao.
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Most of the residents of the barrio are
somehow or another related to each other, especially if the Patriarch of the
clans lives in the same barrio. Like in barrio Mambog where my grandma was
borne and raised. My grandma had a very large family in that sector. There is
place in baytan or Eastern part where a large block of residents
are somehow related to my grandma. I used to attend their fiesta and I can walk
up to any house and try different specialty dishes (relatives will feel
slighted if we didn’t visit and try their food). If I asked for something that
they had not prepared (believe me this is not rude or offensive) they would
tell me to go see my Nanay Atring or other folks whom they knew
prepared that dish or desserts like suman, bibingka, tinupak or some other kakanen.
Since the yards were not fenced in, moving from house to house was just several
steps away. Fences were put up to keep the animals in, not pedestrians
out.Trespassing was never an issue just
say, “Pada-an po” or “May I please pass”.
Friendly atmosphere were everywhere and
infectious. This is very much evident during the earlier fiestas and other
gathering s that I have attended where everyone is welcome to partake any
house’s feast. Kids invite their friends, friends invites their friends,
neighbors inviting neighbor’s guests etc.
There was no need to buy some of the
household items or hire someone to do things. Barter system was prevalent.
Farmers plant and harvest rice through tubahweh system e.g. planting
rice was staggered so no two families plant their rice on the same day so
everyone had the chance to help out. If I helped your family, then it is your
family’s duty to reciprocate in kind. One can borrow food items and get back
more than he was owed. Tools and animals were loaned without reservations.
It was a small town atmosphere and mindset
then. Full of unwritten but make sense rules… for example, fruits overhanging
someone’s fence are for the passer-by's enjoyment. At times, a couple stalks
of sugarcane, a watermelon or honeydew melon or a few jicamas protruding close
to the dirt roads are there for the hiker’s taking. Makikwah or asking to
have some is pretty much the norm. The owner will do the same for something
that the neighbor had growing in his land. Just tell the owner after the fact.
“Namúti hako nin melon mo naapon” or “ I picked one of your melons
yesterday”. It was never a big a deal. Honor system was the time-honored
tradition during those days.
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I remember a matured langka tree (jackfruit)
growing near a path on my grandpa’s property. Since we didn’t live in the area,
he covered one of the large fruit with a gunnysack to remind other passers by
that it was spoken for. It was still there when it was ripe or mature enough
for picking.
Most people in the barrio believed in Anitos
or spirits of ancestors and nature. I was taught to say “tabi po apo” or
“please excuse me” when I had to throw something in the dark to avoid getting punished with sickness or malady like making my arm swell up (still do this
here in the States if no one is around). People will place “pátay” or
offerings to the dead, which are portions of whatever food being served to the
living at the altar during any gathering (I see this done in Carson too).
One thing that is going by the wayside that
I think is a change for the better is the generation protocol. Terms of
respect for a clan member of
the same age or younger could be titles (used often for endearment as well as social etiquette) that are generally
reserved only for older person in the hierarchy in the order of when they were born, ie. "Tatay or Papô" by virtue of the place of their family's rank in the
genealogy tree. I don't always agree when people who are much older than me call me Papô
or Tatay (grandpa or uncle). It is not because it makes me feel older
but that it is silly in my view.
Talking about patriarchs, the baby brother
of my Grandma Inyang Basa, my Papô Ambong was the patriarch of the Basa
family for a long while. He was one year shy of being a centenarian when he
died. He outlived all his contemporaries. Papô Ambong was quite a character. He
was known to possess an amulet or galing , which was a source of his
power to heal the sick and to find out what spirit was causing the ailment. He
was akin to a shaman or talisman. This “charm” purported to provide him
with stamina and power to be able to travel far.
My barrio kinfolks now think that Papô
Ambong “passed” his amulet to me. It happened during my dad’s wake at my mom’s
house in Mambog. He was sitting next to me at a table and his legs started
shaking like something possessed him. After a few minutes he calm down and
handed me something. I did not show it to anybody just put it my pocket. I now
have it in my position.
I remember giving Papô Ambong a souvenir
ball cap and a pair of flip-flops before I left (he could not wear a pair of
shoes for his toes were too wide apart). I heard he always wore the ball cap
but not the sandals. I was told that if he was in a hurry he would carry the
sandals in his hands. I guess he walked faster without them.
Papô Ambong
was a happy go lucky guy who lived his life to the fullest. He was much loved
by the Basa clan. I wish I would grow as old and as vibrant as he was.
Bert Guiang
Tampo, Botolan, Zambales
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