Tago of yore

Piecing together the Tago of old is quite easy to me because I’m fond of talking to old people and asking them questions. Their memory may not be infallible, still there’s a lot to be gained from their recollections.

I have two wonderful sources of factoids about Tago of yore: Iyo Hindu Montenegro and Iya Dading Bautista.

I love it when I see Iyo Hindu sitting by his lonesome on a bench by our corner where Luna and Laurente Streets intersect. And I love it more when ‘Yo Hindu never seems to tire answering my questions about crabbing, a craft he had perfected long before his family-imposed retirement few summers ago.

I also love going to church every Sunday because I know that after the church service, when we all repair to the shed, Iya Dading will be sharing some trivia about Tago. Last Sunday I learned two things from her: That Tago River used to teem with crocodiles and that the whole stretch of Baybay was a nesting ground for tortoises.

“Did the crocodiles claim some victims?” I said.

“You mean eaten?” 'Ya Dading said, then shook her head. “But there was one fisherman from Poro whose leg got chomped off.”

I don’t know if it was part of Tago’s urband legend but when I was a kid Papa told us how Iyo Suelo Curada (then our neighbor) once wrestled with a crocodile entrapped by his bobo.

Knowing that in the past Tagon-ons mainly used riverine transportation, I asked how then did they travel safely. By making sure we don’t paddle near where sampinit and bakhaw abound because that is where crocodiles lie in wait, she said. Also by bringing big stones ready for use when the need arises, she added.

How?

She explained: When the water is very still, it’s likely that a crocodile would surface, its corrugated back floating like a giant peel of sour sop. And when this happened, she’d be quick to put stones in her hands, submerge them into the water and clang the stones like a cymbalist. This would create an underwater noise so disconcerting a crocodile has no choice but to flee.

I’m sure Discovery and National Geographic Channel had featured this, but this I learned last Sunday from ‘Ya Dading. She said that when the crocodile eggs are hatched, the baby crocs would run from the shore to the water where the mother crocodile is waiting with its mouth wide open. Nature wills it that most of these baby Lacostes will be eaten alive by their mom.

Why?

“Just imagine what will happen to us if all these baby crocs survive,” she said. Stupid me for forgetting some lessons in Ecology!

“But what annihilated the crocs in Tago?” I asked her.

“Dynamite fishing,” she said.

"Did you know that our Baybay was a nesting ground for tortoise?" she segued. At certain time of the year long before I was born, Tagon-ons would watch hundreds of newly hatched tortoises inch their way to the salty waters. Despite the order of then Mayor Acevedo to stop poaching tortoise eggs, Tagon-ons continued the practice, driving the land-dwelling reptiles to migrate to more friendly environment.

When I was in Grade Six, I remember our class running to Baybay because somebody caught a huge tortoise. I’m not sure now, but I think it was brought to the house of ‘Yo Kikoy Acevedo and put inside a large container of rusting iron half-filled with water.

Knowing the contribution of “Lolong” in boosting tourism in Agusan del Sur, I can’t help feeling sad for Tago.


****
(photo filched from the Net)

Do you remember the time when kids were kids?

Did you notice that parents now no longer use baby talk to their kids? And did you also notice that parents now keep track of their children’s growth by knowing how adept they have become at using their laptops or their touch screen cellphones with Android power and Swype feature?


Our parents had it differently then. When they wanted us to chew on something, it was “nam-nam”; when they wanted us to swallow something, it was “ma-mam”. When our bladder was full, it was time to “wi-wi”; when our ass was full, it was time to “u-uuu”. And do you still remember how hard it was for our parents to make us “u-uuu” by resorting to onomatopoeia to “pump-prime” shit? Sometimes it took us too long that our parents would start spreading their necks like cobras and turning red like diyoy.


A digression: According to psychologists, this baby-talk would oftentimes lead to children developing late their communication skills. I don’t know. All I know is I had childhood friends who couldn’t produce the right sound of words even if we were already in elementary. And because there were no speech therapists then, my friends were made to eat the vagina of sows just so they (my friends, not the sows) could articulate words correctly.


Moving on: Do you still remember the time when our parents would make us stand erect as they chalk-marked our height on the wall? And do you still remember the time when entering first grade required no tests on letters, numbers, shapes and colors, just the ability to touch your left ear with your right hand wrapped over your head?

Nowadays it’s the children who speak in tongues to baffle their parents. No, I’m not talking about words like erpat and ermat morphing into tapre and tamre. Nor I am talking about tsula, the new term for kiss and orimos, the new term for having sex. Rather I’m talking about words that are coined with the intention to mislead and deceive.

As for deception, our parents had it differently then. Remember the time when our parents didn’t want us to know what they were talking by resorting to speaking in English or spelling the words? Consider the following scene.

Father (upon seeing Mother come out of the room): Mupanaw kaw?
Mother (quickly pointing her lips at you as you played with your sarsa on the floor): Careful, the little boy is listening. (Then nods at your Father.)
Father: Where to?
Mother: T.A.N.D.A.G.

Poor you! Because there was no cable TV then to teach you English or how to spell before you entered Grade One, you were clueless that a classified information had been exchanged right under your nose.

Now you remember.


*****
(photo: stolen from the Net)

My 2012 Bucket List

I'm not good at keeping New Year resolutions; and anything I'm not good at I abandon. What I'm into now is doing a Bucket List.

The Urban Dictionary says that a Bucket List is a list of things to do or visit before you die. Some say it comes from the term "kick the bucket" (a euphemism for dying) while others say that it must have come from the Rob Reiner movie called "The Bucket List" in which two terminally ill men (Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson) went on a road trip to do the things they wanted to do before they died. Over time though, a "Bucket List" has come to mean a list of things you want to do or places you want to visit. Period.

My 2012 Bucket List, in no particular order, includes the following:



1. The Ayala Museum. The fact that it is the most important private museum in the Philippines, showcasing a number of exhibits that cannot be found elsewhere in the country, makes it a “must-visit” for me.



2. Corregidor. Of course we all know that Corregidor is famous the world over for its role in war and history. An island day tour to this three-mile long rock island remarkably shaped like a tadpole at the entrance of Manila Bay must be worth it!



3. Intramuros. I simply have to visit again this historic Walled City via Carlos Celdran's Walk This Way Tour. I have a hidden agendum: I want to see how Carlos Celdran does this world famous act of his because I want to do it (the walk-tour) in Tago, that is, after I’m done with mental reconstruction of our hometown of yore. You know, like where the Japanese garrison was located, where POWs committed mass suicide, where the Yamashita treasure was allegedly buried, where the Dutch priest hanged himself, etc.



4. University of San Carlos. Just to see how far has it succumbed to the lures of commercialism.



5. Watching a play at Resorts World Manila. No explanation needed.

6. Laswitan, Cortes, SDS. Been hearing how beautiful this place is. That this natural marvel is just a few kilometers from where I sit right now makes it easy to visit.

7. Holding a Summer Class for Basic Writing and Public Speaking. I need to do this to do Items 1 to 5.

Caveat to stalkers: If you see somebody wearing aviator shades with highlight on his hair in any of the six places mentioned above, it's not me!

BLESSING UNDISGUISED: the BISDAK-California LOVE PROJECT for Tago

What an ispiring way to know the faces of poverty and gratitude!

Nonon Villamor pitched my way the BISDAK-California LOVE PROJECT for TAGO when Sendong was yet planning where to unleash its fury. I readily agreed, knowing the impact it would bring to Tago’s poor community. However, I kept everything under wraps for a while because though I trusted Nonon, I had experiences before where project ideas like this didn’t get past the drawing board.

I began focusing on the project in earnest only after Nonon had informed me that he had sent the money through Land Bank of the Philippines. That was days after Sendong had wrought havoc in Cagayan de Oro and Iligan. I felt guilty thinking the victims of Sendong needed the money more than my townmates. But when assistance poured in like flash flood to Iligan and Cagayan de Oro, somehow I felt better. And when we distributed the stuff to the beneficiaries of BISDAK LOVE PROJECT for TAGO (BLPT), that was when we felt much, much better. They may not be flash flood victims, but our townmates very well deserved the love from California!

I suggested to Nonon that we’d make BLPT all about food because for the poor, Christmas means having food on the table. (Forget about clothes, I told him, because Ukay-ukay joints make it easy for the poor to put clothes on their back.) But make no mistake about it, I said, because we don't want to be boxed in the usual idea that for as long as you have something for the poor, quality doesn't matter. More than us, the poor deserve something better. In short, we didn't want to distribute goods that will elicit not gratitude but bad words for well meaning people like BISDAK. And Nonon agreed when I said that we'd give them nothing less than the best, after all it’s Christmas.

Originally, we targeted 150 beneficiaries whose bundle of joy would contain the following: 2 kilos Sinandomeng rice; Alaska Milk (80 grams); Nescafe (25 grams); Milo (80 grams); 1 kilo White Sugar; Argentina Bee Loaf (150 grams); Argentina Corned Beef (200 grams); 3 Mega Sardines (200 grams); 3 Lucky Me Noodles. The total cost went beyond what BISDAK-California had sent. Fortunately Nonon gave us free rein, and so we reduced the beneficiaries to 130---excluding Kulas and six Tandag City Jail inmates who received a towel and 3 underwears each---as we didn’t want to go for cheaper substitutes of the identified foodstuff.



Though Atty. Eric Lumactod texted me to offer his and Titser Mae’s assistance in packing the goods, I just didn’t bother them knowing my nephews and nieces could handle it.

A day before the scheduled distribution on December 30, everything was set: beneficiaries had their claim coupons; goods packed and labeled with BISDAK-California; the tarp was done and the t-shirts were distributed to volunteers; the acknowledgment folder was fastened; service vehicle had been negotiated; volunteers had been briefed on their duties and responsibilities, including distribution mechanics, assembly time and place.



December 30 came and the weather showed compassion. The driver arrived earlier than the agreed time and Ramil Patrimonio, Florephi “Bingbing” Dagaang, and Emily Patrimonio were just about ready when I reached the assembly area at 8:00 AM. As agreed, the distribution sites and schedules were: 9:00-10:30 Mangga Dos (Soong); 10:40-12:00 Citrus Dos (Kasaw-kasaw); 1:30-3:00 PM (Iran); 3:20-4:00 Sapa and Boulevard; 4:10-5:00 Tandag City Jail; 5:30-6:00 Tago Terminal.

When the clock hit 8:30 and Atty. Lumactod, Daisy Luna, and Titser Sharlynmae Murillo still hadn’t arrived, we decided to go ahead. But when we reached the corner where Nonon Villamor’s house stands, Atty. Lumactod and Titser Mae popped up just like that. It was Dee who had to do catch-up.

We identified ‘Ya Dading Bautista’s house to be the distribution site because it was along the road, thus easier for us to carry and distribute the goods. We didn’t start the briefing until all beneficiaries had arrived and were done filling out the acknowledgment folder. And when I did, I hammered on what’s BISDAK-California as a group; how BISDAK LOVE PROJECT for TAGO came about; how Tago was identified as the pilot area and other pieces of information we deemed important for them to know. And because BISDAK-California happens to have two Tagon-on family members, we made sure to mention the names of Nonon and Marjorie Villamor and Robert and Razel Vaz-Cortes. We emphasized the fact that BISDAK-California had thought of this project out of pure love, and that we were just conduits of that love. Jokingly we said that we don’t have intentions of running for public office. I ended the briefing by telling the beneficiaries to offer a prayer of thanks to God and to all the members of BISDAK-California for this unexpected, undisguised blessing.

Because earlier we did scenario-building, the distribution went without a hitch. Although there were some who were not pre-identified and went to ask for their share, we politely told them that we had made ocular inspection of the sites so we could identify the most deserving beneficiaries as we didn’t have enough bundles of joy to give.



The same hitch-free distribution mechanics applied to all love sites. One thing happened in Iran that hit me where it mattered. While Bingbing was taking the video as Emily, Dee and Titser Mae distributed the goods, I was looking at the pregnant woman beneficiary as she carried the goods to one of the dilapidated houses. Too eager perhaps to see what she got, she put the cellophane bag down and opened it. And when she finally saw the contents, her eyes lit up and matter of factly said: hulog ng langit!


Manna from heaven indeed!

By the time we were done with Mangga Dos and Citrus Dos, we didn’t have spaces in our hearts to put the joy and the gratitude we all felt. As we shared lunch at Goldbar, we all agreed that BISDAK-California LOVE PROJECT for TAGO was the ultimate Prozac! But more than that, we were so privileged to be part of this very laudable project.

In the afternoon, we went to Iran, Tandag City Jail and back to Tago Terminal to distribute bundles of joy to trisikad drivers. This time, Dr. Borin Villamor joined us. We must have been efficient because we finished earlier than planned.





And because BISDAK-California LOVE PROJECT for TAGO turned out way beyond our expectations, we treated ourselves to dinner at Café La Jara in Tandag. (We still have to turn-over a special BISDAK-California love gift for Kulas.)



The BISDAK-California LOVE PROJECT for TAGO began as a collective need for California-based Bisdak to share their resources to poor families on the other side of the globe. What this group had just done to Tago is a testament that ours is a world where dreams, despite distance, can be connected by bridges of love.

To paraphrase what was printed on our t-shirt: California dreamed; Tago got its blessings! Thank you so much BISDAK-California, USA for making Christmas wishes come true in Tago!




(Note to Nonon Villamor: I’ll send you the liquidation report soon as I can finalize it.) (For more photos, please find somewhere in my FB wall two BISDAK-California folders.)

happy new year everyone!

Taming the Water Dragon for some luck!

wearing Broadway on my Levi's from UK

When 2011 concedes to 2012 tonight, I will be wearing Broadway on my Levi's from UK.

The boot cut, “Made in Mexico” Levi’s sold for P200 in a UK joint fronting the house of Mrs. Carmencita Montesclaros in Tandag. When I saw the “gash” on the knee, I knew it was meant for me.

I haggled for P100 but the salesperson said the lowest he could go was P150. I walked away, praying he would call me back. He did!

As I was holding my Levi’s, my mind was already going on maximum overdrive on how to jazz it up.


(it's Les Miserables!)



I went to Nong Vencio Fabor to have the gash zigzagged in the way I wanted. While the waistline was perfect for me, the length wasn’t. I was “41”, my UK Levi’s was “48”. It was painful letting go of the beautifully torn hemline.


(a repro of the painting by Cebu's famous artist but whose name shall remain a secret.)


Then I went to my artist. When I gave him the designs and he said he could do them, I had palpitations. I told him I will bid adieu to 2011 in style, he said my wish is his command.

I got my wish; he got his bonus.

2012 here I come!




(the gash details that had been zigzagged to specs! i specifically requested the artist not to smear the gash with paint.)

circumnavigating Tago for BISDAK

Our goal that day was to distribute 60 BISDAK coupons; and the plan was to begin at Iran and end at Mangga Dos.

The sun was up. But not wanting to be tricked, we armed ourselves with umbrellas. I wore yellow slippers; Ramil wore blue. Inside my bag was a jumble of eyeglasses, ball pens, notebooks, coupons, candies, USB, etc.

As we hit the road, I warned Ramil to keep his bleeding heart in check. We’re targeting 150 beneficiaries only, I said.

We went to Bongtud (popularly known now as Iran) and began at the same exact spot where we (Atty. Lumactod and Titser Mae) had left off a week ago. I took charge of writing the names and issuing the coupons while Ramil, the interviewing: Are you a member of 4 Ps? How many children do you have? What’s your work? Where do you get your food?

From Iran we went to Boulevard. Surprisingly, the community there was quite “well-off” compared to Iran, with some having tv and washing machine. Only a few coupons were distributed. When we reached Sapa, Ramil saw that some houses were leaning and half done. And because they are my neighbors, I've already pre-identified them.

It began to rain as we proceeded to Kasaw-kasaw, a community in Duma-duma that thrives on the waterfront of Tago River. Some houses have torn blankets as walls, others have nipa shingles with holes. It was a vision of poverty at its starkest!

Then we proceeded to the inner sanctum of Citrus Dos where most men and children were naked from the waist up, with skin made darker by years of fishing and weaving nipa under the harsh sun. As we waded through muddy waters, I told Ramil that we might get alipunga. His rebuke came quick: "Saba Romel, wa gani alipungaha iton carabao na permi galatak nan lapok."

"Kay may sapatos san mga yapating naman," I retorted.

Because some houses stand right smack in the river, we had to negotiate an unsteady and uneven foot bridge no wider than a child’s stretched thumb and middle finger. Things got a bit unwieldy because I had to maintain my balance while pressing the umbrella handle between my jaw and shoulder and writing the names in my notebook and making sure it doesn’t get wet from heavy rains. We prodded on until a foot bridge broke and I fell, leaving a scratch on my left leg. Ramil and I just laughed it off, blaming each other for being overweight. Since then, Ramil told me to keep myself at bay and leave it to him to get the names.

Then following a foot trail that overflowed with rain water, we headed for Soong and Mangga Dos. By this time, our umbrellas were already disfigured as many times they had caught either a clothesline or a branch. Though we’re both cynophobic, Ramil agreed to walk ahead of me, stopping dead on his track every time a dog barked its presence.

I remember visiting the same community 30 years ago when a typhoon hit Tago and as Seniors at Purisima School we distributed bundles of joy along with the SPC nuns. The community has grown, alright, but so do misery and poverty.

Every way we looked, poverty stared at us and never blinked.

But a situation like this doesn’t lack irony. We were in what could be the poorest section of Tago when a motorcycle arrived to deliver a purified water to one of the nipa shacks. As Ramil was busy interviewing potential beneficiaries, I did my own with the children. They may be poor, but they had names like Heathcliff, Jefferson, and Cauliflower. A baby sleeping on a makeshift hammock was named Obama while another child playing on the bamboo floor with a broken toy was named Shrek. I could only hope the parents got the spelling of the last one correctly, otherwise they’re better off naming their child Scream.

We went home past lunch time. Ramil was dripping wet but he seemed not to mind as he was always smiling. I bathed soon as I reached home, had lunch, and hit the bed. When I woke up I felt mild body pains everywhere. As I felt an onset of fever, I took Bioflu, then ate some Christmas leftovers from the fridge, and went to Emily where we had another good laugh about our circumnavigating Tago in half-a-day.