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.


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(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.


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(photo: stolen from the Net)