A Native Son’s Early Lament for the Forest-Rich Dupax of Yesteryears

ONE OF THE little treasures I recently found turning brittle among my junk piles is this Jan-March 1975 issue of the Forestry Digest, A Magazine About Public Appreciation For Forests that used to be published quarterly in the days when the UPLB College of Forestry still benefited from the Republic Act that mandated collection for forest information purposes of 10 centavos per cubic meter of timber extracted from the Philippines’ forests.

The poor little thing already lost its cover but, apart from a couple or so of missing leaves, it was still in readable condition and was fortunate to have escaped nibbling by cockroaches, silverfish, and termite that have become the nemesis of a significant portion of my magazine collections (including Plain Truth, Focus Philippines, Asia Philippines Leader, Bannawag, Jingle Songbook, Unasylva, Time, Newsweek, Reader’s Digest, and Philippines Free Press).

I would have left the copy among my now-better-sorted junk of printed materials, to again fight for life until such a time that I would do another dusting and sorting. But when I leafed through its yellowing pages, I found the magazine carried an essay that I wrote when I was yet a struggling and overstaying student at the College of Forestry. Here’s a snapshot of the title page of that essay:

FORESTRY DIGEST (Jan-March 1975)

 Now there are at least four reasons why this old essay should merit a spot in this Blogsite:

1) It was an essay about Dupax when it was still a biodiversity-rich Isinay country.

2) It was the essay that earned me P80 from Focus Philippines, the highest I got paid from that magazine considering that my “Witchery at Salinas Salt Spring” bagged me P60 while my “What’s Up There on the Mountain?” earned P40.

3) It was the essay that most probably qualified me to get an invitation from Kerima Polotan, the Editor-in-Chief, to attend the 1974 Focus Philippines Literary Awards where this shy and barriotic boy from Dupax taking up Forestry at UP at least sat for an hour with other writers (including  the then boyish Cebuano poet Vicente Bandillo) at the Heroes Hall of the then Marcos-occupied Malacañang .

4) It was the essay that made me look 10-feet taller to my Uncle Ado^ (the perennial Dupax town fiesta emcee and declaimer Dominador Boada Sr.) when he read it in the Forestry Digest that I specifically asked the Forestry Digest’s circulation people to mail to him.

5) It was the essay that made Papa feel bad when he read it in the Focus Philippines that was sent as a complementary subscription for public elementary schools and so, one time I went home for the semestral break, he reprimanded me with these words: “Saanmo nga ibabain ti ilim!” (Don’t put down your own town).

Here’s a transcription of that essay:

NO MORE POEMS FOR MY CHILDREN

By Charles P. Castro

(Originally published in the August 10, 1974 issue of FOCUS Philippines; reprinted with permission.)

There was a time

when meadows, grove, and stream

the earth, and every common sight

to me did seem appareled in celestial light,

the glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore –

turn whereso’er I may by night and day,

the things which I have seen

I now can see no more.

--William Wordsworth

THERE IS ALWAYS, for me, an intense feeling of envy at sight of communities  that have preserved the pristine richness and beauty of their valleys, streams, and hills despite the incessant onslaughts of civilization so-called. How lucky their inhabitants are to have still much of nature to pasture their imaginations with, and sanctuaries too in which to seek solace when life’s seas go rough and seemingly unnavigable.

I covet Los Baños, Laguna, for example, because of Mount Makiling. The climate there would not now be so friendly and the University of the Philippines campus there would not now be so appealing as a place of study had the mountain been stripped of its lush, multi-species flora.

I also envy Baco, Oriental Mindoro, where one would ordinarily dismiss as myth the delightful tales of farmers about deer, wild pig, and occasional tamaraws invading their ricefields had the mighty Mount Halcon been vegetated only with cogon and talahib.

In like manner, Lake Bulusan in Sorsogon and the fishing creeks of Maddela, Quirino, would not be so serene and inviting now – even extracting in one the wish that he were as courageous and free as Henry David Thoreau to get away from it all – if today their lake shores and riverbanks were bare of trees, ferns, lianas, and other plant life.

I suffer indeed at the mere recollection of how once upon a time my hometown Dupax had been sylvan and we natives enjoyed the blessings of undisturbed forests. But, just like many an erstwhile wooded locality, flock after flock of ruthless lumbermen came like honeybees to our town and their machines ravaged the greenness and tranquility of our dales and hills.

THERE WERE at one time in Dupax alone three logging concessions and the rivers we used to go swimming and spearfishing in soon enough became muddied by the provisional roads they built. This invasion also paved way for instant kaingins, a ravenous method of agriculture that seemed to be the specialty not only of the immigrants from the Ilocos and the mountain provinces but also those of the Visayas, many of whom looked as though they were integral parts of the logging trucks and sawmills.

We had local forest officers at the time, it’s true. However, very much like you would conjure during the Old Society when one rings the word politician, many of them were exactly that: pot-bellied, drink-loving, cockfight afficionados. They would not be disturbed in their god-fathering chores except when tipped of beautiful narra lumber drying under a poor farmer’s hut, in which case they would then hustle to the place, for is it not that narra makes excellent sala sets?

Like what most people react to poetry, these forest officers appeared ignorant to the subtlety and beauty of form that would endure beyond tomorrow. Their brand of forestry, it seems to me now, was that all the commercial trees in the woods were to be toppled and scraped off, not only to be sold to Manila, but also to make the rich soil under their boughs ready for planting to upland rice, squash, ginger, and camote. And then ultimately the cleared areas would be classified as alienable and disposable, titled or become leased as pastureland by some hawks in the bureaucracy.

Reforestation? Oh well, beyond the hypocrisy and ningas-kugon of it all, no hand was lifted seriously for that. Only words were said – perfunctorily. On Arbor Day, for instance, local officials would be asked to speak sentimentally about love of the soil and the birds and the bees and the trees that give us fruits to eat and branches to make slingshots with – while the cameras click and the school children file listlessly and scratching in the sun. It would be noon when all is said and done and the children would next be herded to weed and water gumamela hedges, coffee plants and bougainvilleas on the schoolyard while their mentors gossip under the mango trees.

A few hills were decked out once with Benguet pine. But when someone started calling the species “Christmas trees,” sure enough every cold December hence you would see the pines wilting among the Yuletide decorations of certain houses connected to reforestation people. Then one summer the fire from an adjoining kaingin got unguarded, and turned the green pine hills to brown.

Now some people have caught up with the fever again. This time it is kasoy, planted on the spot where the floods that in August carry away the wooded bridge linking the town to the rest of Nueva Vizcaya were thought to come from. If the seedlings will become climbable trees for tomorrow, only the carabaos that graze on the reforestation area would know.

What one is inclined to believe is that there should be no surreptitious reforestation activities such as are done now were reservations made at the outset for forests to co-exist with civilization.

TO THINK OF IT, just a little over a decade ago there was still more than enough place to go to where one, as Donald Culross Peattie says, “does not live as we live, restless and running, panting after flesh, and even in sleep tossing with fears.” The now scarred and artless hills were then blue-green and, oh, how reassuring they seemed to be then, palpitating with verdant vegetation and friendly wildlife!

I could still perch on my grandfather’s shoulders then and my memories of those green and untainted days include excursions with him to robust corn and tobacco fields, where wild chicken and monkeys chased one another. We had a hut in the field from where we could hear myriad of forest voices from sunup to sundown, such as the bleating of a lost fawn, the forlorn love call of the alimuken (wild dove), the bellowing of the tariktik hornbill, the chiseling of the tagtaga (woodpecker), and the shrill "kutkutak" of the jungle chicken.

The streams then were not yet violated by tin cans, dead cats, grease, and effluvia from sawmills. I remember I used to have good times fishing with Grandfather, choosing our day’s catch from among such river denizens as the dalag, the paltat, the ar-aro, the igat, and the tilapia. Nowadays you can consider yourself lucky if you could net even a single finger-sized mudfish in the streams and ponds where fish used to be only a hook-and-line away. The loss of these blessings was a consequence not so much of the additional mouths to feed as of the drying up of the springs and streams in summer.

As for floods, it’s true we had them once in a while but not as often, ferocious, and unpredictable as the deluge we now get as a consequence of forest despoliation. In fact, when I was little, inundations were sort of welcome break from routine as they brought bigger and better catches for the bamboo fish-traps called bobo and asar that the barrio folk used to collectively build and set against the stream current. These days such fishing contraptions are considered obsolete in our place, as almost  all other methods of catching fish are beginning to be useless in a now fish-poor river.

The forest loss also led to the obsolescence of certain pastime and skills. For instance, my uncles in the barrio used to weave rattan hammocks (indayon) and baskets especially when the rains came and rice planting was done. Such activity has been severely curtailed because one must hike from dawn to noon these days to get to where the well-seasoned uway (rattan) and nito are. In the old days, one didn’t have to hike too far up in the hills to get materials needed, the same way we didn’t have to go and intrude in Ilongot hunting territory to gather firewood, forest fern and palm shoots.

And, oh yes, it was not yet a miracle then to have venison (deer meat) or meat from wild pigs on our dining table in that not so long ago forest-abundant time. Using only low-caliber guns, pit traps, or a pack of dogs, it was not uncommon for hunters then to come home from the hills with a sack full of bush meat and pairs of deer antlers after only a couple of days’ sojourn in the wilderness.

Today, with the wide stretches of summery woods gone, I bet if you can get back in a year’s stalking of wild quarry your money’s worth for an air-rifle. For even the formerly ignored musang (civet cat), banyas (monitor lizard), and paniki (fruit bat) are hard to find now.

The pushing away of the forest has made these erstwhile common wildlife as rare now as the kalaw (hornbill), kilyawan (oriole), balug (wild pigeon), papa (wild mallard), abuyo (jungle fowl), and other big birds that were in my boyhood targets for our slingshots.

I HAVE YET TO SEARCH for a special someone to mother my progeny as I write this. But this early I could just imagine the questions my would-be kids would besiege me with in the future: “How does a kalaw look like, father? How does the meat of the animal owning horns like that of the hat-rack taste? And why does lolo love his old rattan sala set so much and not replace it with modern ones?”

Such questions only pertain to the tangible aspects of forests, true. Yet I worry how I’m going to answer them as I myself wonder now if I shall ever get to taste sweet and free venison again; wonder too when I will see the glint of the sun on the crimson bill of the kalaw, not as it is refurbished, held captive, and tortured in cages, or exhibited in stuffed-bird parlors, but up there, happy and free, in the trees.

In like manner, I worry how to hide from my children-to-be the fact that somewhere, sometime in my life, I have been party to the debauchery, and that I have had a hand also at sinfully laying down the blade to trees in the woods of our town which have survived years, nay, centuries, of wind and rain and drought events.
I wonder too if I shall ever see the forest-dwelling Ilongots again, including  the maiden Martina who used to give me clusters of littuko (rattan fruits) each time they would come down from the mountains to my grandparents’ barrio to barter their beautifully crafted baskets and their stocks of deer hide, rattan, and dried meat of ugsa (deer), alingo (wild pig) and ikan (a fish now extinct in our rivers) with our rice, salt, sugar, tobacco, bolos, puppies, and blankets.

Looking back on that era, what a friendly relation the Ilongots and Dupax residents had then! But the bonds were cut one day when the fire trees were in bloom and the news echoed that two families of kaingineros were beheaded in the vicinity of one of the sawmills upstream.

My townmates generally believed then that maybe some Ilongot maid was to be married and that she must have been very beautiful for the tribe to require her suitors to slice off  more than a dozen Christian heads. But when the incident were repeated regardless of whether the firetrees flowered or not, not a few people began to speculate that the headhunting was in due retaliation for the tribe's being robbed of what used to be their paradise.

WELL, THEY CALL IT progress. If losing forests and suffering the consequences is progress, I don’t know what that word means.

It would have been all right if the despoliation resulted in better roads and bridges, in more rice and livelihood, in happier and healthier people. But Dupax has nothing else to show for the exploitation of its forest riches. We still have no banks, no telephone lines, no magazine stands, no bakeries, no movie houses, not even a kilometer of concrete road to justify the destruction of the forests.

Moreover, the part of town where I live becomes an island with just a little downpour, a fact that has sent not a few candidates for mayor, governor, and congressmen to office just by their promise to reinstate the fallen bridge at Benay River connecting us to the rest of civilization.

You may call it an act of treachery on my part, but our town, once reputed to be the most wooded in Nueva Vizcaya, can only boast now of deplorably bald and bird-less mountains, vast but unproductive cogonal lands, and rivers that turn dry in summer but in the rainy season resurge and run wild with flood waters to devour and carry away crops, paddies, lives, and dreams.

That is probably why I normally don't invite vacationing friends to come to Dupax. And if ever I get around to raising a family and have the means, with my hometown’s forests gone, I’m thinking of settling down in other places – perhaps like Palawan – where all sorts of wildlife are said to be still peacefully sharing forest trails with humanity. #

The Green Fields of Dupax

Perhaps because they signify hope and prosperity, perhaps because they evoke pleasant memories of childhood...  among the things I never tire of seeing each time I go home to Dupax are the ricefields. Be they in muddy state, dressed in green during planting season, or looking like an Amorsolo painting when the grains turn to gold, the ricefields never cease to awaken a sense of pride in the Dupax native in me.

If there is one thing that I wish Dupax to retain for many, many more years to come, it is its ricefields.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want my town to look sleepy and stagnant forever... nor do I wish my townmates to feel backward and -- to use a favorite Tagalog phrase during my student activist years -- "naiiwanan sa kangkungan ng kasaysayan" (left in the kangkong ponds of history).

The fact, however, that wherever you go there are ricefields to your right, ricefields to your left, ricefields in front, and ricefields on your back, is what makes Dupax home and paradise to native sons like me.

Indeed, be it Norte or Sur, Dupax is Dupax because of its ricefields. Take them ricefields away and I assure you the thousands of Isinays and other Dupax-born or Dupax-raised Filipinos would no longer feel their hometown is the same.


Put another way, Dupax would not be Dupax if you take away such staple-food-producing areas and replace them with subdivisions, golf courses, memorial parks, industrial sites, and even mass-housing projects that you now see proliferating in many parts of the Philippines.


Of course, I may be biased. But having traveled to many municipalities in the Philippine archipelago and having seen how they compare or contrast with my birthplace, I think I have earned the right to speak and write glowingly of my hometown. Yes, I can say with fervor that Dupax is beautiful, even if first-time visitors would most probably get the first impression that there's not much to see but ricefields and balding hills.

Not Just Skin-Deep

It may be an overused description, but I'm proud to write "not just skin-deep" here to qualify the aesthetic quality that the ricefields exude and radiate like sunshine to Dupax.

Indeed, there's more to the ricefields of Dupax than sunburnt farmers, slow-moving carabaos, gurgling irrigation canals, rice plants swaying in the breeze, and later paddy fields redolent with newly cut and threshed hay.

There's more to the sights, sounds, scents, and even tastes of the ricefields of Dupax than those you could probably encounter in the ricelands along the highway in Nueva Ecija or Pangasinan. I can even venture to say that they have many special things to offer compared to the well-publicized terraced rice paddies of Banaue and other parts of Ifugao.

To be more specific, let me lay down three of my cards:

1. Fields with history. Called payaw in Isinay (talon in Ilocano), most of the ricefields of Dupax have been there long, long before the town became North and South. I got the following from the manuscript History and Cultural Life of Dupax:

2. Fertilized with blood. Dupax then and up to now, had been equated to headhunting land. Excerpts from the book The Ilongots (1591-1994) by Fr. Pedro V. Salgado, O.P.:

3. Nurtured by hills and rivers. If you look close enough, an integral part of the ricefield ecosystems of Dupax are the hills their sides and the rivers from the blue mountains where they get their nurturance.

Memory Makers

In whatever state they may be, the ricefields evoke happy memories of childhood to many sons and daughters of Dupax. A composite of such memories would include any combination or all of the following:

• the wondrous sensation of soft mud on the soles of your feet as you make your way to a point in the paddy where you thought you saw a couple of tadaj (frogs) in tight romantic embrace or when you go searching for such mud-loving edible shells as ambeveyo^, basikul or genga.
• the excitement the child in you would get at discovering that if you concentrated enough you could not only keep your balance but also walk fast or even run on the ricefield's dike no matter how slippery it would be at certain spots and even dare to challenge your playmates to a dike-walking race.
• the happy feeling of accomplishment when you tried your hand at pulling the pulla (rice seedlings) during that stage Ilocanos call sikka (uprooting rice seedlings preparatory to riceplanting), followed by dibbling the seedlings and testing for yourself if the lines of the song "Magtanim Ay Di Biro" really hold water.
• the unforgettable experience of visiting the ricefield a week or so later to check if there are problems with the tamnang (dike) or if the irrigation works, and a few more times thereafter to remove recalcitrant weeds or to gather again edible snails if not edible algae called bahase.
• the great sense of accomplishment you get when the rice plants begin to mandawa (pregnant with grain) and, along with the refreshing breeze on your face, you hear the song of the tukling or the kebkeb as they make their way among the now thick emerald riceplants in search of tadpoles or stranded tuldu^ (juvenile mudfish).
• the hours-long picnic of woodfuel-cooked aromatic rice (and outsmarting your siblings with the ittip) when you keep vigil or stay overnight enjoying camping life in the abung-abung to reinforce the tinahutahu (scarecrow) and the bambanti used to drive away tulin (rice sparrows) when the riceplants begin to ripen.

If memories like this do not make you wish you were young again, I don't know what cave you have been crouching in all these years.

Making Up for Lost Time

I'm putting my neck on the chopping board here. But believe me the ricefields of Dupax are not only a photographer's delight but also rich prospects for the emerging business of ecotourism. Their prospects are bright for being tapped to fill the increasing need of urban people for clean air and organic food, of OFWs for getting back to their roots or close to nature, of senior citizens for catching up on their deposits of happy memories, of those nearing their expiry dates for retiring in peace and beauty.

This means that the ricefields are a sleeping giant for entrepreneurs of healthful, environmentally benign, culturally appropriate, and local employment-generating ventures related to the travel industry.  

Put another way, Dupax is a frog princess awaiting to be kissed by a knight (small entrepreneurs) on the lookout for some damsel (ricefields) in distress (being ignored for other beautiful functions and benefits other than producing rice).

(TO BE CONTINUED)

More Gabaldon Memories

See what a single photo can do? Joe Latar's shot didn't only resurrect memories that would have otherwise been forgotten forever, it also sent me to dig some more on the subject -- and to keep in touch with friends and relatives.

This blog forms Part Three of an unintended series of posts on the Gabaldon building of Dupax el Sur, Nueva Vizcaya. (The first,  posted in March 2011, was titled  "Goodbye, Gabaldon, Goodbye." The second, immediately preceding this piece, carried the title "Gabaldon Memories.")


A PAGE FROM HISTORY

Here's what I found from the yellowing and brittle 11-page manuscript titled HISTORY AND CULTURAL LIFE OF DUPAX that my dear mother, Mrs. Magdalena Pudiquet Castro, found among the files of my late father, Vicente Mambear Castro:

• 1898 -- November 19. The American Forces (Cavalry) entered the town without any resistance.
• 1901 -- Don Mariano Cutaran was made the first president of Dupax by the Americans. The first school where English was taught was also organized and established.
• 1915 -- President Genaro Evaristo began the construction of the Gabaldon building of the Dupax Elementary School. It was completed during the administration of Don Torcuato Albano. The building was destroyed during the war and was rebuilt with war damage funds from America.
• 1927 -- Dupax was linked with the other towns of Nueva Vizcaya by better roads. This was largely due to the efforts of the then incumbent Governor Alfonso Castañeda who is from Dupax.
• 1942 -- June 25. The people of Dupax first saw the Japanese Imperial Forces.
• 1946 -- June 6. The American Liberation Forces arrived in Dupax. There were no more Japanese soldiers reached as the Japs escaped to the mountains during the raids conducted the months before.

So you see, the Gabaldon building was part and parcel of the history of Dupax. This goes without saying that the ladies and gentlemen and children of the Evaristo and Albano clans should feel proud that their family names were etched in immortality with the construction of that building. I'm also sure the children and grandchildren of the dozens if not hundreds of Isinay, Ilocano, Tagalog and American workers (including carpinteros, labradors, peons, and capatazes) who labored to put up the building also felt proud that at long last Dupax had its own public school.

But then again -- ayyu, ayyu (what a pity) -- as shown in the photos below (which I shot last March 12, 2011) that monument is no more!

Front view of the missing Gabaldon building.

Back view of where the Gabaldon used to be. The rain tree may now be 70 years old.

A BREEZE FROM THE PAST

From Brisbane, Australia, came this August 27 email which should represent the oldest personal recollection (unless an older one would come in soon) of how life was when Gabaldon was still the one and only elementary school in central Dupax:

How are you my Isinay friend? Hope you and your family are all fine. I saw in your Face book pictures and what really amazed me was the picture of the old Gabaldon building. I still remember those days during my childhood the things I went thru like in my studies, my childhood friends and my teachers. 

Speaking of teachers, I think I can still remember them mostly of which I presume have all passed away or some still with us. The teachers were the following:

Miss Boy, Miss Ambatali, Miss Cacacho, Miss Lopez, Mrs. Tating Fernandez, Mr. Imperial, Mr. Felix, Mrs. Magaway, Mr. Herminio Castro, Mr. Apolonio Latar, Mrs. Coloma, Mr. Coloma, and lastly Miss dela Cuesta my favorite teacher. She was a very pretty woman and the funny part was I was in love with her and when she left I even cried. I remember the day she left she was in this Rural Transit bus that passed by our house and she waved at me and I felt tears flowing from my eyes. 

Those were the days I will never forget.  Unga^ tay sirye bayaw ot dioy mot si gi^na lalo mo bavayi ri asaj on uwar lalo mo maserot. Hahaha.

If you recall the last time I mentioned I prefer to correspond thru email rather than Facebook because there are more things to say. Hope to hear from you. I hope I didn't bore you with this email. Regards and GOD BLESS. – Alfonso C. Magalad

OF RECENT VINTAGE

As a sequel to the earlier selection I made of messages posted in the "Isinay Friends" of Facebook, these further exchanges may interest you:

Oh...God! I have not seen the building since I graduated from elementary... It is kinda' sad at the same time it brings a lot of memories. My Grade 6 class room (Miss Lolita Campus - adviser) was at the right hand side of the building just beside the boys' workshop building and later on was inhabited by the Philippine Army battalion? Can anyone remember that? God! I witnessed truckloads of dead bodies killed by the Army (presumably NPAs' daw). Those bodies were dumped on the ground waiting to be identified. This scene horrified me as a young kid and up to these days I can still vividly see it my mind. It eventually caused me not to eat for at least a week... HELL YEAH... I WAS VOMITING AT THAT TIME... This is one memory that I will never forget and never have forgotten... On the other hand... there were good memories, too but I will be running out of space if I had to start recalling all of it. – Editha de Guzman

O Edith that is so true. The Army used to be stationed at the lone old building called the workshop and you are right, they did bring the dead bodies of the NPA in that building. Gee... what an experience! – Benilda Castro Almorade

Why can't I remember that incident? I remember behind that great building were mango trees? Going downhill to the river where as Benilda mentioned we drag/carry our desks to clean. – Teresita Castro Bunal

That lone building used to be the 'ayuyang' of mr cenon asuncion as he was then in charge of carpentry, gardening and what not. it was the very same building where lots of dead NPA were brought but not sure where the bodies were brought from the building. could it be that they were buried in that building? if so, andojlan deet banih sirin banda... ua tessie, i think you were in high school then. – Benilda Castro Almorade

Yes, third year na si Ate Tessie noon at fourth year sina Nancy kasi may mga classmates siya na nagkaboyfirend ng mga sundalo. First year ako noon at friends ko mga NPA lalo na si Kumander Narsing which turned out later to be a DPA (Major yata ranggo niya sa AFP). Yung mga pinatay ng mga military e, in fairness pinapabendisyunan sa church habang nasa ibabaw ng 10 wheeler which we call "Logging truck" tapos dinadala sa sementeryo pero sa labas inililibing. – Judith Castro Dial

Although it's gone, the Gabaldon bldg., which we consider now as a thing of the past, has stood the adversities of times and has left an imprint in our minds that we could forever cherish. As I am writing these lines, I can't help but tend to be emotional for this gone monumental structure that played a vital role together with our teachers in moulding us into what we are now, useful citizens of this nation. – Nemesio C. Felix

Uwa Charles, my last year in Gabaldon was when in 3rd grade so i knew and have seen the works that the students have to undergo in their Industrial Arts subject. Luckily, i got transferred to Los Banos in my 4th grade. During that time i concluded that it was a laborious task that they have to do and i didn't want to experience the same and since my family moved to Laguna, then i guess, i was able to escape the impending hard labor. And let me just add that i still rmbr Apu Gorio Felix, Uwa Neming’s father, who was the principal during our time. Lots of memories that i will never forget as long as i live. – Arnold F. Bombongan

That's true Arnold, and who will ever forget the most challenging activity of all especially if the teacher is not around: going under the Gabaldon building and look for little holes made by a certain insect which we call "sunud-sunod"? Once... you collected more or less 5 of that insect, that's already considered a big accomplishment. In layman's term, "mababaw ang kaligayahan natin" but it paid off. You see? it became a part of our good memory of the old Gabaldon Building. – Judith Castro Dial

Hi manang Judith! Long time no see! I've been busy for a while but tonight i feel like talking to everybody, hahaha! O yes, you just reminded me of that, it's one of our favorite hobby during recess time, and sometimes we get carried away and forget it's almost time to go back to the room and guess! Be prepared for the punishment awaiting for you. – Arnold F. Bombongan

MY TAKE ON THE MEMORIES
By way of temporarily capping the discussion, here's what I posted in Facebook:

Many thanks, inarun iiva on iinsan, for contributing to the memories of the Gabaldon building and vicinity. The recollections that the Industrial Arts building (yes, that's how it was called then) was once a "kuta" of the military (I guess it was the Task Force Lawin) and was a dumping place for the NPA fighters they killed are not only shocking but also new to me.

For all you know, that Industrial Arts building was also memorable to me. I first entered it when I was in Grade 5 and the intermediate grade pupils had a meeting where I was elected PRO with Daisy Galutera (or was it her brother and Grade 6 classmate Edgar?) as President. Neyyit tay sino^to sirye... in fact, I even didn't know what PRO meant and what the duties were, beyaw ot saon si imbotos da.

I remember Sir Cenon Asuncion (who was, peovos, nicknamed Pallek then) was in charge of the Industrial Arts building during my time and, probably because he was courting Ma'am Cording (Concordia Garcia, RIP) who was then teaching in Palob...otan and staying in my Pudiquet grandparents' house in I-iyo, he often assigned me as monitor (taga-release then taga-panat) of the carpentry and gardening tools used by Grade 5 and 6 pupils.

This means that, as a teacher's pet, I was often free from doing what my classmates then were required to do -- alimbawa na: 1) mamangbang si tuutu^ an pangittuan si posten si eyar siri as-asup Abannatan; 2) manlajari, mantaliling, mangkatam, on mamasaj si pa-repair urumar teachers an desks; 3) mangapyat project an dustpan boon ila ya sajar an tajtaj (silag in Ilocano; buri in Tagalog) fiber an omoy min eyan siri ittuan da Lajay Imong an Calacala; 4) mantamnang si maman-okke^ on pantanoman si le-e an payaw an danum nar ya mi^bus si panen si nuwang on tayo^toar siri solar da Ama Edo^ an Laccay; on 5) manubuj si cosmos flowers, Vietnam rose, gumamela, on de-e tay an nabovov-on an masetas siri ampi-theater garden an dioy si sajungon di Industrial Arts buildingar.

The building looks very different now from the one on whose right side I once had a sitaw (pole beans) plot that I went to weed and water even on Saturdays. I recall that even if I was not an attractive boy then (toy mango^ngot, nave^leng, on nais-isaw tay eyampay si Sarles an Castro sire), I was quite popular with the girls because of my gayya^ which they bought for 10 centavos per gomgom for use in their Home Economics cooking lessons under Mrs. Luisa Soriano! -- Charlz Castro

 

Gabaldon Memories

At long last, we have a photograph of the Gabaldon building of the Dupax Central Elementary School a few years before it was pulverized by people who have a different sense of history!

The "whole-body" shot arrived by unexpected email from my cousin and classmate from grade school to high school, Jose C. Latar, along with these words: "Attached is the picture I took the last time I went to Dupax,  in August of 2001. I need to visit Dupax again. Please post in your blog."

I'm not sure if Joe intended it, but there is a happy coincidence here. Joe emailed the photo August 25, 2011. Note that the camera he used imprinted the date 8 22 '01 on the photo. Here:

Taken by Jose Castro Latar on August 22, 2001, this photo may be the last to show how the Gabaldon building looked. Built in 1915 when Genaro Evaristo was town President, this was where most Dupax residents learned to read and write.

As soon as I downloaded the picture, I posted it in the Isinay Group of my Facebook account with the following intro:

At last, a photo of how the old Gabaldon building where many Dupax citizens learned Reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic! Unless somebody has another shot taken before this historic school was demolished, this photo taken almost 10 years ago by... Jose Castro Latar, a long-time resident in front of the Dupax Elementary School campus, should be the last and latest. Sayang... mayat tay otyan i-preserve tiyen ikwilan toy materiales fuertes di sementonar.

And almost immediately, I got this barrage of feedback:

Manong, this was the old building oh i miss this one really – Tessie de Guzman

Brings lots of childhood memories. – Baybee Castro Almorade

Although i didn't graduate in my elem. here, the 1st 3 yrs brings back good memories to cherish. This is where our foundation was first laid out. Just to mention a few of my classmates, they are the Castro cousins Abeth and Emma, Engr Aida Asuncion, Judith Grutas, Roel Galutera, Malony Magaway, Marlon Bautista and sorry if i did not mention the others but they know who they are. – Arnold Bombongan

I just can't forget all the good memories here, where every special program I'm always chosen as the star dancer in any dance program, and cleaning the classroom, or ground, enjoying the cooking or arts craft at the Home Economics with Mrs. Magaway, oh I love making the guava jelly or making papaya candies, crocheting or sewing. I missed those days and always treasure them in my memories. – Joanna Evaristo Tomaneng

Based on the above photo I find the building still structurally fit. It only needs refurbishing like replacement of windows and maybe floors and doors and repainting as well. You're correct Insan Charles, sayang podda! – Nemesio Felix

When I was little this building seemed so huge I can still recall our batang for cleaners, stripping the benches with lija (leaves are so coarse -- enough to strip dirts on the benches hahahahah! Gone are the days -- or put some wawini sa upuan ng kaaway mo and see how it tickles their behind. – Tessie de Guzman

We used to clean the blackboard with dahon ng patani and for the floor, we used banana leaves or tinunaw na kandila added with red jobus so that the floor looks clean and shiny... We also had to bring the desks at the abannatan and use sand to clean them... My teachers were Mrs Victoria Coloma, Ms Lolit Campos, Mrs Deusdedit Marquez, Mrs Aurora Abijay Reyes, Mrs Estela Fernandez, Ms Maxima Dauan (Mrs Galutera), Mr Elpidio Cia, Mr Cenon Asuncion, Mr Gregorio Felix the Principal, Mr Apolonio Latar, Mrs Luisa Soriano, Home Economics, Mrs Leonor Guiab, Mr Arreo... I could go on and on and on... We also used to bring bolos or walis tingting to clean the surroundings... We used to bake nutri bun and cooked bitso bitso and sell them around Dupax... There were no computers then and everything was done manually – Baybee Castro Almorade

Ins, para pa tayong metro aid nung araw hahahahahaha pero its a nice training though disiplina, interaction, teamwork and many more – Tess de Guzman

Oh...God! I have not seen the building since I graduated from elementary... it is kinda' sad at the same time it brings a lot of memories. My Grade 6 class room (Miss Lolita Campus -- adviser) was at the right hand side of the building just beside the boys' workshop building and later on was inhabited by the Philippine Army battalion? Can anyone remember that? God! I witnessed truckloads of dead bodies killed by the Army (presumably NPAs' daw). Those bodies were dumped on the ground waiting to be identified. This scene horrified me as a young kid and up to these days I can still vividly see it in my mind. It eventually caused me not to eat for at least a week... HELL YEAH... I WAS VOMITING AT THAT TIME...this is one memory that I will never forget and never have forgotten... On the other hand...there were good memories, too, but I will be running out of space if I had to start recalling all of it. – Edith de Guzman 

I'm sure there would be some more reactions -- nay, bitter-sweet memories -- but I'd rather reserve them for the next posting. 

P.S. #1
For those of you who are visiting this blogsite for the first time, it would help as backgrounder if you read the older post titled "Goodbye, Gabaldon, Goodbye!" (please click March) then move on to the next post "More Gabaldon Memories".

P.S. #2

By the way, our generous photographer who sent this lucky and historic shot all the way from the USA is Joe Latar (jlatar@ceo.lacounty.gov) who turned 60 only last July. Those of you who went to grade school in the Gabaldon building in the 1950s to the 1960s will remember that the Latar family had a house right in front of the school gate. Most of the Latars are now in the US. Joe himself now lives in Los Angeles, California, and works with the Information Technology Service of the Chief Executive Office of the Los Angeles County.

Ayyu-ayyu, Abannatan!

Thank Heavens it is still alive -- but what a pity! It is no longer that popular part of town where womenfolk went to hear the latest buzz in town while doing their laundry or bathing their kids... it is no longer that clear, cool and bubbling stream where boys and girls learned to swim... it is no longer that communal creek where one could freely get bamboo, coconut, santol, and mushroom

 

Those of you who are natives of or have lived in Dupax will definitely glow with recollection at the mention of the word Abannatan. Yes, Abannatan is that erstwhile bubbling wayil (creek) that ran through central Dupax and is probably made famous because of its Dampol bridge, said to be the oldest brick-bridge in Northern Luzon. 

Yes, Abannatan is that waterway that since time immemorial has served as natural boundary between Dupaj and Domang, the two oldest villages/settlements/barrios/barangays of  Dupax del Sur. It was what made Dupax residents clean as its clear (maliting in Isinay) water and easy accessibility to both the East and West parts of the town gave no reason for women and men, young and old, not to man-omos upung si ejao (take a bath every day).

Abannatan Creek is spanned by Dampol bridge (built 1818). This shot was taken from the southern or upstream part of the bridge. [2008 Photo by Joel Aldor]

I recently had a chance to take a look at Abannatan from four vantage points -- 1) the Dampol bridge, 2) the Bagumbayan/Dereya bridge, 3) the Uruddu bridge, and 4) the Gabaldon/Nursery bridge. 

I may be judgmental, but I both liked and disliked the things that I saw and the impressions that formed in my mind as a native who had enjoyed the riches of Abannatan for playground, bathing, swimming, drinking,  bird-hunting,  santol-climbing, fuelwood-gathering, bamboo-cutting, mushroom-gathering, and leaf-collecting.

First, the good news about Abannatan:

• It still has some water. At least there's enough to go wash your hands and legs mu nilomlom at lusiyus boon ila ya nakagatin at attay (in case you get stuck in mud or happen to step on excreta).
• It is still visually clean. At least the people living on its teyantaj (banks) do practice Good Manners & Right Conduct enough not to use the waterway as convenient dump for their solid waste.
• It still does not stink. At least there are yet no navilao (mentally deranged) residents upstream who use their condition as excuse for turning the brook into a mini Pasig River.

Abannatan as it looked last May 27 at the bridge connecting the Dupax Central Elementary School area and Barangay Dupaj. (Photo by Charlz Castro) 

On the other hand, here's my not-so-good report on Abannatan:

1. It now looks like a mere canal. Gone is the continuously flowing -- and at certain points "singing" -- water where occasionally one could see the temu^ (splash) of the dalaj (mudfish), and where one could go find ajasit (freshwater crab) or ajurung (lance-tip snail).
2. It has lost its appeal to bathers. Gone is the carrying capacity of the creek for Irupaj who wish to go man-omos (take a bath) or mampe^pe (wash clothes) or just plain mambevoy (play) in its free water. When we were kids, the creek had certain deep parts in the vicinity of the Dupax Central Elementary School; today you would surely be called naberberio^ ("intellectually challenged") if you did attempt even a couple minutes of a dip in the water.
3. It no longer appears accessible. Gone are the several pathways that used to give users free access to the water. Gone is the formerly brick-covered "river crossing" immediately below Dampol that connected the vacant lot beside the Quito Guzman house to the St. Mary's High School campus. I used to walk a narrow and sometimes mapeyut (muddy) road from the Bastero & Reyes area in Dupaj and on to the Magaway & Bombongan area in Domang. There was also one bujibuj (sloping) and marangilut (slippery) road that passed by the Albano & Evaristo area and went directly to the water. I guess such age-old access roads to Abannatan and connecting Dupaj with Domang are no longer where they used to be.

Abannatan as it looked last April 28 from the Dampol bridge. Note the banana plant and the two goats feeding on the lush grass that were able to grow as a consequence of the creek's inability to have its formerly voluminous water flow. (Photo by Charlz Castro)

No Longer the Same

Put another way, thank Heavens that Abannatan is still alive. It was high summer when I went there and I was glad that, even if it looks like a mere canal, at least it has water. Other water ways in the country are not that lucky -- they become bone-dry in the sweltering months of March, April and May when their soothing water is needed most.

But the other side of the coin is that it is no longer the popular spot in town where the womenfolk went to do their laundry and bathe their kids and in the process get to learn the latest news in town, such as who eloped with whom, what family lost their members to headhunting Ilongots in the soppeng (kaingin) areas of Daya, when the next Moro-moro or stage show will be, which part of the wangwang had the most sappilan, where to buy the best pranela blanket, the cheapest second-hand clothes (then called relief, now called ukay-ukay), etc.

It pained me to realize that the places that my school friends and I frequented especially during weekends or even during vacant periods in school are no longer there or rather no longer accessible. For instance, gone are the stepping stones that led from the top of the Dampol down to the water. In fact, there are now fences on all sides, whether upstream or downstream of the bridge, preventing "balikbayans" like me to have better points for taking photographs. I guess other parts may have NO TRESPASSING signs even.

In that forested lot that we used to call "solar Daniel Reyes" I could no longer get a glimpse of the santol trees and coconuts that we helped ourselves with. Instead, I saw a lot of melina (Gmelina arborea) trees growing. At the Gabaldon area, I thought I would still see the Bunyeng part of Abannatan where we boys went to teach one another how to manlotop (swim) and man-iyat (dive) and then have games of pinnaliwliwan (holding one's breath and staying underwater for a long time); instead, what I saw were ricefields that were not there before.

One reason why Abannatan now looks like a canal is the conversion of sizable portions of its teyantaj (streambanks) into ricefields. No less than my insan Kagawad Edgar Castro pointed this fact to me one time I asked him why there is now very little water flowing in Abannatan. This site is that formerly shrubbly carabao grazing land across the schoolyard of the Dupax Central Elementary School (near the LGU Nursery at the Gabaldon bridge). It was where I used to get amabuvun (mushroom) and dumoj (rhinoceros beetle).

 

Ayyu-ayyu, Abannatan! 

What happened to this once picturesque, child-friendly, women-helpful, and very useful stream is a cause for alarm as it may also happen to other waterways in Dupax and other nature-endowed towns of Nueva Vizcaya. While its deterioration may not yet be utterly hopeless, I pity people who are no longer able to avail themselves of the blessings it used to provide, particularly in terms of water.

I pity Dupax youths nowadays -- be they Domang kids going to grade school in Dupax Central, Dupaj kids enrolled at GACES, or teenagers studying at St. Mary's Dupax. I wonder if they ever get to experience the joys of collecting leaves of the katakataka cactus by the teyantaj (streambank) to use as bookmarks... of taking a dip in a bamboo-shaded and secluded part of the stream (using as both "soap" and "face towel" a pandesal-shaped stone Isinays call bubbur)... of looking (as we did in our high school Biology class under Mr. Castor Campo) for freshwater shells with their mouths turned the other way.

Perhaps the four points that I used for my rapid ocular inspection were not enough to give the whole picture. But at least what I saw were enough for me to conclude that gone was the meadow-like part of Abannatan across the Dupax Elementary School where I went to hunt for mushrooms during rainy days... Gone were the spots where I went to look for rhinoceros beetles under the tutu^paw (acapulco) shrubs or the appatut (achuete) trees in summer... Gone was the singing water that made do as alternate when I could not go to the wangwang (river) in I-iyo.

You know what I felt? It was like going home after a while -- only to find your house is no longer your house, your favorite dog no longer recognizes you, and you are now a total stranger! -- CHARLZ CASTRO

Isinay Songs: "War Sipan Uwar"

This year's joint Patron and Town Fiesta of Dupax del Sur (held April 28-30) featured an Isinay cultural presentation that highlighted, among other things, the making of glutinous rice into daluj-daluj (roughly equivalent to the Ilocano iniruban) and lupeyup (probably the same as the Ilocano tinubong).

While the performers simulated the cooking of such delicacies, a group of senior citizens sang Isinay songs, including "War Sipan Uwar" -- the tune and lyrics of which were said to have been authored by the all-around musician and Isinay Bambang composer Isabelo Gonzales Sr. (1917-1980?) who served as Vice Mayor of Bambang, Nueva Vizcaya.

This April 30, 2011 photo shows some members of the Bona^ si Isinay Dopaj cooking glutinous rice delicacies during the Dupax del Sur joint patron and town fiesta while other senior citizens sing classical Isinay love songs in the background.

"War Sipan Uwar" rivals "Dattut Ittuam" and "Osan Lavi" in terms of popularity among serious advocates of Isinay music. In fact, it has reached the Internet through a video recording by Ms. Myra Bangad, a music teacher of Nueva Vizcaya General Comprehensive High School, and posted at YouTube on Feb. 8, 2007 by a thoughtful Isinay identified only as basteroger.

As I write this post, Myra's version has had 1,885 "hits" compared to her other renditions -- Dattut Ittuam 1,462 and Osan Lavi 1,290. The lyrics below (slightly different from the ones sang by Myra in YouTube) were sang by members of the Bona^ si Isinay Dopaj during the Dupax del Sur fiesta held April 28-30, 2011.

WAR SIPAN UWAR

(i)

War sipan uwar si aru ar

Marin manluman toy si-a iman

Si inaru^ an pipeyara^

Mantunat giting di ataya ar.

(ii)

Gayjayan tuwa marin meawa

Engatan ta on ingong-an ta

Ta man siari uriam itapli

Mantunanat giting di atajua ar.

(iii)

Uriam mos an pan-ipijan

Sara nien matam on uriam santan

Neir mos an masden sipan

Mari mo, mari mos an mapottang.

(iv)

Gayjayan tuwa marin meawa

Engatan ta on ingong-an ta

Ta man siari uriam itapli

Gomgomom mantunat ipatoyta.

(v)

Gayjayan tuwa marin meawa

Engatan ta on ingong-an ta

Ta man siari marim ilo^lojom

Mari mos, mari mos an mapottang.

Mari mos, mari mos an mapottang.

………………

I don't know how you take this, but I encountered "War Sipan Uwar" only last year -- first thru YouTube and then during the Bona^ si Isinay anniversary last December. Well, perhaps I was too engrossed with the songs of Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard, and the Beatles when my father used to sing it along with "Dattut Itwam" and his version of the "Imbestida" which went something like: "Amunglan tuvun si lavay... susun bialar an navayvay...!"

I’m putting my neck on the chopping board here, but for the sake of non-Isinay readers, here’s my attempt at translating the first two stanzas of the song into English:

THE VOW I MADE

(i)

The vow I made to my loved one

Will not fade for you are indeed

The one I love and my destiny

Until the day I die.

(ii)

True love has no end

Let’s keep and treasure it

Please don't throw it away

Until the time of my death.

--charlz castro

Isinay Songs: "Dattut Ittuwam"

Here's probably the most popular song coming out of, or rather sung by, Isinays especially in Dupax del Sur. In fact, I'm tempted to say that one is not a true Isinay if he/she doesn't know how to sing this one. When he was still teaching at Dupax Elementary School, my father used to sit by the front window of the second floor of our house in Domang and sing this haunting love song to the accompaniment of his ukelele especially during moonlit nights. It was from his frequent rendition of the song that I learned how to sing it myself. In fact, when I was feeling homesick while "vacationing" at the East-West Center in Honolulu in 1986, it was one of the songs I loved to strum the guitar with, along with "Hawaiian Wedding Song" and "Ang Bayan Kong Pilipinas."

DATTUT ITTUWAM

(WHERE ARE YOU)

Dattut ittuwam, o bilay u

Inaru-arun di satien puso

Nirat di sipan muwar

An sa-on si aruwom

Sangkana tie besan

Saon si tinayanam.

(Where are you, my dearest one

You have endeared my humble heart

Where is your promise

That you will love me alone

Why is it nowadays

That you have left me aside.)

Dattuttun lugar si aya^ panganapan

Si inaru-ar an immaddawi

Ejawan ta lavi, eyongawan di saitar

Uar inin-inop uar

Eyongawan di patoyar.

(Where in this world can I find

My sweetheart who went away

Each day and night I feel pain

Each night I often dream

That death is nearing me.)

Nomnomo na^ mu addawi ya

Nomnomom pay ri satie gi^naar

Satie pusu-ar an mandeyoromdom

Mi^bus ysia, aajis di batang uar.

(Remember me while I am away

Think of my hardships

And worrying heart

Just because of you my better half.)

……………………………..

NOTE: This version was sung at the Philippine Folk Arts Theater, July 1978 and at the Manila Garden Hotel, Pagayaya ’78 by the same Isinay group that presented the Imbestida at the Cultural Center of the Philippines in 1978. And again, the English translation here was done by Mrs. Aida C. Mamaoag. 

Oh yes, those of you who are in faraway lands and feeling "meyongngaw" (homesick) with Isinay love songs like this may be interested to know that there are at least three that are beautifully rendered on YouTube by Ms. Myra Bangad, a music teacher of Nueva Vizcaya General Comprehensive High School (NVGCHS), in Bayombong, NV. In fact, when I was doing this blog post, her duet with a male co-teacher has registered 1,436 views since it was uploaded February 2008 by a certain basteroger. To access Dattut Ittuwam, just google "Isinay Songs" and three frames of Myra's charming face would pop up on your computer screen. 

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