Dupax Medicine for Skin Allergies

(NOTE: This piece was inspired by an allergy I acquired while vacationing in my hometown Dupax del Sur last April 27-May 2, 2011.The allergy was caused by my having eggs and nymphs (see photos) of the tailor ant (abu-os in Iluko, eja in Isinay, karakara in Tagalog) for dinner on April 30. Even if the itch lasted only for the whole night -- and even if it made me panic quite a bit and led me to send frantic text messages to a cousin in the neighborhood, my daughter Leia who was at Cagayan de Oro at the time, and two of my sisters who also happened to be away in Manila at the time -- at least the event brought back memories of how life was when I was growing up in the hills, fields, rivers, forests, and meadows of Dupax.)

Top photo: Uncooked tailor ant eggs and nymphs being sold at the Dupax del Sur market in Domang at 25 pesos per atado (in this case about 1/4 kilogram by my estimate). Lower photo: The cooked variety (Mama used little oil, garlic, tomato, and salt for this one) -- I ate with gusto the one on the right, including the ones with wings (probably the worker ants or soldier ants) that I first separated on the rim of the saucer. A couple of hours later, while everybody was asleep, my fingers and the back of my ears started to itch like they were stung by dozens of mosquitoes. To "stay alive" I drank around six glasses of water and stayed calm by watching replays of the wedding of William and Kate on TV.

Pity boys and girls of today who have not experienced climbing trees for their fruits or even only for the sheer joy of being above ground, looking at the surrounding from a new vantage point, and swaying up there on a shaky branch with the breeze.

I was fond of climbing trees as a boy – guava, tamarind, mango, staraple, santol, sarisay, duhat, anonas, guyabano, siniguelas, langka, sarena, alukon, kapok, bitnong, akasya, avocado, bugnay, ar-arusip, tebbeg, mabolo, banaba, katuray, daldaligan. Also coconut, bamboo, buri, anahaw, bua, papaya, sapang, banana, and tangan-tangan (jatropha).

I climbed these trees/bamboos/palms for all reasons – to taste their ripe fruits as the case may be... to inspect bird nests... to test my Tarzan skills... or just for the fun of it. As a result I often got exposed to itchy objects, like the budo (trycombs?) of the atattaru, bangbangawan, and other such butterfly larvae or worms. 

Apart from falling along with a branch of a fruit-laden bignay tree (the branch I was enjoying purple fruits on broke off from the trunk and went down with me riding like on it as on an airplane) once, on a few occasions I also also got stung by the trees' natural security guards – tailor ant, wasps (alaksiyot,alumpipinig), stinging big ants (abubbulij), honeybees. Lucky for me, I was never victimized by tree-dwelling snakes and the deadliest larva of them all -- the sambrid (tu^bu in Isinay; mamaso in Tagalog) -- of which I heard stories about healthy carabaos dying after ingesting the green and hot-stinging larva usually attached on the grass.

If I had not been forewarned, I would have also climbed taboo trees like the ones Ilocanos call lupaw (lipang kalabaw in Tagalog; also called tu^bu in Isinay), the leaves of which are said to cause burning pain when they come into contact with the skin. I was also careful not to touch the leaves of the kamiring tree whose peanut-sized fruits looked like miniature kasoys and looked irresistible and indeed tasted sweet when they turned yellow then orange when ripe.

Of course, I never did get brave enough to climb the strangler fig (balite in Ilocano; balitiyon in Isinay; balete in Tagalog). As I mentioned in a previous essay here in this blogsite, the balete is believed to be a haunted tree. Where I lived, I remember that even the most foolhardy among Ilocanos and Isinays in Dupax then did not dare push their luck too far insofar as this tree was concerned.

Aside from tree-dwelling agents, however, I was also exposed to some more sources of itch. For instance, the green juice coming out of the mouth of grasshoppers was itchy if it got in contact with your skin. I personally discovered this not so well known fact because aside from climbing trees in the neighborhood, I was also fond of taking care of martines birdlings (donated by my Calacala neighbors and Pudiquet uncles).

To feed my bird pets, I would scour the grazing grounds in Pitang all day to run after grasshoppers with a swatter. There were no plastic bags then, dear reader, so I put my insect collection in one of my shortpants’ pockets (another is always reserved for marble-sized pebbles for my slingshot), and pretty soon I would feel my leg (where my grasshopper pocket was) become itchy as the insect saliva seeped through the cloth.

Even carabaos and dogs were sources of itch. In the case of carabaos, more than twice my love for riding the friendly farm animal made me so stubborn I ignored the warning not to ride on a newly bathed carabao with no jute sack (langgotse) mantle between my raw legs and its hide, particularly if the beast was newly barbered. Called rarasa by my Ilocano grandmother, the allergy on my legs and buttocks would soon turn into ugly scabies when not treated. (Now it can be told: this was how I got to acquire the ugly scars on my buttocks, scars that make me ashamed to try on skimpy swim trunks or to try the G-string in public.)

As for the dogs, the itch one gets from them is through contact with the grass where they chewed blades to cleanse their innards of toxic matter. "Nakapayatka iti nagaraban ti aso" (You stepped on a grass grazed by a dog), Mama would say when I complained of ultra itchy toes at night.

So what did we do when we acquired skin itch from the flora and fauna we got exposed to when we played outdoors?

Home Remedies for Skin Itches

If at home, first to the rescue would be powder. Mama always had Johnson's Baby Powder for my sisters while Papa had Talcum powder that he used after having a haircut. As if to attest to its efficacy, my sisters also always sought the soothing comfort of the powder each time they had bagas ti ling-et (literally "fruit of perspiration") on their backs, especially during the hot summer months.

For more malignant rashes or hives, Mama’s Vicks Vaporub always came in handy. She always had the ointment around for my sisters’ colds. She would rub their backs and necks with Vicks and all night the blankets and all of the house would smell of the medicine. I found the ointment very effective not only for minor itches caused by contact with larvae but also to cure scratches I got on my arms and legs for climbing trees or playing in the grassy outdoors too much.

Also handy was the kerosene used to keep our Hasag or Petromax and kingke (gas lamp) burning. In my case, I would dip the tin bomba used to pump gaas from the Rizal kerosene can into a brown gallon jar; then I would hold the oiled part with one palm, then wipe the kerosene thus acquired on the affected part of my skin, toes, fingers, etc..

Other Antidotes

Also useful as remedies for skin allergies when there was yet no doctor in Dupax were the following:

• denatured alcohol -- We always had a bottle the contents of which I loved to pour on a small container with reed-thin tube that I used to light the Hasag.
• coconut oil -- Called lana in Ilocano; laro in Isinay; langis-niyog in Tagalog, we believed that the most effective ones for medicine are those produced during Good Friday.When in I-iyo, this was my first aid whenever I would acquire skin rashes or allergies.
• vinegar -- We often had the Rose brand of artificial vinegar sold by the roving Chinese grocer Ko Peng; but we found the suka ti basi (sugarcane vinegar; sukang Iloko) more effective.

Aunti Tibang’s Muma

I don't know how many of my fellow Irupaj (Dupax natives) especially those living in Domang have tried this, but the most effective remedy when you get skin allergies due to contact with itchy worms is saliva mixed with muma, especially the one from Anti Tibang (Primitiva Benitez Castro). 

The muma is of course what you call the product when you chew gawed ken bua (betel leaf and betel nut), often with a pinch of lime (apog in Ilocano and Tagalog; epu in Isinay). The resulting "ointment" would be what we call in Isinay mampaavij (kadiri in Manila Tagalog lingo). But I swear to the efficacy of the treatment.

I would run to Auntie Tibang each time I would be mabangbangawan while climbing sarisay (aratiles tree, scientific name: Muntingia calabura) for its saccharine ripe fruits or, alternatively, for its green fruits that I used as "bullets" for my toy gun. I would go to her when I would be makamiring after gathering sapang in Pitang when I passed through there from the Gabaldon school.

When I visited Auntie Tibang last March, I jogged her memory about it and she said even Papa and Uncle Ermin (now both deceased) didn't believe her at first but later got converted to her muma medicine. She said it was effective only to those who have faith and added that before chewing the betel nut and the duwew (also called pepper leaf; gawed in Ilocano; ikmo in Tagalog), she would pray the "I Believe" -- in Isinay, of course.

Grandmother's Remedies

Over in I-iyo, the farming village where I grew up as an Ilocano, my Inang Baket (Feliza Lacandazo Pudiquet) also had her own remedies for skin ailments that made her a doctor in the barrio of sort by young women who were conscious of their beauty and attractiveness to barrio suitors.

If the suspect causal material was the kamiring, Inang would ask her patient to go gather a twig with the leaves. She would hang the twig above the dalikan (earthen stove) and said the itch would go away as soon as the leaves would turn dry. Of course, she would caution the curious cat in me never to touch it.

If it was a case of barkes (ring worm; eczema), my grandmother would pull a blade of the cogon grass she always grew among her ornamental plants on a discarded kerosene can. She would trace the periphery of the affected skin, as in measuring the width of the damage, mumble something which up to her death she never revealed, then knot the cogon leaf she used and hang it above the dalikan. She would send the patient home and advise her to come back after one week.

As far as I can recall, my Inang Baket's patients never came back, so I guess the kamiring and the cogon remedies were effective.

Burning the Suspect Food

This advice was given to me only by Manong Tirso Agbanlog when I mentioned that I failed to watch the orchestra competition part of the fiesta the night before because I developed itchy rashes on my fingers, the back of my knees, and behind my ears. I said I have taken a platito-ful of abuos eggs and nymphs for dinner and later I thought I was being bitten by mosquitoes, but when I looked – hives! 

He said he also had dinner of the said tailor ant nymphs, also bought (like Mama) from Nacia Lacandazo. What I should have done, he said -- and this was seconded by another Ilocano, Manong Cario Guillermo -- was to burn the ants with wings, mix the charred remains with water, then drink the concoction.

Remedy from a Bird

The items above bring to mind what I witnessed in San Roque, Northern Samar, in 2004 or so when I was working with the World Bank-funded Community-Based Resource Management (CBRM) Project. While showing us the durian and cacao saplings he has planted for his upland agroforestry, a Waray farmer got bitten by a spider and pretty soon his affected arm started to swell and he was twisting in pain and said he had to go home. His companion tied a sort of tourniquet on the man’s arm then accompanied him back to the village downhill fully an hour’s hike away.

When we assembled to discuss our evaluation findings later in the afternoon, the spider-sting victim was already there, looking as if nothing happened. He showed me the tiny red puncture of the spider bite and, indeed, it looked like just a pin prick. 

When I asked what he did, he said he had this bird feathers he kept for such purposes. He burned some of the feathers as medicine. I’m not sure now whether he applied it as ointment on the bite or swallowed some of it, or both. What I recall was that he refused to tell what kind of bird he took the medicinal feathers from. -- charlz castro

A New Chapel in Dupax del Sur

I don't know if I was just plain lucky or I happened to be what they term in Isinay as nitivu^ (roughly: "born to be that way"). But when a big occasion happened in the history of Dupax del Sur as a Catholic community last April 28, I was with my digital camera at the right place and at the right moment -- and, what's more, I was the only one with a camera at the time.

The event was the inauguration of the Adoration cum Meditation Chapel, the newest improvement of the St. Vincent Church of Dupax. Those of you who served as sacristan in the past or may have acted as ninong or ninag to a wedding or baptism, the chapel took the space in what used to be the sacristi where the mass wine and the sacristans' uniforms were kept.

On hand to do the honors of giving the imprimatur, if we may call it that, to the adoration chapel was no less than Bishop Ramon Villena of the Diocese of Bayombong. As if to accentuate the importance of the event, the bishop borught with him two sisters to witness the event.

By the way, in his sermon during the mass that preceded the inauguration, Bishop Villena expressed appreciation of how Dupax del Sur is always combining its patron and town fiestas -- unlike other towns of Nueva Vizcaya.

Here are some of the shots I took of the event:

Early church-goers start to fill the front pews.

Mayor Romeo Magaway Sr. thanks Bishop Ramon Villena for gracing the town fiesta.

Bishop Villena says the prayers before opening the door to the chapel.

Here's how the Adoration/Meditation Chapel looks like. Note how the original brick masonry has been retained. When I was a student at St. Mary's Dupax, this place used to be where we mass servers would go to change our civilian clothes  into sacristan uniforms, then colored red and white. Despite its unwashed smell, we loved to wear the uniform particularly during misa de gallo when the December temperature in Dupax then was much colder than it is now.

Madam Lilia Castaneda-Magquilat (2nd from the right) helps prepare the altar for the Bishop's prayers.

Bishop Villena sprinkles holy water to the devotees that include Mayor Romeo Magaway Sr. (2nd from the right) and Doctora Virginia Galutera-Laccay (lady with candle on the right).

Fr. Resty Valdez, Parish Priest of Dupax, thanks the people who supported the construction of the chapel, specifically mentioning the family of the late Judge Florentino Galutera as the chief donor.

One of the "angels" who sat on the carriage of St. Vincent during the procession plays beside the ancient deep well (poso in Isinay) just outside the chapel on the right. The poso used to have a pump (bomba) and had plenty of water even in summer; now it is equipped with an electric pump to draw water. The building on the left was the kitchen where then Sacristan Mayor Eufracio "Parasyo^" Dinu baked wafer for cutting into round hosts ("ostia"). When I was in grade school I was one of the beneficiaries of the wafer trimmings he gave to kids who went to watch him make the hosts.

Isinay Songs: "Hymn for St. Vincent"

Note: Just got back from a week-long homecoming in Dupax (del Sur) to, among other things, attend the joint Patron Fiesta and Town Fiesta held April 27-30, 2011. The festivities started with a 45-minute procession around the main streets of Dupax followed by a mass at the St. Vincent Church officiated by Bishop Ramon Villena of the Diocese of Bayombong. Among the "gems" I was able to collect during this trip was a novena pamphlet containing the lyrics of one of the songs that my father always sang each time Dupax celebrated its patron fiesta. I suspected then that Papa just loved to sing this hymn (nawut in Isinay) because it was all about the Spanish saint after whom he was named. In this post, in toto and awaiting translation, are the wordings of the hymn.
 

Naut di San Vicentear

(Hymn for Saint Vincent)

1.

Uatoy siat patron min tua ot ammain tuar gloriamar,

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

2.

Siri Espaniat osan bebeoy an Valenciar ngaronar

An sirir nianaamar mu impabautizo amos sin inmommoy

Mapear tua rien bebeoy, toy sirir nitajuanar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

3.

Vicenter bautismomar, mangamis si atodajamar,

Ngaron die mipajna ysia toy ammair panarawum muar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

4.

Ari siri aungamar la, ot impaulim mos mataju si osan ejao

Si impangibusuoy muar la wa bumangun a ayta amoy tat pan-escuelamar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

5.

Uara mos si najanapan si simpiyu ta weyun taw-on ya in-eeng mur

Abiton Sto. Domingo de Guzman on toy sia mos si niamam dinapat mur inapiamar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

6.

Osan diablos guet mardaj, babain immoy nanojso y-sia mu impabatar muar la

Ya inpapti mut manajtaj nanbuti di diablosar maspaj toy timaut si asdeamar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

7.

Uean siat mansersermon, si baba an man Valencia mandonge on manpenitencia 

Di tajuaran nanbob-on mariran mirngue lan lojom toy nilossuang dar lom-anar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

8.

Simpiu ta liman libu judios si nabautiswan da on weun libun moros payla

Toy uar tongtong muar on ynnu herejes alibulibun magaset casalananar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

9.

Simpiu ta liman tinapay si inpaan muar tua si libun tajun mabua an niunur

Da y-sia, adday milagros mos tien amma-y si atdit urumar ynapiam.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

10. 

Osan babait nanpinsan toy nataje ot namatoy si ananar on nangui-oy

Siu lom-anar ta ysiram mu siri lat nampauliam matajun ynentregam si amanar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

11.

Nanquing-quing a on nangompan si pangayaj mut man-atung nu neir masait si atung,

Si ynuriam diran uar atungar darin lom-an, binumti dat nancruzamar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

12.

Uarat osan natoy babayi on ylubu da mos otia mu ympamangun mue

Ysiat osan linsangan ammai atdiona tutuwon yu at tajuar toy tueyan tuar ybajanar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

13.

Ampaylamu siat dauay ya ansan di ynpanparirdirila mar si batang muar natilang,

Urum mi on natoy a adday ymmoy at viopar ymmoy toy sirin tua gloriamar.

San Vicente ypajogos daami toy mansor amit dadamar.

SOURCE: Novena to Saint Vincent Ferrer. Saint Vincent Ferrer Parish, Dupax del Sur, Nueva Vizcaya. 12 pp. 

Top photo: The statue of St. Vincent is being loaded with kids dressed as angels in preparation for the procession to kick off the celebration of the Dupax del Sur Patron Fiesta and Panlingalingan Festival 2011.  
Right photo: Here's how San Vicente Ferrer looks when the church is still dark and quiet. A larger statue occupies the topmost rung of the altar, immediately above the life-size replica of the crucified Christ. St. Vincent is always depicted as standing over a globe with his right index finger pointing skyward. (I have yet to research why.) Below: Devotees return to the church with the statue after the 45-minute procession along the main roads of the town (accompanied by musicians formed out of the remaining members of the St. Vincent Orchestra and playing the tune of the "Hymn for St. Vincent"). 

PHOTOS by Charlz Castro taken April 28, 2011

Isinay Songs: "Kukkuyappon"

When I was little, there were always butterflies cavorting among my mother's front-yard garden of bougainvilleas, gumamelas, lilies, and daisies. It was probably because of such colorful creatures that even as I didn't quite like the tune of this song, I didn't exactly block it when it was taught to us in grade school. The version that I learned (Lyrics 1) was however short compared to the one (Lyrics 2) presented by Nueva Vizcaya delegates in a folk arts festival in Manila in 1978. 

Lyrics 1

KUKKUYAPPON (BUTTERFLY)
[Translation by Charles P. Castro]

  

Kukkuyappon maserot podda

maat tu tay ta dioy si ivahaˆ

eyam tiye sulat uwar

Ta i-ator mu y amigaˆ.

(Butterfly so beautiful

Come I'll tell something

Take this my letter

Then give it to my girlfriend.) 

Alimbawa ta santuwonaˆ

Ya adyom diyoy man-atu-atung

Andiyere atung nar

Atung si sait si nomnom.

(In case she'll ask about me

Please tell I'm not feeling well

If she'll ask what's the cause

Sick due to hurt feelings.) 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lyrics 2

KUKKUYAPPON

(BUTTERFLY)

 [Lyrics and choreography by Mrs. Estela G. Fernandez; translation by Mrs. Aida C. Mamaoag]

Kukkuyappon an maserot

Damdaman an-anapoˆ sia

Apeletaˆ di daˆdamar

Mangivolejas si aru-ar.

(Butterfly, so pretty

For you I’ve been searching

Your help I’ve been wanting

My love message, please relay)

Amtaˆ mot di ittuamar

Diyoy at nan manliliwaliw

Are-eyan di savungar

Si gitaw ri mihalang uar.

(I know now where you are

You are there roaming around

Amidst the beautiful flowers

In the meadow of my dear one)

Kukkuyappon an maserot

Maattu ta diyoy si ivajaˆ

Iyator mu tie sulat uar

Si pinavle ar an mariit.

(Butterfly, so beautiful

Please come, I’ve something to tell

Deliver my love letter

To the lady so much I endear)

Ittum di pan-engat muar

Etom si mabves di sulat uar

Uan satie ya yajyajom

Bivil uar mawayir lojom.

(Please be very careful,

Handle the letter very well

Lest it might get lost

My love message will vanish.)

Sar-om tay an basona

Ri sulat uar an in-ator mu

Santuwom di suvvet nar

Mu dawatona ri aru-ar.

(Wait until she reads

The letter you have given

Ask her immediate response

If she accepts my proposal.)

Alimbawa ta dawatona

Ammair piseysalamat uar

Maunat Apu tauar Diyos

On siat mi-ar-arwa.

(In case she accepts my love

My bountiful thanks

First, to our dear Lord

Secondly, to friend butterfly.)

Kukkuyappon lu-uyonaˆ

Seruwon ta ri inaru-ar

Ipasyal tat gitawar

Ta pangilan si gayjaya.

(Butterfly, accompany me

Let’s drop for my loved one

To stroll around the meadow

For relaxation and joy.)

Kukkuyappon manette-a

Belengom di pantaroˆ miar

Ihuyur u, iwayas u

Ilivor u mantunat tunanar.

(Butterfly, please observe

Watch how we both dance

We move forward and sideward

We turn around and around.)

Kukkuyappon an maserot

Maserot an kukkuyappon

Masompal amin dua

Salamat si, salamat si daˆdamar!

(Butterfly, so pretty

Pretty, pretty butterfly

We will soon get married

Thank you, thank you

For your big, big help.)

NOTE: Performed at the Philippine Folk Arts Theater, July 1978, by: Mayor William L. Giron, Mrs. Josefa G. Giron, Mr. Elpidio Cia, Mrs. Edita F.Galutera, Mr. Artemio Mamaoag, Mrs. Aida C. Mamaoag, Mr. Wilfredo Umli (butterfly), selected Bayombong and Solano teachers (flowers). Performed again at the Manila Garden Hotel representing the Province of Nueva Vizcaya during PAGAYAYA ’88 by: Mrs. Epifania M. Cia (Principal of Dupax Central School), Mr. Elpidio Cia (NFE Coordinator), Mrs. Aurora A. Reyes (GACES Elementary School Teacher), Mr. David Castro (District Statistician).

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. 

--------------------------

Next: Kukkuyappon

Isinay Songs: "Imbestida"

I just found my soft copy of the Isinay songs that I transcribed sometime back from a sheaf of yellowing bond paper lent to me by my sister Judith Castro-Dial. Sang by a group of Dupax Isinays (some of them now long gone) at the Philippine Folk Arts Theatre in 1978, I thought it is but proper to include them in this Isinay blogsite to serve the needs of those who may have forgotten or are looking for their lyrics. 

It's fortunate that the songs came with their English translations. For this I must thank my second cousin Mrs. Aida Coloma-Mamaoag because at least she has saved me from the trouble of facing complainants in the event that a more knowledgeable guy would rise to point out that some Isinay terms and nuances have been murdered in the translation. 

I don't know how Judith managed to get a copy of the script, but suffice it that it carried the following note by way of giving credit where credit is due:  

Representing the province of Nueva Vizcaya, the following performed the Imbestida during the First Philippine Folk Festival at the Philippine Folk Arts Theater on July 7, 1978:

Dancers

Mrs. Estela G. Fernandez (Principal, GACES)

Mr. Juan Felix (Orchestra Violinist)

Mrs. Josefa G. Giron (BIR Collecting Agent)

Mr. Dominador Boada (Municipal Treasurer, Dupax del Sur)

Bride: Miss Jennifer G. Giron

Groom: Mr. Wilbert Giron

Wine Offerers

Mr. Emilio J. Fernandez (Municipal Treasurer, Dupax del Norte)

Mr. Artemio Mamaoag (Post Office Letter Carrier)

Sponsors

Mr. Osias Cadiente (Governor of Nueva Vizcaya)

Mr. William Giron (Mayor of Dupax del Sur)

Singers

Mrs. Aida C. Mamaoag (Teacher, Dupax Elementary School)

Mr. Elpidio Cia (Teacher, Dupax Elementary School)

IMBESTIDA

(Wedding Song and Dance)

Savungar si gitawar

An man-ivil toy pa-eya

Uriaˆ an ineya toy nilu-uyaˆ y Ua

Isumbongaˆ y Ina ya

Bumbungonaˆ y Ama

(A flower in the meadow

Pleads me to pick her

I refused ‘cause Brod was with me

He might report me to Mother

I’ll be whipped by Father)

Mambaliwaˆ an sinalongsong

Ta ittunaˆ si dila mar

Inumom di luppa mar ta

Mainteror pusumar

(I’ll turn to a leaf with nut and lime

And put me in your mouth

Swallow your saliva

To purify your heart)

Manbaliwaˆ an pipingaw

Ta umapaˆ si botoˆ muar

Wara ilat misantu

Saloysoy an balituˆ

(I’ll turn into a moth

And alight on your hair

If someone dares to ask

It’s a golden comb)

Among lan lamesan marmol

Di nganin di duwena ar

Mabves pangipatangan si

Puri ar on galang

(It’s like a marble table

The figure of my idol

Just right for me to lay

My pride and honor)

Wariye toy nasompal ta ya

Man-in-aru tat pantunana

Engatan ta ri panlu-uy tar

Ta mannannar di gayjaya tar

(Now that we are bound

Let’s love each other forever

Smooth our togetherness

To maintain our happiness)

---------------------------

(Next Song: Dattut Ittuwam)

A Place Interchangeably Called Surong, Daya, I-iyo, and Palobotan

Before the beautiful images completely fade away, allow me to sing a swan song of sorts about that rural barrio that can probably lay claim to molding much of what I am now as a half-breed Ilocano-Isinay, as an on-and-off dreamer and writer -- and as a leaf, insect, bird, hill, and river lover 

I took this panoramic photo of Surong from the Dalijan-Carolotan road in 2008. My boyhood village lies at the foot of the hills. When I went there in November last year and in March this year, I felt like I was a stranger: not only did I find the place and its adjoining hills now congested with so many houses and strange faces -- gone too were the kasoy and kaskastila trees I used to climb, the photogenic pasto that my Apong Pedro and I went to each Sunday morning, the thick bamboo clumps where I used to gather tumpup, the fields where in April we caught abal-abal, the sweetly flowing banawang I used to swim on.

I WROTE somewhere that if I were to choose a place for my final resting place, I want it to be on a hill overlooking a village in Dupax del Sur that has at least four names -- Surong, Daya, I-iyo, and Palobotan.

After having visited and scrutinized up-close that part of Isinay country early this year, however, I think I will have to retract that "will" -- for it is no longer the "everybody knows everybody" community that I used to know and happily lived in as a child. It is no longer that quiet and sylvan sitio/barrio that, as a young man, I looked forward to go to during weekends, during All Souls Day, and during summer vacations.

Be that as it may, before the beautiful images completely fade away, allow me to sing a swan song of sorts about that village that can probably lay claim to molding much of what I am now as a half-breed Ilocano-Isinay, as an on-and-off dreamer and writer, and as a leaf, insect, bird, hill, and river lover.

Let me start by saying that surong means "upstream" or "upriver" in Ilocano, daya means "east" or "where the sun rises" in both Ilocano and Isinay, and panlobotan is old Isinay word for "toilet".

As for I-iyo, I suspect it evolved or is rather a variant of U-uyo, the place allotted for ricefields during the Spanish period, along with Allawan (Isinay for "spinning wheel") and Manggayang (Isinay for "one who uses a spear").

For this essay's purposes, let's just call the place Surong. It was a sitio, then a barrio, and now a barangay that currently has my first cousin Robert Pudiquet for its Barangay Chairman.

As a kid, I came to know Surong as where my maternal grandparents Pedro Pudiquet and Feliza Lacandazo lived. My earliest memories of it include a wooden bridge for a gateway near which a gigantic pakak (breadfruit tree; antipolo in Tagalog) stood. I also remember most the bamboo-fringed banawang (irrigation canal) that my barrio playmates and I dipped in every day, and where we went to in summer to gather tiny freshwater clams that we locally called tukmem (sometimes termed bennek in Ilocano; asisip in Isinay; tulya in Tagalog).

Unlike their "populluted" condition today, the hills surrounding Surong when I was a boy were nice places for outdoor lovers to spend hours on. I loved most the one on the left when you face the Palabotan Elementary School. It had both a commanding view of the village of my youth as well as the pasto (pasture land) that formed part of my life as a hill-loving and "feeling cowboy" young man.

I remember that that was the first hill I ever got to climb as a child when my grandmother would take me with her to dig tiny shrubs for their ginseng-looking roots she mixed with siok-tong and dispensed as panig-an to her women patients who just gave birth. The hill was also beside the lot where my grandfather planted the kasoy seeds he brought from Coron, Palawan, which grew to be small but robust trees that became our source of pride as his grandkids when their fruits turned luscious yellow then red-orange.

The hill was part of my playground with my friends in I-iyo (Arthur, Duardo, Tony, Rilo, Dinong, Cardo) and relatives (the Lacandazo brothers Litok, Milit, Mamer, Junior, Tasio, and Castor, as well as my cousins Melchor, Peter, Robert and Emy/Tems Pudiquet). We went to the hill when we felt like wanting to test how our shouts would echo. We went to that hill to play hide-and-seek among the tanglag or just to try our luck at finding where the kulipattung bird built its nest. Snakes? If ever we heard of such danger, we ignored it.

Surong, of course, was our perpetual “supermarket” when I was young. It was not only because my maternal grandparents lived there and their house was always home to me and my siblings and cousins. It was also where we sourced most if not all the vegetables, fish, rice, banana, corn, peanuts, tugi, shells, ferns, and bamboo shoots that blessed our dining table in Domang. In fact, were we to put a peso sign to all the myriad goods that my family got from the place, the amount would be far, far more than the combined monetary earnings of my teacher father and my dressmaker cum hair-stylist mother.

We went to Surong during the first rains of April and May to catch abal-abal (May beetle; e-ve in Isinay). We went to Surong when Inang Feliza called for an impromptu family reunion over iniruban (daluh-daluh in Isinay; pinipig in Tagalog) which meant everyone had to pitch in from the gathering of the glutinous rice (diket in Ilocano; daya-ot in Isinay; malagkit in Tagalog) to its burning to its pounding then winnowing.

We went to Surong to hold family picnics by the river and enjoy the akasit, ahdaw, sappilan, dalah, tilapia, pattat, and alalu that almost always were provided by the then very rich river via the rama (lahma in Isinay; a fish-aggregating device made of stones and bamboo branches) often a half dozen of which  my Apong Pedro built and maintained in the upper parts of the river.

Mama and I went to Surong when it was mushroom or kudet (edible tiny fungi called urapping in Isinay and tengang-daga in Tagalog) season or when the wild ampalaya in the uma (swidden farm) were big enough to uproot for their nutritious leaves.

Almost everybody in our part of town looked up to Surong during All Saints/All Souls Day for the kankanen (native rice cakes). Even when I was already a college student in faraway UP Los Banos, I longed to go to Surong that particular time of the year to renew my bonds, as it were, with the tupig (a delicacy made of glutinous rice, mixed with young coconut meat) roasted on flattened kerosene tin cans by my grandmother.

Surong to me meant freedom, friends and relatives, lots of fun and sunshine, immense joy when at play in the ricefields, the hills, or by the river, and when dealing with the things of Mother Nature. Surong meant unfettered hours catching fish with pana (fishing gun) or by sarep (damming part of the river)... playing cowboys with our carabaos... testing our bravery with the bambannagaw (chameleon), ampipit (a painful-stinging large ant), uyukan (honeybee), and balete and other such haunted places... or proving one’s capacity with the bites of the abuos (tailor ant), the itch of the budo-budo (butterfly larva whose hair causes skin allergy), the stings of the alumpipinig (a tiny hornet), or the scary antics of the alinta (freshwater leech).

Surong meant feasts each time somebody there got married. Nobody minded then if you are not related to any of the couples being wed. For as long as the cooks then were somebody’s relations, you would get generous shares of the ittip (rice tip in English; tutong in Tagalog, na^gov in Isinay) fresh from the giant cauldrons. We kids then were called to partake of the first food items laid on the long bamboo table even before the newlyweds arrived from church, after which we went to the nearby banawang for a dip and more play, then an hour or so later (depending on the thrill of playing in the water) we squeezed our way back again to the now more thickly populated dining table for another dig at the lauya, igado, dinardaraan and whatever delicacy it was that the Ilocano cooks often prepared during wedding in those neighborly times.

Surong was where I got circumcised at age 11 or so. This was in April, a Maundy Thursday if my memory is correct, when there was no school. The surgeon was the late Apong Berto Lacandazo, a younger brother of my Inang Feliza. The blood-letting rite was at the river across the then big kallautit (Tagalog kalumpit) tree where once, when I was still supot (uncircumcized) my friend Duardo Guillermo hit my bird with the fruit of the kallautit while we were all enjoying its sweetish sour fallen purple fruits. I remember it was normal for us barrio boys to go stark naked then and we would take time off from enjoying our diving and swimming in the nearby pual (deep part of the river caused by a fallen tree or bamboo clump).

Surong, many years earlier, was also where I first learned to sketch my name CHARLIE. My teacher was Uncle Atong (Liberato Pudiquet), younger brother of my mother. No, sir, there was no pencil nor pad paper. What we had was only a ruting (bamboo twig) over the rain-soaked ground. Uncle Atong wrote my name on the soil and told me to imitate what he sketched. I loved the challenge then even as it took me a precious hour or so away from playing with my equally curious playmates.

Surong was where I had experiences that my children nor any children even in the village will most likely never get to experience in their lifetime. One was sugarcane milling time using the dadapilan (carabao-drawn sugarcane crusher). Another was watching how the lapnit (bast fiber made out of the bitnong tree bark) was made into ropes with the use of a wheeled and Y-shaped contraption that twisted three long strands of the lapnit until became one sturdy rope. And another was when masked strangers came to the village with metallic cylinders on their backs and went from house to house to spray their insides with a smelly white liquid they called DDT.

Surong was where I had farm work not undergone by other kids. In my memory stands out tobacco growing and harvesting. I was once given my row of tobacco plants and after being couched by my grandmother on how to detect the green worms among the very green leaves, I did enjoy the newly acquired skill and power of hunting and squeezing them pests with my tiny fingers. But soon the call of the mountain clock birds became frequent and the sun on my uncovered head caused sweat to drop and the soil which a few moments earlier was soft and kind to my bare soles became hot like river sand on a summer day, I had to beg off and asked to go make a bubon (shallow well; tuvu in Isinay) by the river which took longer than usual as I was at the same time hunting for ripe kitkitiwit (Passiflora foetida) or ariwat (du-u in Isinay) that abound on the river banks in the area of Mammayang and Langka then.

Surong was witness to the many creatures I harmed or annihilated as part of my nature-rich childhood and business of growing up. Fish and snails were normal. The birrurukong (Japanese snail; kukkuluway in Isinay) were often targets of our slingshots if not used as projectiles themselves. For birds, our common targets were the pirruka, billit-tuleng, pagaw, sitsitik, tukling, pirpiriw, tiktikrubong, kinkin-od, garakgak, and kulipattung. There were also occasionally tukling, kali, kebkeb, tariktik, alimuken, puwek, kiyaw, and the nemesis of uncircumcised boys, the sakuk.

Surong to me meant a lot of insects. One could find there all colors of the dragonflies and damsel flies. During the first rains in April the bangkag and riverbanks would teem with abal-abal, arus-arus, sammi-sammi, simmawa, and barrairong. Other times there would be riyari, kundidit, ararawan, dudon, kuriat, and ansisilud. In summer, we boys would join our aunts to go durudor (poke with a bamboo pole) the nests of the abu-os (tailor ant; eha in isinay; karakara in Tagalog) in nearby trees and caught their falling white nymphs and eggs on mats or wide cloths then later cooked them for  dinner.

Surong was where I encountered wildlife that were no longer common in the ili (central Dupaj) nor even in more rural Domang. Apart from box turtles (pag-ung in Ilocano; bau-u in Isinay), my grandfather often brought home river birds like tukling, tangad and kebkeb for me to play with and later, when I tired force-feeding them with shrimps, grasshoppers and alumbayad (earthworm; kolang in Isinay), I would let my grandmother roast them. It was also in Surong that I had my first sights of the reticulated python (beklat in Ilocano; sawa in Tagalog; ine^eyaddang in Isinay). The other wild creatures I got to see in the area were the  bambannagaw (chameleon; banbanyahaw in Isinay), banias (monitor lizard; baniyas in Isinay), and mutit (civet cat; musang in Tagalog; amunin in Isinay). 

Surong calls to mind those times when my grandparents were hosting the Ilongots who came down the hills either to barter their pindang (dried meat) and camote (sweet potato) with our salt and tobacco – or (this I realized later) to escape from being persecuted by the military sent to go after members of the tribe that cut the heads off the bodies of some Isinay kaingineros, including the reputedly muscular Turo^ Maejan and on a separate occasion the Fragata family who lived in a house beside the Lacanal’s house a block away from our house in Dupax and one member of which, Bobot Fragata, was once caught and furiously scolded by Papa while gathering the tumpup or bamboo shoots in our solar. (I’ll have a separate post later on the Ilongots and their headhunting practice.)

Surong once upon a time also played host to a platoon or more of fatigue-uniformed soldiers. I’m not sure if the names and numbers are correct but they sounded like 7th Infantry BCT, Tabak Division or something. They got a few of the younger and idle men to cut bamboos, gather pan-aw (cogon; giyun in Isinay), make bamban (split green bamboo used for tying) and pretty soon there was a kamarin (open-sided bamboo-cum-cogon hut) at the entrance of the village near the Jovinal and Raza farms, near where we got the tebbeg (lavay in Isinay; scientific name: Ficus nota) fruits for our trumpo (spinning top) and daldalig (wheel) toys. Almost daily, while the solddiers were camped there, there was a fiesta of sort as a dog, a pig or lots of dalag (mudfish) would be cooked. And since the area was one of our playgrounds and as it was normal for strangers to be objects of curiosity and attention by barrio kids then, we were almost always invited to join in their sumptuous meals. I have no recollection, however, of the soldiers having caught even one Ilongot brave. In fact, I don’t remember seeing them leave their camp at all.

Surong was where I first came to doubts about the benefits of logging. Even as occasionally we would be allowed to ride atop the huge logs fastened by cables on noisy logging trucks during late afternoons when we would go home to I-iyo from a day’s work weeding rice in Langka or Mammayang, I detested the way the crystal-clear rivers were often muddied by their road-building activities and a few years later their causing floods. Even as in the ili, the sawmill at least made firewood bountiful via the slabs and trimmings and barks they allowed us scavengers to get before being hauled off for burning, still I hated the way the logging industry brought strangers in Dupax.

Surong was where I saw how kariton, pako, tali, garong, dalaydayan, pattuki, tabukol, pagabelan (hand loom), inabel, tanggal, asar, and other such farm contraptions were made. It was also where I saw how cows and carabaos got branded, how worms (that caused foot and mouth disease) are taken out of the hoofs of carabaos, how a young carabao gets its nostril brutally punctured with bamboo stick to allow entry of  its taldeng (small rope with knot or a piece of coconut shell on one end to make the beast easy to command). Related to this, it was also in Surong where we got warned to stay indoors each time a simaron or alsa a nuang (feral carabao) was in the vicinity.

Surong was where I witnessed how the landscape changed over the years… for instance, there used to be plenty of remnant trees called kadir in areas being cleared for bangkag (vegetable farm). There are no such black-and-white large trees now. Nor are there giant pungdol (tree stump; longor in Isinay) dotting the farms now. In fact, when I was in high school there were still patches of remnant forests on the banks of my boyhood river. The last time I looked, I hated the emptiness I saw. No more bamboos, no more kallautits, no more bitnongs, no more ariwat vines, no more fern "farms"!

Gone too was that pond-like portion in the farm of the Dotimas family where we used to go liwliw (angle) susay and tilapia when Gabriel “Buisit” Dotimas or his boys were not around. In fact, the last time I made a hesitant glimpse of the village on my way to my farm in Sinagat, I saw that the banawang that also formed much of my reasons for liking the place was also nowhere to see -- the river became mad sometime back and swept away all the vegetation, including the land of Lakay Pilis “Lawa” Raza that served as divider between the river and the banawang, and in the process erasing many traces of my boyhood playground, circumcision spot, and foraging ground.

Surong was where only the lazy could not survive. My grandfather had no titled land of his own but there were hills you could make kaingins in and grow upland rice, squash, tugi, and ube. There were flood plains you could plow and grow corn, camote, eggplants, cassava, tomato, mustasa. And the rivers were teeming with crabs, shrimps, and fish. The ricefields have leddeg, bisukol, birabid, and buntiek. Some creeks have suso or gusipeng and if you’re lucky they have giant frogs. The banks of the rivers as well as the sides of the irrigation ditches have ferns, button/cherry tomatoes, and gabi.

Surong was where the remnant forests had ratipan for ubog, rattan for barit, honeycombs for diro or at least allid. Almost anywhere there were bamboos underneath which you could go hunt mushrooms or bamboo shoots when they were in season. There were wild bananas whose blossoms (sabunganay in Ilocano;  pusun si mahanila in Isinay) tasted more delicious when boiled along with bagoong into salad than the domestic banana varieties. There were abandoned uma (kaingin in Tagalog; sopeng in Isinay) areas where the decaying tree trunks and branches play host to edible and dryable fungi called kudet. At the time, one could build a hut of bamboo and cogon and grow camote and raise ducks by the river or on some idle lands and rest assured no one would question you for squatting.

Surong was where I heard stories of how life was in the early days, during the Japanese period…. The stories somehow set standards to follow, particularly as regards survival. For instance, what to eat, where to stay, when to do this and that. (More on this in a future post.)

Surong was where everyone knew everyone. It was also where, as a sort of recreation, many people were called funny names and were better known for their “birngas” than their true names. Examples: Karansiwa, Pagalmiduran, Manmanaas, Dippig, Sallukob, Nakset, Aradas, Dugang, Sisiaw, Buntiek, Purpuraw, Arikumkom, Lawa, Arikakkak, Buisit, Pangkis, Bangabanga.

Today, however, Surong is no longer mine. As they say in Isinay: "Ayyu-ayyu, beveyoy uwar siren mari^ tay amtan mangarug -- nawayir mot!" (Oh what a pity, my village when I still didn't know how to court ladies -- it's now gone!) -- charlz castro