Isinay Names of the Fish and Other Edibles We Used to Catch in the River

THE ONSET OF the dry season (also known as summer) in my part of the Philippines reminds me of my favorite pastime when I was still wearing short-pants as a youngster: river fishing.

Indeed, I was so fond of staying in the river when I was growing up that it didn't matter if I caught fish or not. It didn't also matter if my already brown skin became even more sunburned. And I didn't care, too, when my peers in town didn't go near the water and instead went on to be good basketball players, guitarists, and dancers and were already attracting the pretty girls of Dupax.

Apart from seyup, I engaged in spearfishing, angling, and baited hooks as methods of catching fish. If not with friends and cousins in the barrio, I was out fishing with my elders.

My grandfather used a wide circular net (called tabukol in Ilocano, tabuu in Isinay) to go after schools of tilapia on hot summer days when he is done tending to his cows or weaving rattan pasiking. When his stone-cum-bamboo-branch fish-aggregating devices (called rama in Ilocano, lajma in Isinay) are already a couple of months old, he would summon for me and we would use the same net to trap mudfish (dalaj in Isinay, dalag in Ilocano and Tagalog) and eel (dalit in Isinay and Bontoc, igat in Ilocano, palos in Tagalog) that nested in them.

Not to be outdone, each time I was around, my grandmother used a small triangular net (called batbateng in Ilocano, batong in Isinay) to catch small fish and shrimps. She would gather edible fern by the river on the way home and cook these along with her catch. If she or my grandfather and I had caught at least a bowlful of shrimps (ajdaw in Isinay, lagdaw in Ilocano), we would squeeze native lemon (lojos in Isinay, dalayap in Ilocano) over them and salt to taste, and -- presto -- we have fresh-from-the-river jumping salad for lunch!

My mother was also a river fisher. In summer, she and her also Isinay-speaking Bicolana friend Lita Dicen-Calacala (RIP) would go to the river and would compete on who would bring home to their respective many kids the most fish, usually sappilan (bunog in Ilocano), caught through the lipit method (which involves bending low or sitting on the river for hours and using bare fingers to trap fish dwelling under the stones).

Woman catching stone-dwelling fish and shrimps in the river near Palobotan using the method called lipit which involves agility with the fingers and physical endurance under the burning sun. (March 20, 2012 photo by charlz castro)

IN MY OTHER post about the seyup, I enumerated the river creatures we were able to lay our hands on through the river-damming method. Let me be more specific about such river catches.

For the fish part, our catch mostly consisted of stone goby (sappilan in Isinay, bunog in Ilocano, biyang-bato in Tagalog) with a sprinkling of juvenile mudfish (tuldu^ in Isinay, buntiek in Ilocano), native carp (alalu in Isinay, ar-aro in Ilocano, martiniko in Tagalog), gurami, and tilapia.

Very rarely, we would find the swordfish-like river species we call baruy in Isinay and susay in Ilocano. Very rarely, I say, because unlike the sappilan that hides under stones and stays there for as long as there is water, the baruy is always a surface swimmer and is thus the first one to scamper for safety ones it sees an intruder or when the water level starts to go down.

In fact, the baruy is such a game fish that I don't recall ever having nailed one with my pana (fishing speargun). But ah, I soon discovered the bigger ones are easy to catch with a fishing rod (siwattan in Isinay, liwliw in Ilocano) using the tiniest hook and a wriggling earthworm (kolang in Isinay, alumbayad in Isinay, bulate in Tagalog) for bait (papan in Isinay, appan in Ilocano).

Via seyup, the other edibles we paid attention to were mostly river crabs (ajasit in Isinay, akasit or agatol in Ilocano, talangka in Tagalog) and shrimps (ajdaw in Isinay, lagdaw in Ilocano). If there is not much of these two, a good alternative would be the lance-tipped shellfish (ajurung in Isinay, agurong in Ilocano).

On occasions when fish and green leafy vegetables were hard to come by, we went to the river not exactly for the fish nor for the fern but to look for certain edible algae. The most popular then was a fat algae called bajase in Isinay and barbaradiong in Ilocano, usually found growing alongside the lumot (normal river algae). There was a round-shaped version of the bajase that Ilocanos call bulbulintik (because it looked like a marble) that we usually collected in the stagnant waters of the ricefields.

Oh well, that was about fifty summers ago. At that time the ricefields and the rivers (note: waters from the fields flow down to the rivers) of Dupax were not yet poisoned with pesticides, molluscide, and inorganic fertilizer.

For several times now, I tried to look for such bajase and bulbulintik when I go to Dupax. They are no more to be found. Unless somebody tried to re-introduce them from existing mother algae somewhere, I bet not even a picture of them, let alone recollections of their tastes and appearances, would be available someday.

WHILE FISHING in the river, we would occasionally find small clams (asisip in Isinay, tukmem or bennek in Ilocano, tulya in Tagalog), but we didn't collect them then as they were too small and didn't speak well of a fishing expedition if you focused attention on them.

In much the same manner, we ignored the apple snails (basikul in Isinay, bisukol in Ilocano, kuhol in Tagalog), the black snails (ambeveyo^ in Isinay, leddeg in Ilocano), and the soft-shelled snails (genga in Isinay, birabid in Ilocano) when we encountered them while fishing in the river. It seemed then that there was a proper place and a proper time for these edibles.

Speaking of shells, no, sir, we didn't collect "golden kuhol" then. All right, they say it's called escargot in France and is edible elsewhere. But we didn't include this shell in our dining table then. This was simply because, when I was little, we didn't have this alien then.

Today the golden kuhol has become a hard-to-eradicate riceplant-eating pest that has practically replaced our edible snails in Dupax. The distinctly pink eggs of this introduced and poison-resistant exotic species are now common sights not only in ricefields but also on stones and debris in ponds and rivers.

HOW ABOUT frogs (tadaj in Isinay, tukak in Ilocano, palaka in Tagalog)? 

Big frogs were a prized catch later when my grandfather and I combed mountain springs (wayil in Isinay, waig in Ilocano, weg in Ibanag, sapa in Tagalog) with our electronic fishing gadget. But when I was younger, my grandfather used a lampara (carbide-powered lamp) to catch plenty of them noisy creatures at night in the ricefields during the rainy season, but not in the river.

I think I also mentioned tadpoles, dragonfly nymphs, and leeches in my Vanishing Fishing Method post. Well, unlike in my wife's hometown Barlig, Mountain Province, where tadpoles are a delicacy, very few people in Dupax eat tadpoles (tojong in Isinay, bayyek in Ilocano, butete in Tagalog, fiayyak in Finallig).

I digress, but I do remember seeing my Auntie Tibang once catch tadpoles in a carabao pond in Pitang. Of course, decades before I had them for breakfast in the house of my wife's uncle in Barlig, I found it strange then for people to eat the wriggling creatures long, long before they became full-grown frogs.

In like manner, I have yet to hear of Isinays and Ilocanos collecting dragonfly nymphs for food but, yes, one time my wife and I joined a river-fishing picnic with her cousins in Barlig, I did discover the exquisite taste of that creature that they call chayyap.

The blood-sucking leech -- dreaded as it is by juvenile Ilocanos, Igorots, Tagalogs, and Isinays alike -- is, of course, not edible.

A Traditional but Vanishing Isinay Method of Catching River Fish

ON ANOTHER trip to my hometown a couple of weeks ago, I had chance to take close-up photos of a method of catching fish that used to be common in the rivers of Dupax and many towns of Nueva Vizcaya when I was young. Here's one of the shots I took:

The enclosed middle part of the river on the left was made shallow by the putting up of a dike made of stones, plastic sheets, and sand to divert the stream flow. This method is called "seyup" and has been employed since time immemorial by Isinays to catch a wide range of river fish, shrimps, crabs, and shells. March 20, 2012 photo by charlz castro

Those of you who lived close to shallow and stony rivers before would be familiar or may have in fact tried this fishing method that, depending on how fish-rich the river is, is a sure-fire way of getting protein from Mother Nature during family picnics or group outings by the river.

No rocket science, no high-tech hydro-engineering, nor even a technical course on fishery is needed for this.

Called seyup in Isinay and sarep in Ilocano, it simply involves closing a part of the stream and diverting the water's flow to other parts.

For tools, use mainly the stones, gravel, sand, and driftwood you would find in the river. Pile these materials in the form of a dike running across the stream, then fortify their water-barricading intent by adding banana leaves or sheaths and seal other entry points with clayey soil. If available, use plastic sheets or woven bamboo slats to make the dike more efficient.

The target result would be to make the downstream part of the dammed portion go "waterless" or shallow as in a "low tide" for a while and the makeshift dike/dam to hold fort, giving you enough leverage and time to be able to catch with bare hands the water-dwelling creatures that would be stranded.

Depending on how effective you are at barricading the stream and redirecting its flow, in a couple of hours or so you would be able to literally scoop out fish, crabs, shrimps, shells, frogs, tadpoles, dragonfly nymphs, leeches, and other river denizens.


WHEN I FIRST caught glimpse of the river with its tell-tale signs of the seyup pictured above, there was a little pain inside me at remembering not only the fishing technology but also how once upon a time this same river was my playground, friend, and food provider all rolled into one.

The people, the swimming holes, the fish, and the remnant forests associated with the river are gone now. But memories of my family always having fun using this river and the fishing technology when I was young are still alive.

Indeed, the seyup or sarep was our collective way of catching fish and enjoying the river every summer, particularly Huebes Santo or Sabado de Gloria, when my part of the Pudiquet and Castro families would go to I-iyo.

My Apong Pedro and my Uncle Atong always seemed to know which part of this river and the ones upstream had plenty of stone goby (sappilan in Isinay, bunog in Ilocano, biyang-bato in Tagalog). Summer or not, it didn't take long before those fish-rich parts would have fiesta-like atmosphere.

I recall there was always my grandmother, along with my mother and aunts, picking edible fern by the riverbank or cooking upland rice in three-stone stoves, while we kids would be shouting with glee at catching our first tiny fish, or scaring one another with a blood-fattened leech (bilavil in Isinay, alinta in Ilocano, linta in Tagalog).

I remember my father had a tulda (canvas) that he always brought each time we would have such occasions to  maneyup (to make seyup). I don't know where he got this item (along with the binoculars, canteen can, green army blanket that used to be part of our household items when I was young), but that piece of canvas was often the front-liner, so to speak, when the water got difficult to dam.


THERE IS, HOWEVER, one event that stands out in my earliest recollections of the seyup technology.

It happened one summer time my playmates in I-iyo and I took our daily digos-uwak (literally "a crow's bath", or bathing quickly without using soap, rubbing stone, towel, etc.) in this river and, just for fun, found ourselves making a sarep using rice hay (garami in Ilocano, nangili-an in Isinay, dayami in Tagalog) plus stones and sand as dam material.

In other words, we played, nay, stayed too long in the river as the make-believe sarep soon became a real thing and the short strings of bunog we each caught became longer and longer and the bamboo tubes we used as container for shrimps were spilling.

Yes, my friends and I didn't get a scolding from our elders as our respective fish catches gave us good excuse for not doing our carabao-tending, corn-husking or maya-scaring chores well that sunny day.

Isinay Words Related to Mangoes

WHILE ENJOYING one of my now almost twice-a-day encounters with ripe mangoes sometime last week, it occurred to me that there are Isinay words pertaining to mangoes that today may no longer be familiar to speakers of the vanishing indigenous language of southern Nueva Vizcaya (i.e., the towns of Aritao, Bambang and Dupax). These words may in fact be unique to the Isinay tongue and (mango) culture and may not have exact equivalents in Ilocano, Tagalog, or Ibaloy, and more so in English.

To illustrate, here are 35 adjectives that my mango-energized skull was able to recall pertaining to the fruits alone:

1. Amma-i -- big
2. Binuru -- preserved in salt-and-water solution
3. Kampusu -- heart-shaped (kinampuso in Ilocano, hugis-puso in Tagalog)
4. Kinalburo -- ripened with the aid of carbide (kalburo)
5. Maesom -- sour (note how the word sounds similar to maasim in Tagalog, naalsem in Ilocano)
6. Mamis -- sweet (matamis in Tagalog)
7. Man-oj -- small (also referred to as man-okke^)
8. Manredis -- yellow-orange with pinkish spots in color (a corruption of the English "reddish")
9. Mara-itluj -- like that of an egg (pertaining to the color of the fruit's flesh)
10. Masangpot -- astringent (mapakla^ in Tagalog, nasugpet in Ilocano)
11. Masimusum -- aromatic, sweet-smelling
12. Mata -- unripe, green (naata or naganus in Ilocano, hilaw in Tagalog)
13. Na-am-amon -- containing maggots (inigges in Ilocano, may-uod in Tagalog)
14. Naeyatan -- bitten or nibbled (especially by birds or fruit bats)
15. Nagupa^ -- broken (also najpa^), a condition when the fruit is of such seasoned quality that it splits when it falls on the ground or is handled roughly
16. Najoggolotong -- warty (binurtong in Ilocano, nabulutong in Tagalog)
17. Nanbubung-us -- in bunch or cluster (nagraraay in Ilocano)
18. Nangkandu-oy -- oblong
19. Nansisipeyan -- defective allegedly as a result of the fruits having attracted the cravings of a pregnant woman (nagnginawan in Ilocano, napaglihian in Tagalog)
20. Napoppor -- abnormally ripened (napilit in Ilocano, hinog-sa-pilit in Tagalog)
21. Narongdong -- mushy; also termed as naruyruy (nalamog in Tagalog)
22. Narung-isan -- scratched (nagarumiadan in Ilocano, narungisan in Tagalog)
23. Nasese -- broken into pieces (naderder in Ilocano)
24. Nata^duj -- fallen (natinnag in Ilocano, nahulog in Tagalog)
25. Natu^tu-an -- has holes or punctures (naabutan in Ilocano, nabutas in Tagalog) probably due to the pecking of birds
26. Naunawan -- has blemishes as a result of being over-ripe
27. Naungutan -- seeds already have tough fibers (nakabbutan in Ilocano)
28. Naviyu^ -- rotten (nabuyok in Ilocano, nabulok in Tagalog)
29. Navungis -- literally "with cleft lip", a condition when the fruit develops a slit while still in the tree
30. Neyamsan -- seasoned, ready to harvest (natangkenan in Ilocano)
31. Neyum -- forcefully ripened (hinog sa pilit in Tagalog)
32. Neyutu -- ripe (naluom in Ilocano, hinog in Tagalog)
33. Pinayutu -- artificially ripened (pinaluom in Ilocano, pinahinog in Tagalog)
34. Pingi -- looks like conjoined twins (singin in Ilocano, kambal in Tagalog)
35. Sinlu-ayaj -- one cluster (sangaraay in Ilocano, isang bungkos in Tagalog).

 Well, well... here's a photo of a naunawan an mangga (mango with blemishes):

The black parts (unaw in Isinay) of this mango are signs that the fruit is at its sweetest stage.

Mango Memories

AS ALWAYS, my trip to Dupax last February was another trigger-happy camera-clicking occasion. As always, too, the associated long walks along the roads and trails that had been part of my childhood were a delightfully delicious time-travel experience.

This particular time, however, my encounters included a patch of ricefields surrounded by mango trees in glorious bloom, a geriatric mango tree whose branches are full of promising yellow flowers, and another mango tree that was heavily laden with fruits.

Here's my photo documentation of them:

A mango-rich landscape beside Abannatan Creek across the new Dupax del Sur Municipal Nursery. (Feb. 20, 2012 photo by charlz castro)

An old mango tree on the road to the old Dupax Nursery.
(Feb. 20, 2012 photo by charlz castro)

Had I not seen and photographed these trees, my memories associated with mangoes would not have been resurrected.

Nourished by Mangoes

WHEN MY SISTERS and Castro cousins and I were growing up, mangoes formed a huge part of our nourishment and Vitamin C intakes. This was, of course, in addition to the guavas, bananas, tamarinds, pomelos, sarisay, anonas, santol, duhat, sapang, bignay, and many more fruits that our part of Dupax used to have plenty of.

Yes, we had mangoes for breakfast. We had mangoes for lunch. We had mangoes for supper. And we had mangoes for between-meals snacks.

You better believe it also when I say that, in my case, I even had to sleep with mangoes. This was during the pamujbuj (fruit-picking) season for mangoes when we had fruits so many my father had to use the space under my bed not only to payutuwon (ripen) them but also to keep them away from being attacked by kanet (ants), gandaw (mice), and leyoj (houseflies).

A heavily-laden mango tree and a carabao under it in I-iyo.
(Feb. 16, 2012 photo by charlz castro)

We had a lot of options to choose from on how to eat ripe mangoes. One was to hold the fruit on one hand then use the other to remove its soft pealing one bite after another until what is left of the juicy golden meat is the single large seed that you continue to lick and nibble at until it turns white.

Another was to slice the fruit on one side of the flat seed then carve the meat of the resulting half (called aping in Isinay; literally "face") into several squares or triangles, then bite off the chunks as slowly or as fast as you can, depending on what it takes so that you can have chance for the other half or for the syrupy seed.

We mixed mango with rice, along with a pinch of salt, and a plateful of that concoction was enough for one happy meal. As we say the past tense of "Bon appetit!" in Isinay, mayat podda oy nar!

Mangoes would already be part of our diet -- both as snacks and as part of the regular meals -- starting when the fruits are still green and sour or even before the fruit's stage that Isinays call naungutan (nakabbutan in Ilocano; when the seed is already covered with a fibrous and tough skin).

As a merienda, we would bite green mango and dip the chunk in salt made hot by red lara (siling labuyo). Or we sliced the fruit and put them in a bowl and shake them along with bagoong or inasin, again flavored to taste with siling labuyo. This method of eating the fruit would reach high fever, so to speak, when the mangoes go in marasaba up to mara-itluj stages, meaning when the fruits are almost ready to be harvested and their inner parts are now a pale yellow-green like ripe bananas and soft like boiled egg, and their taste would  border between sour and sweet.

I remember that during mango season both Papa and my Uncle Ermin were fond of using green mango as major ingredient in making the Isinay side dish called inlasap. They also used it as seasoning for most food items that needed sour flavor such as the "jumping salad" (live river shrimps the preparation of which is called kilawen in Ilocano and binesej in Isinay). They also used shredded green mango to make freshly picked edible fern (pa-u in Isinay, paku in Ilocano) or roasted rattan shoots (tangpat in Isinay, barit in Ilocano) more delectable.

Sliced green mango was also used to make our versions then of sinigang na bangus, inlangeyan an dalaj (sauteed mudfish), and daludal ti aba (gabi runners) more delicious. Womenfolk used green mangoes, in particular the injured and thus rejected ones during harvest, to make garapon (large candy jars) of buro (fruit preserve using salt and water).

If you ask what was my favorite mango-flavored dish then, I'd say it's a toss between the jumping salad and Papa's inlasap that consisted of scraped green mango that he mixed with salted shrimp paste (inasin in Isinay, aramang in Ilocano, bagoong alamang in Tagalog, balaw in Bicol).

A Mango Heritage of Sorts

ONE WAY or another, you could call me and my sisters and cousins "mango children." I guess that because Dupax was (and is still now) a mango paradise, many kids in town at the time were in that privileged mango-rich situation too.

But I recall then that we were luckier -- mango-wise, that is -- than many of my contemporaries. This was because our house was only a stone-throw away from Pitang, that meadow-like narrow plain near the western hills of Dupax del Sur that siren poto^ (in the days of old) was a communal grazing land for carabaos and had plenty of freely growing mango trees.

Aside from spending summer under its mango groves, Pitang was where I would bring my cousin Nelson Castro to chase birds and dragonflies, gather firewood, and climb guava, aratiles and tamarind trees when we were young. That was long, long before we both became foresters.

We were also lucky because, alongside the mango-endowed wilderness of Pitang, we had a huge and prolific-fruiting mango tree of our own. The tree was the most prominent feature in that semi-wilderness piece of land near our house that my parents used to call "Solar" but which later, because of that mango, my sisters and I referred to as "Mangga."

One memory I had of that tree was Papa going to it in several early mornings to build a smoky pile under it using the giyun (cogon) and shrubs he cut the day before. I would later learn that the smoke-creating activity was called mangasu^ in Isinay (agsu-ob in Ilocano), and it was meant to induce the mango tree to flower as well as to drive away insects that would nibble at the flowers and the tiny fruits later.

I would also learn later that that mango tree was of the carabao variety (manggang kinalabaw in Tagalog) and that our harvest from that tree averaged 20 tiklis (kuribot in Ilocano, kaing in Tagalog; bamboo basket for loading fruits) each fruiting season.

It's unfortunate that only a study table (given as gift by my father) now remains of that tree after we lost it to a strong typhoon when I was already starting a family in Baguio. But one memory of it still lingers in my now senior citizen mind:

One morning, my sister Arlyne and I followed our father to the solar where he was tending his pigeon pea (iris in Isinay, kardis in Ilocano) plants, and our little eyes caught sight of the countless fruits hanging from the tree's low branches. In short, my sister (who was around five at the time) and I (not yet seven) found the fruits so irresistible that before we knew it we were already picking as many as we could, using as container Arlyne's dress upturned on the front in what they call sab-uk in Ilocano.

I recall the fruits were still small -- the size of a pandesal -- but we were kids and we only stopped picking them when we heard Papa's thundering voice. I also remember we never even got to taste the fruits we harvested as Arlyne dropped them all on our way home to Mama.

On the side of my cousins (Elnora, Nancy, Nelson, Ellen, Ninfa, and Emma), Uncle Ermin's ricefield in Manggayang used to have a large and also prolific-fruiting tree on one side. That mango tree and our own tree both gave us extra supply of fruits that we let to ripe under our beds, as our fathers were inseparable brothers ever since they lost their ama when they were kids, and they both shared the harvests of their trees especially when one's tree happened not to bear many fruits for the year.

Indeed, we must have inherited our love for mangoes from our fathers.

Children of the Mango Groves

UNLIKE TODAY when we only get to taste mangoes when we buy them from the market, when we were small, mangoes in Dupax were practically free. Yes, libre -- as in you could go near a tree and if the owner is there, you can ask for a few fruits to munch on the spot (minus the salt, as it was prohibited to use such under a fruiting tree) and even to take home.

There were no SM plastic bags or market sando bags yet at the time. So we either put the fruits on our pockets or on our caps. Or we used the multipurpose jute sacks (langgotse) that we always carried mainly for padding the firewood we would gather from the forests further up in the hills.

When the mangoes are in the maraitluj (like an egg) stage, the owners would now forget being generous and would even eye our baris (slingshot; saltik in Tagalog, pal-siit in Ilocano) with suspicion, especially when the sprayers are watching and estimating how many tiklis of fruits would be soon be harvested.

So we would pretend to just pass by to rest under the trees, but actually we would look for fallen, fully ripe fruits under the cogon and shrubbery in the periphery of the fruit-laden tree.

The golden nuggets would often be naam-amon (full of fruit-fly maggots) or at times naruyruy (made soft from the fall; nalamog in Tagalog), but still they would still be useful and, in fact, being naturally ripened by the sun up there in the tree, they tasted more heavenly than the ones forced to ripe in the house.

We called such mango foraging activity as mammung si mangga. And among my sweet memories of those days was the fact that the activity forced me to learn how to whistle.

How that thing happened is a story worth telling in a separate post. But suffice it to tell for now that when I was little I was ribrib. I have yet to ask the Isinay for this, but ribrib is Ilocano word for a kid whose milk teeth are visibly brown and "eroding" due to too much eating ininti (sugar). Thus, because I had incomplete front teeth, I was sawaw and could only pass on a whispering air when I would attempt to whistle.

At the time, all males be they young or old, are supposed to know how to whistle. For boys, specially, we needed to whistle "wheee-whit-whit-whit-whit!" repeatedly to summon our dogs when we went playing outdoors. We had to whistle, too, to call the wind to blow during kite-making and -flying season (around November to April, summer season in our part of the Philippines). If we didn't know how to make the whistle, we would find extreme challenge making our kites take off to the sky.

And we applied such "whistle technology" when we went to hunt for fallen mango fruits (or often to wait for them to fall!) under the trees growing wild in that part of Pitang that older folks used to call Gatchalian and later Bautista (both referring to the owners of the place).

Indeed, while during kite season I would hitch on the collective whistling forces of the other kids to summon the wind, it was altogether a different story with the mangoes. You see, as a self-appointed leader of a small group of mango-infatuated kids in our neighborhood then, I was forced to learn how to whistle when we wanted the wind to come, preferably in full force as in a typhoon (puwo^ in Isinay, bagyo in both Ilocano and Tagalog).

(As a footnote, the group included my cousin Nelson, now Provincial Environment and Natural Resources Officer of DENR Zambales; Jude Calacala, now a globetrotting seaman; and my nephew Ramiro, who went on to become a tree-climber each mango season and tree-owners want help in the spraying and later in the harvesting.)

And what in the world is the connect between the whistle (usisiw in Isinay) and the gale-force wind and the mangoes?

So that the mango branches would manyojyoj (shake) -- and in doing so the reddish-yellow fruits, especially the ones hanging up there in the tree where they could not be reached by our bali-ve (projectiles), would stop teasing us mango-loving kids that they could not in any way be harmed by our puny slingshots.

And so that, at the end of the summer day, the sweet, luscious, and glorious fruits would go to our mouths!

Which Should It Be: Isinay or Isinai?

UP UNTIL RECENTLY, I have been hesitant to give my side on the issue of which term -- ISINAY or ISINAI -- is the correct one to use when referring to both the original language and the native people of Aritao, Bambang, and Dupax.

It was a couple of years ago and  from a fellow forester and also a mestizo Isinay -- Allan Gonzales -- that I first heard there was such an argument.

The issue has, I guess, not turned into a word war in Isinay country yet. But at least in Bambang where Allan has gone into semi-retirement, it was a point of contention -- some prefer one over the other -- when the idea of revitalizing the endangered Isinay culture first came out.
 
I digress but, by way of introduction, Allan is a bachelor nephew of the late Isabelo Gonzales (the composer of the popular Isinay song "War Sipan Uwar"). Allan's sister Zoh Gonzales is one of the active members of the Facebook group Isinay Global Association and is the one composing and disseminating via Facebook those beautifully illustrated psalms and prayers in Isinay Bambang.

If my senior memory has not failed me, Allan batted then for the use of ISINAI -- spelled with three I's.

And, as is obvious in their official name, so are the founders of the Bona^ Si Isinai Dopaj, Inc., the group that in December of 2010 has so kindly invited me to speak -- for the first time in my whole life! -- in pure Isinay, in front of many Isinays, and on a stage at the Dupax del Sur plaza.  

Why is your Isinay Bird writing about Isinay versus Isinai now?

Well, the following two photos that I shot near the munisipyo (town hall) in my Valentine's week visit to Dupax del Sur re-awakened the issue in me:

This tarpaulin poster's creator that used a silhouette version of one of Eduardo Masfere's classic photos of a Bontoc tribal warrior must have faced the challenged not only of choosing between ISINAY and ISINAI (see rightmost part of the poster); he faced the same hurdle with  ILONGOT and IGONGOT, the old terms for another group of "endangered" indigenous people that used to be integral parts of Bambang, Dupax, and Aritao (and also parts of Quirino and Nueva Ecija provinces).

This tarp poster manifests the prevalence of the use of ISINAI and shows that even Bona^ Si Isinai, a formal organization founded in 2009 to work for the revitalization of the Isinay language and culture in Dupax del Sur, uses the term. Note, however, that Isinay was used in ISINAYA^ ("I am an Isinay").

Perhaps  because I happened to so far be the only one that has been energetically blogging things and sundry about Isinay lately -- and using Isinay instead of Isinai at that -- I felt I owe it to the readers of this humble blog to outline my side of the coin.

Here then. In addition to the fact that it would be more awkward to use ISINAI'YA^ (as in the top photo) compared to ISINAYA^ (as in the lower photo), I personally prefer using ISINAY for the following reasons:

1. The name ISINAY (that is, spelled with a Y) was the one used in the first book ever to be published in Isinay -- the CATECISMO DE LA DOCTRINA CRISTIANA EN LA LENGUA ISINAY O INMEAS (printed in 1876).

2. ISINAY was also used in the first Isinay grammar book to be published -- the INTRODUCCION AL ESTUDIO DE LA LENGUA CASTELLANA EN ISINAY (printed in 1889 by the Colegio del Sto. Tomas and available in the internet).

3. ISINAY was the term used in the 561-page book ISINAY TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS (authored by Prof. Ernesto Constantino of the University of the Philippines Diliman; published in 1982 by the Institute for the Study of Languages and Cultures in Asia and Africa; with contributions and editing guidance from Mrs. Ermelinda Castañeda Magalad, Mr. Edgar Daniel Sr., and Mr. Dominador Boada Sr., all venerable Isinays and Isinay language advocates when they were still living).

Of course, to be sure, both ISINAY and ISINAI are correct.

As we jestingly say it, "e-der op da two well do" -- you could use one or the other and no one would bother.

(While we're at it, there is one more contender to the throne that many, including your Isinay Bird, are not familiar yet -- INMEAS -- which I guess would mean somebody who went to the forest.)

On a more practical level, the use of ISINAY especially in written materials will prevent mispronunciation by non-Isinay readers. Just try letting an outsider read ISINAI aloud. Chances are that, instead of I-SI-NAY, you would hear the four-syllable I-SI-NA-I.

Now, compare ISINAI'YA^ and ISINAYA^ (both meaning "Isinay ako" or "I'm Isinay") and tell me, plus or minus the circumflex mark (^) used in many Dupax Isinay words, which one is more reader-friendly and confusion-free.

This Tree’s Flowers Are Edible

WHEN I WENT to Dupax a day after Valentine’s this year, I had for lunch the flowers of a tree that the forester and tree-lover in me was happy to find growing mostly as living posts in many backyards and frontyards of houses in our part of the town.

Now, before your imagination becomes agitated with images of red-petalled flowers being chewed to smithereens by a huge defoliator worm masquerading as a human being, here’s a picture of the tree:

Upward shot of  ame' (birch flower) branches in Domang, Dupax del Sur, Nueva Vizcaya, with ready-to-harvest leaves and inflorescence. Note the worm-like flowers dangling on the twigs. (Photo by charlz castro)

Yes, my dear fellow on-and-off vegetarian, aside from their being dull green and looking like a “baby butterfy” (bangbangawan in Isinay, igges in Ilocano, uod in Tagalog), the flowers may not be bundled as in a bouquet or made into a lei and offered to your loved ones on Valentine’s Day.

A small to medium-sized tropical  tree that, along with the mango and coffee, is in flowering season  every February or thereabouts, the plant is a member of the Moraceae family and is called ame' in Isinay, alukon (or baeg and bungon) in Ilocano, himbaba-o in Tagalog, birch flower in English, and Broussonettia luzonica (formerly Allaeanthus luzonicus) among botanists.

Now don’t ask me who discovered the idea that this tree’s flowers (or fruits) as well as its young leaves are edible and, in fact, are a cherished delicacy not only among rural Isinays but also Ilocanos.  

As far as I can remember, alukon -- along with saluyot, marunggay, kalunay, katuday, fern, fungi, mushrooms, bamboo shoots, barbaradiong (bahase in Isinay) and ballaiba -- had been part of the repertoire of edible plants (apart from common vegetables) that formed part of my nourishment when I was growing up. 

A file photo of the edible tree flowers called ame' in Isinay. Note how long some of the flowers are.

To cook a plateful of the delicacy, just boil a cup of water, add two or more spoonfuls of salted anchovy (bagoong), squeeze a couple or so of reddish tomatoes, then put the ame flowers in and let the pot simmer for two to three minutes.

To make the viand more tasty/delicious (maattamtam in Isinay, malinamnam in Tagalog, masiram in Bicol, marasa in Visayan, naimas in Ilocano), it is best to cook it with a generous quantity of lima beans (atav in Dupax Isinay, lamero in Bambang Isinay, patani in both Tagalog and Ilocano) or pigeon peas (iris in Isinay, kardis in Ilocano, kadios in Tagalog). 

Then for better impact, toss in deep-fried bangus or, alternatively, grilled mudfish or tilapia or roasted chicken breast, or pindang (dried meat).

Well, that’s how my mother and my sister Arlyne cooked the edible flowers as in-asuj (inabraw or dinengdeng in Ilocano, bulanglang in Tagalog) that I loved to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner when I was home in Dupax -- and which made me forget my New Year resolution to go on diet.

Why Isinay Is Vanishing

I JUST FOUND in the inbox of my email account a questionnaire sent in by a student of the University of the Philippines Baguio who, after finding this Isinay Bird blogsite in the internet, wrote to me last year and asked help on what references I could suggest for her thesis on Isinay.

The questionnaire's cover letter went this way:

Magandang araw po sa inyo. Ako po si Lianne Lelis, BS-Mathematics ng Unibersidad ng Pilipinas Baguio. Kasalukuyan po akong gumagawa ng undergraduate thesis “Ang mga Isinay ng Nueva Vizcaya at ang Panghihina ng Kulturang Isinai”. Kaugnay po ng thesis na ito ay ang mga sumusunod na tanong tungkol sa mga Isinay. Maari po bang sagutin niyo ang mga ito. Malaki po ang maitutulong ng mga sagot niyo sa aking thesis. Pasensya na po sa abala. Salamat po sa inyong oras.

The following item (Item 4) in the questionnaire caught my fancy: 

Nabasa ko po ang thesis ni Celine Cruz na isa sa mga endangered language ang Isinay. Bilang isang Isinay, sa sarili niyong perspektibo ano ang dahilan ng paghina ng kulturang Isinay sa paglipas ng panahon?

I have yet to send my answers to the survey, but the question indeed sent my little coconut into motion. 

Very quickly, this humble observer attests to the following as having contributed to the Isinay culture and language as being endangered:

1.   Effect ng TV. Many kids in Dupax (and I presume even in Bambang and Aritao) now speak or are more at home with Tagalog -- even if you talk to them in Ilocano or Isinay. Worse, rather than enjoy the sunny outdoors, kids today prefer to watch Mr. Bean or the noontime shows exhibiting how sexy some Filipinas are or the antics of gay personalities . Consequently, there are no more "inheritors" of such formerly common Isinay ways as manpattol si nuwang (pasturing the carabao), mangamabuvun (collecting mushrooms), manumpup (gathering bamboo shoots), umeyav si sompalo (climbing tamarind trees), mansoppeng (swidden farming), and manalin si tulin (drive away rice-eating sparrows). 

2.   Influence ng paaralan. Aside from the language of instruction not being Isinay, teachers and pupils now also speak in Tagalog or accented English. I presume that (like what we had when I was small) schools prohibit pupils/students from using Isinay in the classroom, so that they will have better mastery of English. Or so they say. It is probable, too, that grade school boys are no longer required to engage in such projects as manlajat uvi (weave chicken nesting basket), manubuj si masetas (water ornamental plants),  or mamangbang si pantanoman si gayya^ (dig a garden for string beans). Similarly, I wonder if  schools still offer Home Economics where girls learn how to manguhut (sew), man-asuh (cook vegetables), mangijar si niyuj (grate coconuts), manlutut pising (cook guava with coconut milk), or manajpat (wash the dishes).

3.   Pagdami ng populasyon ng mga kapitbahay, kaibigan, kamag-anak na hindi Isinay. Naturally, what can a native Irupaj or Iromang do when everybody in the neighborhood speaks a different language? With many young people getting married to Visayans, Bicolanos, Cordillerans, Americans, Europeans, Australians, Japanese, Indians, and Chinese, what language would Aritao, Bambang, and Dupax natives use to minimize communication gap and to show how friendly and warm as a people the Isinays are?

4.   Pagkaubos ng mga likas-yaman tulad ng gubat, ilog, isda, ibon, atbp. As a consequence, of the despoliation of its once fabulous forests and along with them the rivers, and the loss of wildlife, not so many are encountering or doing Isinay things associated with such natural resources anymore. For example, with forests gone, gone too are the wildlife that used to be part of the Isinay culture -- and so, no one hears of such words as salejap (trap), barale (preserved meat), and manganup (to hunt wild animals) anymore. With the rivers now dry in summer and flooded in the rainy season, gone are the sappilan (stone goby) and gone too are the methods of catching them like maneyup, mangintoj, mangemu, maniwattan and manlipit.

5.   Modernization. With the presence of electricity, people in Isinay country now prefer to watch TV or sing in videoke rather than watch the tallivong (full moon) or count how many matutina (shooting star) one sees in the night sky. With the convenience of gas stoves, children no longer do such chores as mangayu (gather firewood) or manisij (split wood with axe). With tricycles now available, many folks no longer experience mirungpil (hitting one's toe on a stone) or malurun (getting spine on one's sole) when walking on the road. Because the hand-tractor has replaced the carabao, such things as patuji (sled) and araru (plow) are becoming rare sights.

Lianne, if you're reading this, salamat si dee (thank you very much) for giving me ideas on what to write. 
Mansor ayu lojom (just you wait). I'll give these topics more bones and muscles in future blogs very soon.