WHAT could send me packing even before I could unpack, and yet not feel harassed? The promise of witnessing indigenous peoples in their own villages with the burning desire to nurture their culture.
Maybe it’s because I’m of a Luzon parentage, such that there is the fascination for the tribes, their costumes and how they have managed to preserve a considerable part of their cultures and norms, or are at least trying to recover what has been lost. But I know for a fact that is not true.
I know of many born and raised in Mindanao with clear Mindanao roots who are not interested. Sad.
Does that doesn’t bother me? No. It’s their loss not mine. But really, those not interested are missing a lot. In those villages are stories that have been denied us, the Mindanao residents, in our schools.
Mindanao epics, myths, and legends are more exciting than the Tagalog “Si Malakas at si Maganda” and Ilocano “Alamat ni Lam-ang” that we were made to chew on in our elementary years.
Mindanao tribes have superheroes who rode on flying shields and bilao, who waged wars all over the land and brought back to life all their warriors who have died in the process, and who rode airships in going up to Heaven. They die and they rise again to fight another war. They die and they rise again to fight another war.
Now how immortal can you get? They have one-eyed giants and bumbling monsters. They have everything that would have kept young children on the edge of their seats, listening with great interest, instead of the children who have been dozing off during Philippine history and literature, the way we did in those long-ago classrooms.
Since getting a taste of this from my Talaandig friends, who introduced me to their mythical hero, Agyu, I have since been immersed in the stories of long ago. Agyu opened my consciousness to all other characters in Mindanao myths, legends, and epics that the indigenous tribes truly regard as their ancestors – the brothers Mamalu and Tabonaway, which tells the story of how the Tedurays and the Maguindanaos are truly of one blood, except that one brother opted to be Islamized; there’s Tulalang, the super-hero of the Manobo; there’s Lmabat and his airship of the Blaan tribe; there’s Lumabet and his ascension to heaven through a swarm of bees and honey of the Bagobo people; and then, there’s the bridge to Nalandangan – the Bukidnon’s concept of heaven, when Luzon and Visayas would have just been content with the generic “langit”, while Alimegket of the Matigsalugs and S’ring of the Bagobo are giant monsters you wouldn’t want to cross paths with. There’s more. A lot more and I’m scouring every book store and book fair I can reach to get my hands on the rare documentation of these. We tried doing it ourselves half a decade ago, my buddy Kublai and I.
But taking time out to trek up those mountains take time and in between work and other projects, time is something we cannot have much to spare. What we can do while typing in front of the computer or painting in front of an easel, is stimulate discussions in the hope of fanning more interests.
No, it’s not just the indigenous people’s clothes and dances that are colorful… their stories too. But then, we should have known that all along. For how can a people see and make so many colors in their clothes and dances had they not spoken of it in their oral traditions?
We just didn’t stop and listen.
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(saestremera@yahoo.com)