I remember an event in my poor barangay. It was called lawong in the Visayan region, bayanihan in the Tagalog region. One time, our neighbor wanted to transfer his nipa hut from one place to another. So he went to the houses in the neighborhood and asked for help from the male members in each household to join the lawong of his house.
Being a tradition, his neighbors nodded to his request, except those few who had already set an activity at the same date and time the lawong was to be done. He also asked my papa to join it. My papa said yes, being used to the practice of this tradition when he had been in Bohol and Mindanao. I was a teenager then. My papa asked me if I wish to join the lawong. I nodded.
The day came. Many male members of the community went to our neighbor’s house. Female members also went there and took charge of cooking the rice and the monggos.
The four pillars of the house were made of round timbers. The height of the floor was about four feet from the ground. One-whole length of several bamboo trees were used. Three bamboos were mounted horizontally and tied just below the floor at one side, at the central part and at the other side of the house. Three other bamboos were also mounted horizontally, perpendicular to the first three bamboos and tied in the same manner. All the bamboos were extended two meters from the wall of the house.
Then the men searched for a location under and at the sides of the house. Some bent and carefully walked under the floor. They let their right shoulders lightly touch on the underside of the bamboos. Others also let their shoulders lightly touch on underside of the extended portion of the bamboos. They were in line from one side of the house to the other, forming a matrix of columns and rows. I also found my place in the extended portion of the bamboo trees.
Now the one designated to lead the lawong activity set the people ready. We began pressing our shoulders against the bamboo. Those situated under the floor of the house bent their heads low.
The leader checked the positions of the men to make sure that their forces were distributed evenly around the house and that they were safe. With his right palm wide open, the leader whacked the house’s wall made of woven bamboo panels, simultaneously counting, in a loud bassy voice, “unoo!” “doos!”— and we now tightly pressed our muscles against the underside of the bamboo — “trees!!”
The house was lifted up. It wobbled a little and moved along the designated path toward the place where it was to be placed. Seeing the exhaustion of the men, the leader also gave signal for us to put the house down slowly and synchronously, to take a rest.
After a while, the leader repeated the same procedure as before in lifting up the house. The house moved and eventually reached the place where it was to be placed. It was then checked for proper alignment.
We profusely sweated under the sun. Many of us spread around, looking for a shade. Many of us removed our sweat-soaked clothes. Almost each one of us held our shirts at one end and made a circular motion so as to fan oneself.
Meanwhile, there was a long table with benches near the newly transferred house. Beside the table, there were large pots containing cooked rice and stewed mongos mixed with small sliced pork. Some ladies began scooping the rice from the pot and placed it on the platter. Some scooped the stewed monggos from the pot and placed it into large bowls. They placed the platters and bowls on the table. Some also distributed tableware, spoons and forks to the men around the place.
The go signal for the meal was given. The men began to come to the table and took turns in filling their plates with rice and stewed monggos. Some just moved to a nearby location and ate the food in standing position under a shade. They sipped the soup as though it was so delicious. My papa was among them. I too followed the older men. I took some rice and stewed monggos and ate my food.
After the meal, the owner of the house brought out two containers, each filled with about 24 liters of tubâ (coconut wine). The owner used several pitchers for simultaneous distribution of the tubâ. A few people served as the ganir (one how pours wine into the glass and pass it around). Bringing a pitcher and a glass, a ganir poured tubâ into the glass and served it to the men spread around one after the other.
Some friends who had not heard from each other for a long time met in that event. They greeted each other. They conversed, with hearty laughs. Neighbors who occasionally met enjoyed the event. The people stayed there until late afternoon, except for some who left ahead for important matters.
That was lawong. I was personally involved in it in the province. It was a cultural reality that has become rare, if not entirely gone nowadays. In reminiscing that moment, I could only sing a hymn to celebrate it.
O unity, unity, a spirit, a boon,
I see you like a golden moon;
Your presence is a precious tie
Binding the earth and the sky.
I see you flying in clear heaven
Scanning the earth for a haven;
Your binding hand is the lawong
Bonding simple men like a throng.
Now you’re like a distant day
Too pale for my eyes to see,
You, spirit, are now rarely seen
Rarer than mineral astatine.
But come, you, a stunning one
While glowing still is my sun;
O come to me, abide in me
Before I go and touch eternity!
