Guina'ang Village

Guina'ang Village

As we sat on the jeepney waiting to head up the mountain from Bontoc, a woman was selling turon. Turon is one of a million different kinds of treats that have been thought up here. Some are specific to one barangay within a town. Some are specific to an island or province or general region. Some are general to the entire country, but usually with variations. Kakanin is a coconut rice cake. Almost any kind of coconut rice cake goes by that general name. My family name is Cacanindin, meaning “rice cake, as well”. How many things do you think 90 million Filipinos can come up with from two of the only ingredients found everywhere in the country? A lot, to be sure. Turon is another special treat found almost anywhere in the country. It’s the Philippines’ cooking banana called saba, wrapped in a rice wrapper, and fried in oil and sugar (which gives an exterior caramel crunch). A variation in the Eastern Visayas is both saba banana and a slice of jackfruit inside. Waiting on top of that jeepney I had my twenty-something’th turon here, and it was the best I’d ever had. Along with a perfectly ripe saba (not too sweet that it fights with the sweet flavor of brown sugar), it contained a small amount of camote (Philippine sweet potato, which has a flavor and texture of its own, depending on which of several species). It was perfectly hot, fresh out of the pan even though she was carrying a huge plastic container of more than 100 of them. It was crispy as it could’ve possibly been. The amount of banana and camote matched each other so as to blend in layers rather than mixing together or one standing out, not to mention the perfect amount of both compared to the rice wrapper. And the amount of sugar was also perfect so that it was sweet but not too sweet, hard to find given the Filipino sweet tooth. I had a small bit of Piotr’s and when I realized what this woman was selling, I chased her down and bought one for myself. It was exactly the same quality as Piotr’s. A unique variation, this turon was simply, perfect.

My stomach was feeling better because it was after 2pm and I hadn’t eaten since Evelyn’s rice pudding the night before. I had less pain and I could move a little more freely so that when that turon gave my tastebuds a simultaneous orgasm, I really didn’t care if I would regret it later. The jeepney was packed FULL and ready to leave by the time I finished mine. Piotr and I were trying our best to keep from sliding off of the spare tire on the roof, there were huge bags of the green-leafed tops of the camote piled 3 high behind us (destined for pig stomachs, though I love them and eat them like spinach), and there were people hanging off the sides and roof all around us. Still better than the cramped, hot interior because we could breathe, sit up straight, and actually see everything in the landscape around us. Riding on the top of a jeep is second only to hitch hiking in the bed of a dump truck in my opinion.

Guina'ang Village

The landscape was beautiful. Open, cleared fields at the tops of hills gave way to pine trees and later high-altitude jungle, sunlight peeking through the cloudy sky and pine canopies. We passed by clusters of rice terraces and farmland somehow built into the steep slopes. My journey back to Bontoc would later be done by foot and with a new close friend, but I didn’t know that yet. At the moment we were headed for Guina’ang, a small town high up in the mountains; a town of pigs and rice terraces and vestiges of Igorot life. Piotrek’s girlfriend, Dominika, was waiting for us when we stopped at the only roadside store in town. Piotr gave her a long, warm hug while I observed the impressive number and variety of packaged breads and pastries laid out on tables, a display I hadn’t seen in all my experiences in small, Philippine towns.

Quick introductions led to a 15-minute dash through the town, over and along rice terraces and to the other side of the valley, where Dominika had been sleeping and where we would spend the next week. By the time we had started walking, the usual local afternoon rains were threatening, and caught us with a few drops as we were arriving at the house of Lola (Grandma) Taino.

Lola Taino shelling rice and bundling camote tops

Lola Taino is the sweetest old lady one could ever meet. Her warmth and wisdom are sewn into every wrinkle on her face. The house was actually owned by a German woman who comes to visit for a few months. Lola Taino was caretaker for the rest of the year. Dominika herself is the definition of loveliness. An artist and honestly caring human being, she travelled with Piotrek from Poland, through China, and was planning to spend two months in the Philippines. She travelled separate from Piotr to the coast and back up the Cordilleras with an eye to help children. She found Guina’ang and randomly met Lola Taino near the elementary school. Dominika had already been there a couple of weeks, and Piotr had learned by text message what she had been up to and she invited us to come. Two boys who help Lola Taino named Frederico and Amaki (a.k.a. Macky).

Cooking with Dominika

Like most of the people in Guina’ang, they are Igorot, shy, and as genuine as can be. Both were 19 years old and going to school. When asked what he wanted from life, what his goals were, Macky said he wanted to be a good man. His wife had recently given birth to a child, but the girl’s parents will not allow him to even see his child until he finishes school and gets a good job (2 years down the road). He didn’t resent his situation, but the emotions it brought were a great motivation for him. He goes to school on the weekdays and works in the local mine on the weekends. There was a slight influence of Christianity in Guina’ang, but the people are more pagan and they have a very long history. Macky explained a few of the customs and expectations of their community, and it was indeed an entirely different culture than I had seen elsewhere in the Philippines. The only similarities likely leeched out of the television screen and into the minds of the latest generation. Electricity came with the end of the 20^th Century, and along with it, a plethora of changes.

Lola Taino knew only greetings in English, so the only time we could communicate was through Frederico or Macky. She barely knew Tagalog or Ilocano, more widespread Filipino dialects. She mostly only spoke Kankanai (not sure on the spelling, but it’s the local indigenous dialect). All she asked in return for hosting us was food. So we cooked every day and she partook with only a few bites. Hilariously, she didn’t seem capable of hiding her facial expressions as to how much she liked the food. Coffee is a staple there, and Lola Taino drank 5-10 cups of very strong, locally produced coffee per day. It’s called baraka. Boiled in a pot for a few minutes, the coffee grounds sift to the bottom, but fine particles are poured into every cup. Dominika had green tea leaves leftover from China. A delicate blend, the tea needed to be steeped in good balance with water that wasn’t too hot. Lola Taino, accustomed to her strong coffee, boiled it very hot and VERY strong. And. She. Loved it.

Lola Taino and her trusty translator, Frederico

Because the language barrier between Lola Taino and us was profound, it was hard to know how she felt about us. Didn’t know if we were breaking untold customs or expectations. One day Frederico translated a conversation between all of us and she made us all cry. As she spoke tears fell from her cheeks. I had never before experienced the seemingly eternal gap between an emotional utterance and its translation. My mind filled the gap with the thought, “What could she have possibly said with such conviction?” Then Frederico’s translation: “I wish I could say in words what I feel in my heart. I love so much to have visitors in my home and I wish I could show you.” As if the expression in her face as she said it wasn’t moving enough, tears welled up in all of us as we finally understood.

I also came away from that revealing conversation wondering what similar experiences the future held in store for me. My Tagalog hardly improves because the Philippine people speak such immaculate English. The least-educated farmer or construction worker speaks English as well or as poorly as the most-educated office worker. Only the truly sheltered or indigenous populations don’t speak English. But then, they don’t usually speak Tagalog either. I have yet to visit a place where I cannot communicate with words. The closest I came to this was an experience in a Taipei taxicab during a flight layover four months ago. “Please, take me to the bus stop” became “Train station. You know, Chuga chuga chuga chuga wooo woooooooo!” (hand pulling an imaginary overhead lever). What will it be like in Burma or Indonesia, I wonder? Side note: Philippine primary education is taught almost entirely in English. The people speak such good English that people from other Asian countries, especially China and South Korea, come to the Philippines and pay a lot of money to learn English.

Russell, Frederico, and Macky measuring diamond patterns 

Besides Dominika, another foreigner had been working with children in Guina’ang. His name is Russell Maier, and he’s a human being and a half. He came to the house towing two Couchsurfers that stayed with him at his house down the mountain. Remember Couchsurfing.org? He has used Couchsurfing to do some amazing things in the area. Russell has lived in Sabangan – a larger, more Westernized town on the main road between Bontoc and Baguio – for several years. He lived in infamous neo-hippie hangout, Sagada, for a year before that. Originally from the Yukon in Canada, he is a veteran bike tourist, hitch hiker and traveller who biked from the Yukon to Berlin so he could build an art studio there. Uncompromising in his goals, we helped him achieve his current one: become an international artist.

David says: "Someone rip out my intestines, put them
on a stick, and grill them like Inasal BBQ"
Russell says, "This food is fantastic" saturated with all
of the loving energy he can muster.

The story of his roots in the area is magical. While living in Sagada, he went on a long hike in the mountains, without a guide, and got completely lost. Just when he thought he knew where he was, he stumbled out into the schoolyard in Guina’ang. Young children and a few teachers were very welcoming and comforting. They fed and took care of him. The spark of life in the people and his debt to their generosity stayed with him. He returned later to do an art workshop, only to realize that there were no art supplies, paper, crayons of any kind or any of the usual tools teachers use for teaching. So, they made do with trash and any other materials they could find. Then he discovered their textbooks were huge tomes from the 1940s and ‘50s, and sometimes there was only one copy. Using the Couchsurfing website, he asked that visitors to his home bring a book or two to donate to a library he was building for the children of Guina’ang. Two years later, he has hosted many guests of all backgrounds, has gathered hundreds of books, art supplies, and even essential medicines for the children. Almost exclusively through Couchsurfing.org. The small details of his projects are amazing and speak to the interconnectedness and love within and between Philippine communities. He is also supporting schools in other areas in myriad ways.

I didn’t know all of this when Dominika’s new friend, Russell, arrived at the house with two new guests. That made six guests. I hoped we hadn’t overwhelmed Lola Taino, but the open honesty of her smile assured me otherwise. In my travels, my sense of self-security varies from totally relaxed to unworried to uncomfortable to adventurous to fight for survival. I was more relaxed and comfortable there than I had been in a long time, and I felt the same vibe from my friends. Russell’s two Couchsurfing guests left after just one night’s stay. Meanwhile, I was still nursing a volatile digestive system. It seemed like no matter what I ate, my stomach couldn’t handle it, causing me sometimes paralyzing pain. So, I decided to fast, that is to ingest nothing but water until it was time to leave Guina’ang.

Before we could leave, Russell and Dominka employed our help with a project of Russell’s that was two years in the making. He had met a friend through Couchsurfing.org who was in Cambodia working with an orphanage. Some have one or both parents but were left at the orphanage because they were too poor to feed them. The orphans usually eat only rice and live in a desolate, hot part of Cambodia. We got the children of Guina’ang Elementary School to make Christmas presents for the orphans.

On a Thursday, Russell and I went to all of the classrooms to remind them what materials to bring the next day. The Head Teacher had a guitar that was in terrible shape but was still playable (my Josephine was in Aringay because I couldn’t climb mountains with her). So we also exchanged a song with each class. I sang Feliz Navidad, and they would sing a song that they learned at the beginning of the school year. As soon as I heard the first class (second grade) sing its song, I was astounded by how musical they all were. They ALL had good sense for rhythm and pitch, the two hardest things to teach in music. Then I realized that as poor as these schools are, the limited “tools” at their disposal were unnecessary to teach music in school. There was art all over the classroom, some of them drawings from crayons that Russell must have procured for them. How unforgivable it is for schools in a place like the U.S. to not teach art or music! The children in every class (one class per grade) were the most quiet, respectful, honest, happy, and diligent children I have ever seen. But, they were extremely shy. Nevertheless, these kids loved to sing even a brand new song to them.

Learning what a mandala looks like

The next day, Russell, Dominika, Piotr and I began the art project. After singing with each class the day before I knew third grade was the least attentive (but still much better than any group of kids I’d seen), and that was the class I got to work with. Each class used paper patterns that we had measured and cut the night before to draw and cut diamonds out of old clothes. When each student had cut around 6-12 diamonds, we had them play with them and make patterns out of them. At the beginning of the class we explained a short history of the pattern we were going for, a mandala. “Mandala” is Sanskrit for “circle”. It is an ancient art form that involves symmetry and teamwork. It doesn’t have to have four quadrants. It can have 2 halves or 11 sections, or 1,001 sections as long as each section is symmetrical to the others. The diamonds were measured so that the edges could fit together into a hexagon, meaning each diamond was comprised of two equilateral triangles. It was fun trying to remember enough geometry to achieve this without a protractor. Anyways, the patterns the children came up with were not only beautiful and right on point, but damn creative, especially in 5^th and 6^th grades. After all of that fun, we all cleaned up and stored the diamonds. Leftover clothes scraps were saved for other uses that are already part of the culture. It’s not a new thing for people in poor communities overflowing with trash to make creative use of the trash. Old clothes get turned into floor mats, rugs, new clothes and patches, and even hand dusters/scrubbers.

Lunch feast

For lunch, we were served a feast cooked for us by the teachers that consisted of all sorts of traditional special dishes. The highlight was Philippine deer meat, which is very hard to find. The Head Teacher (a.k.a. Principal) said she only eats it once every few years. The uniqueness of the meat and the dish made from it made me want to try it. But my gut still felt terrible and I needed to give it a break. There were even Vegan dishes, and it was all served with special red mountain rice grown in the rice terraces surrounding Guina’ang. My gas-bloated intestines and my empty stomach were competing for which sensation was strongest; pain or mouth-watering hunger. Of all times to fast!

Kaleidoscope mandala?

My morning 3rd graders

In the afternoon, the 5^th graders got to do a few more things for the project because the teacher was out sick. By far the largest of all of the grades, we split them into two halves. Russell, Piotr, and Dominika helped their half make bigger, more complex mandalas, and my half wrote letters to the orphans. I explained that they should simply write about themselves, about their life in Guina’ang, what they care about, and any message they have for the orphans. After 10-15 minutes there were still a lot of empty papers, even though they were really trying hard to come up with what to write. So, I wrote a basic message to give them an idea what to write. Some copied it pretty closely, but others took it and ran with it. My favorite was this one, not because of the touching story but because she told a beautiful story, she had the best grammar and spelling of any of the students:

“Dear Kay Champey,

My name is Maea F., I am from Guina-ang, Bontoc Mountain Province, Philippines. It is a small town in the mountains in Luzon. I have no brothers but I have four sisters. Im the last child among us. My father is died because of stroke, and my mother need to leave us and find a work so that we can go to school. I am now 12 years old, I also love to read storybook, fairytales, and much more. In here Guina-ang it is a beautiful place, their are many trees in our place. But we never expereince snow it is just a rainfall. I realy miss my family because my three sisters is studying in Baguio. I can’t wait Christmastime, because this is only the day that I can meet my friends and sisters in Baguio. I hope you and your family have a memorable Christmast.

                             Your friend,

                                  Maea Fegcan”

Big mama mandala

Every single one of them cared so much about what to say to these children across the sea. Next came envelopes. When we had a letter for each orphan, we folded and decorated envelopes. While the children were writing letters, I was experimenting with different ways one could fold a letter envelope without tape. I came up with 7 different ways and showed them all. They had watched and listened diligently, but when they each had a paper to fold, most started folding an envelope I hadn’t thought of, but one design they all seemed intimately familiar with. It was a basic origami-style envelope that used an entire sheet of 8.5’’x11’’ paper. Once the envelopes were finished, they put their letter inside, and our job was done. Then we walked next door to see the beautiful mandalas the other half of the class had come up with. Russell started the process with a little structure, but once they were comfortable with the idea of a mandala, no guidance or advice was needed. They all came together to make one large mandala that was amazing! I can’t say enough how impressed I was with these children. They’re living proof that exceptionalism and ego in the West holds absolutely no ground in real life.

The whole Christmas gift

Twelve cloth diamonds were put into each envelope along with a letter, a spool of thread, and a sewing needle. Then they were shipped to Cambodia via Taiwan. The orphans will then sew the diamonds into mandalas of their own. The project was 2 years in the making, and at the end, Russell could say he had fulfilled his goal of becoming an international artist.

We spent the weekend cleaning empty gin and soy sauce bottles, a difficult task to be sure. Then we glued them together with silicon in the shape of a small table. A “drinking table for the men”. Russell has made all kinds of bottle furniture including light fixtures, tables, and sofas. When he’s used one and is ready for something else, he gives the old one away to a friend and starts a new project. With one, 100 peso silicon gun, one can build entire couch. A hundred pesos is about USD $2.50. It came out very sturdy and beautiful. Several of his other bottle furniture has been in large art galleries and museums in the Philippines.

Ma'am Lala, the Master Weaver and her new clutch bags

One of the other things Russell does in the area is empower women who don’t want to labor on the farm. They weave bags out of plastic wrappers or magazines, Russell buys them at a very good price when he visits their homes, and ships them as cheaply as possible to a volunteer assistant in Europe who then distributes them to several Fair Trade shops in North America and Europe. The women are thrilled to be making art out of the trash around them, but they are even more thrilled that they can feed their families with money to spare in the process. For more images and updates on this and other projects that Russell does, check out http://trashured.blogspot.com.

A palace of a pig pen, with the luxury of a
wall between the walkway and the feces

One evening, we foreigners and Macky went to visit Mainit, the last town along that particular road up into the mountains. Mainit is locally famous for its hot springs, but it’s a town getting sucked into the toilet. Firstly, a recent “community development” program implemented by the Catholic Church is giving pigs to people all over the country. Regardless of local culture or landscape, the Church must believe that pigs can only be good for communities. In Mainit, water that drains into some of the hot springs flows through pig pens, poisoning the water. Like Guina’ang, there was now an excessive number of pigs. Where there were once empty spaces next to major walkways or important water sources, small, confined, smelly pig cages now occupy. Not only was it unsanitary, to say the least, but the widespread presence of pigs completely changes the culture of the people that live with them. Food is essential to culture. It effects the plants grown to feed livestock, the number of people needed to tend to livestock, the kinds of food that the people eat, and even the language the people use. Lola Taino spends most of every day cutting the trunk of banana trees into slivers for the pigs to eat. Camote tops, one of my favorite leafy greens here, is considered only pig feed. Pork meat is the least healthy of all foods common in the Philippines. All I could do was wonder why there was such a huge push to make people revert to pork from vegetables or chicken. Rice will inevitably be apart of Philippine culture, I fear. White rice and refined white sugar cause the diabetes pandemic here, and pork causes high blood pressure and obesity. Why does the church implement this program? I can only guess at their motivations.

More than just mandalas were made

The second reason the town is doomed is because of the mine. I mentioned how strong the Igorot were. I had no idea until I saw how much raw ore individuals could carry. Paid by the kilo, the workers haul huge amounts to make a quick paycheck. Women carry 60-80 kilos, children carry 25-40 kilos, and men can carry up to twice their weight out of the mines. The ore is then bought and shipped home to refineries by a Korean company. Copper, cold, iron, and several other metals are said to be contained in the ore. The mine has been there for two years, it keeps children out of school, and is hated by all those not in the mines. Where mines have been present longer, generations are beginning to lose the skills to farm, build, and support themselves. When the ore is all harvested, communities will suddenly be entirely unemployed and without the skills to survive. It also seemed apparent that the companies are breaking Philippine or international laws in the bribes and threats they give to keep the workers from talking about their work or paychecks. If we asked questions, we were hushed immediately and told not to ask questions. A bigger example? A Head Teacher told us that when she was on the education board, she visited a town in her jurisdiction only to find a brand new school being Christened by the mining company that built it. The companies refuse to go through the legal channel. All we could see was the strain on the faces of all the workers and the destruction of the communities that “profit” from the presence of the mine. In order to pay for school, Macky spends his weekends working at the mine.

As we returned from Mainit, there was a town crier calling out a message. Town criers are so distant in the past of most Westerners that they don’t even know what that means. It’s a person who stands at a point of projection and yells out messages at dusk when people have stopped working. It obviously only works in a town small enough for the crier’s voice to reach the edges of town clearly. Guina’ang was such a town, and I felt so lucky to be visiting such a town that has a town crier. A local translated the message to mean that people are forbidden to work in the rice terraces or farms because of a special holiday. Combine that with the fact that there was a big Pacquiao fight the next morning that people could travel to watch in Bontoc. You can imagine how full of people the jeepneys from Mainit through Guina’ang to Bontoc were the next morning.

A Christmas decoration for sale that someone
had made out of drinking straws 

From Guina’ang, Russell and I left early to walk the 2-hour trek down the road to Bontoc. On the way, we visited the master bag weaver at the edge of Guina’ang. We arrived in Bontoc with plenty of time to take care of a few things and head to his house in Sabangan. Originally we planned to skip the fight, but since neither of us had seen Pacquiao fight, we decided it was one cultural experience we couldn’t miss. Pacquiao is by far the Philippines’ most revered celebrity. A hero for the people in many ways, he is a world-famous boxer and also a member of the National Senate. He was facing off against his long-time opponent, Marquez. Most expect Pacquiao to get major recognition in the World Boxing Hall of Fame. The fight was played up, of course, and every detail of the boxers’ lives was analyzed before and during the fight. Everyone in the Las Vegas crowd and at home in the Philippines were stunned when Pacqiao was knocked out cold early in the fight. After it was over, Russell and I walked for more than an hour in the direction of his town until we got tired and paid a van to take us the rest of the way. On the way, we talked about our opinions on violence and on competition, but we were unsurprised that our uncommon opinions were similar to the other’s. We arrived at his home in Sabangan, Mountain Province close to dusk, where yet another bed with a mattress awaited.

  

Ghost David