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Glimpses of Living Legacies
A middle-aged woman sat on a chair placed within four standing bamboo poles anchored on the ground. Another elderly woman walked around the square plot, and at the same time talking aloud—although to no one in particular—while hanging plant leaves, twigs, and woven articles. She was a mandadawak, a local healer, who set out to cure the ailing woman in the chair by performing the dawak, the healing ritual. Both women wore traditional tapis (wrap-around skirts) distinguished by colors and patterns of ethnic designs. Behind the women, elderly men lined up in a row, kneeling. They all wore the bahag (G-string) around their waists that bore similar traditional styles. Each of them held a brass gangsa (gong) resting on their laps, which they percussed with their palms to create a steady beat of varying sounds. This percussion served as accompaniment to the hymns of the mandadawak. The ritual before us was the last of seven performances that had been going on since mid-afternoon. Azure skies were finally giving way to subdued cerulean hues; darkness was slowly creeping over the mountains around us. I had been taking photographs of the festivities since arriving in the rustic town of Balbalan the day before. On this first day of the Manchatchatong, named after the annual gathering of the town's seven sub-tribes, all of which belonged to the larger ethnolinguistic group of the Kalingas (meaning "headhunters" in local neighboring dialects), the tribes come together to perform enactments of their cultural practices and engage in games, dancing, and celebration. The festival also coincided with the town's centennial celebration after its formation through an act of the Legislature of the Philippines. One of the sub-tribes, Gubang, was now performing an age-old practice of the Kalingas—the dawak. From where I was watching, I saw the mandadawak forcefully waving a bunch of leaves in the air, which seemed as if she was driving away unseen spirits. Men and women, portraying family members of the sick woman, danced around the area by waving both arms at their sides as if mimicking a flying bird; their dancing was maybe either to form a hedge of protection, or an offering of sacrifice to appease the spirits afflicting the sick relative. At some point a live chicken was placed over the head of the ailing woman by one of the family members. The healer then sang hymns and made motions with her hands, an act which I interpreted to mean that if the chicken finally leaped away, the spirit chose instead to inhabit the animal, leaving the woman back with her health and life. For several minutes, she continued to do this in the hope of shooing away the chicken, but it did not leave immediately. Towards the end of the rite, the chicken finally leaped away from the head of the woman after several attempts by the healer. The chicken, now believed to be inhabited by the spirit, was gutted to death by the mandadawak. She tore open its neck using her teeth and bare hands. A girl who had been video-recording the performances told me that the old folk continued to practice those rituals in their daily affairs. Born and raised in Kalinga, she recounted witnessing a healing ritual when she was little, which instilled in her a sense of reverence for the old ways and fear in the arcane. Now living out of town, she decided to return, on her hometown's centenary, to partake and rejoice in the celebration of their tribes. In reality, according to her, the ritual could have taken half a day to complete, even days if the mandadawak found it difficult to cure the illness or drive away the spirits causing it. Locals also believe that, in the event the healer was unsuccessful in mediating for the life of the person, the spirits may even choose to possess the bodies of the unhealed as their receptacle. The Kalingas, similar to the other tribes of the Cordillera region in the Philippines, are superstitious peoples and strongly believe in spirits. Spirits, according to their tribal beliefs are the reason for sickness, failed harvest, pestilence, death, and misfortune. Hence, all their ceremonies involving the supernatural require the service of a medium, which sacrifices a chicken for most rites. For performing serious rites, such as those involving grave illnesses or funeral rites, the medium opts to sacrifice a pig. The other ritual performances I had seen earlier were not as dismal as this last one (even the death ritual did not involve a dead body), but each rite involved prayers, traditional hymns, and blood sacrifices. Rituals for giving birth, hunting, and for funeral had involve the slaughtering of a live pig right at the plaza where crowds gather to watch. In the enactment of the hunting ritual, the pig was turned loose at the open plaza while two hunters chased after it with their long wooden spears and machetes as if in the wild. My surprise was lost in the excitement of the crowd who kept watching as the scene unfolded. The hunters eventually caught the pig and ended its life as they would have hunted it in the forest. The poor animals were destined for the kitchen stoves that night anyway for the huge dinner feasts shared between households. I had embarked on this journey to Balabalan to witness a proud people celebrate their colorful history and rich culture. From the Philippine capital of Manila, it was a 10-hour bus ride going north to Tabuk, the capital town of the Kalinga province, then another 4 hours by jeepney to the mountainous region of Balbalan. Dust was a constant companion from traveling these rough regions, and rides were anything but smooth. Cemented roads were disjointed and ongoing reconstruction of collapsed road segments regularly punctuated our passage, forcing the vehicle I was on to stop for several minutes until the bulldozer could clear out the road. I had been to the place once before, but only had a vague impression of the land and lives of the Kalingas. Apart from a genuine emotional and intellectual rush, travel offered that window for me to further understand and appreciate one of the many indigenous societies of my country. And this sojourn, I had hoped, could offer enlightenment. At the Manchatchatong, all the rites involved some form of dancing. I remember the common sight of a group of men lined up one after another, dancing to a steady rhythm as they beat their gangsa. In the marriage or courtship ritual, the same group of men performed percussions in the background while a male and a female performed a courtship dance, in which the male imitated a rooster attempting to attract a hen, as assumed by the female. The bridegroom also offered his blanket to his bride for comfort and protection in their life together. The family members of the couple danced afterward in celebration and thanksgiving of their union. Some few weeks prior to the festival, I visited Balbalasang, a small barangay or village in Balbalan, and about another three to four hours away from the town. Balbalasang is the home of the Banao, another sub-tribe of the Kalingas widely recognized as its most peaceful people. Balbalasang has an exceptionally cool local climate compared with the rest of the town, and at that time of the year, temperatures drop to as low as 10°C (or 50°F). Its unique geography explains the cooler atmosphere, making it one of few places in the archipelago where pine forests flourish, together with their own array of endemic fauna and flora. During the visit, I was fortunate enough to witness a small village fiesta. People from neighboring villages graced the occasion by performing traditional dances, commonly known as tadjek. The dance mainly imitates birds flying in the air, again accompanied by the syncopated tunes from gangsa beating. I was invited to join the dance; yet for fear of making a fool out of myself or ruining the occasion, I respectfully declined, choosing instead to hide behind my camera and capture the event on stills. I asked my gracious host, Manong Edwin, if lodging houses were available in Balbalasang for tourists. He said that while a small dormitory near the church existed, visitors were normally welcomed by the local families to stay in their homes. This hospitality gives visitors a sense of communion with the Banao and their land. Food is always prepared fresh, taken straight from their farms or their backyards, in the absence of refrigeration. To me, Balbalasang is a rare place that still exists far beyond the reaches of the fast-paced life of the city. Here, our mobile phones were rendered useless as cellular coverage is unheard of in the area. Its remoteness contributes to both its inherent beauty and rustic ambience. On the few occasions I've traveled to Kalinga, mingled with its people, and acquainted myself with its mountains and fields, its scents and sounds, I've slowly tried to paint a picture of the Kalinga way of life. And one visit after another finds me building on that understanding of a people—its culture and environment. I don't pretend, or even hope, to fully understand the significance of most of their customs, or why they continue their adherence to their old ways. After all, I am an outsider looking in. |
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