Posts tagged ‘Umma Ayam Sinsana’

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You may want to read Chapter 2 first.

“ Mr. Benedict Lomiwan is hereby voted as president of the class,” the instructor announced.

It was barely his third week in the University, but everyone in class already knew who he was. It would be impossible not to! He always got the highest scores in their quizzes – even in algebra – which everyone considered “very difficult”.

It was in Algebra and English that he excelled – a deadly combination. Some students were good in Algebra but not in English, and vice versa. Only Benny, did good in both and that made him an “Exceptional” student.

He knew that by being in the Dean’s List of scholars, he would do justice to the sacrifices of his parents and Fr. Belucci.

He had enrolled in A.B Political Science as he had plans of becoming a lawyer someday. College exposed him to the various cultural minorities in the country and people were less discriminating because of ethnic origin.

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It was a cultural activity in the University and he was in his native costume – a g-string. During school days, he went to class in clothes everybody wore – warm and comfortable city clothes, and it was the first time he had to wear his native costume again. He had looked forward to it.

“Hey Benny, I’d cover myself if I were you,” someone from the crowd teased him, “half of the girls in class would be asking for a date next Monday.”

Benny just smiled and waved. He had always been proud of his heritage, even when other people had looked down upon him. He stood tall among his peers; his sinewy muscles, bulging in the right places. He had a handsome face – dark fringed eyes, sensuous lips and a slightly crooked nose that complimented his other features to perfection. He was almost naked, except for the g string around his waist and his private parts.

They started beating the gongs and Benny led his barrio mates in the “taddok” (native dance). His g-string undulated with his every movement and the crowd cheered excitedly as his group of dancers circled the plaza. It was a joyous and festive, cultural dance. When it was done, there were rivulets of sweat on Benny’s face.

“I think you need this,” a voice from behind him intoned.

He turned and stared at the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. For the first time in his life, he became speechless.

“C’mon, use it,” the woman smiled reassuringly, proffering the handkerchief in her hand.

He reached out for it and wiped his face with one swift motion. His racing heartbeat slowed down a bit. “ Thanks, I’m Benny Lomiwan, Miss…” he extended a hand.

“ Call me Julie, Julia Santos,” she grasped his hand firmly.

The contact sent shivers through his spine. “Good God,” he thought to himself, “this is not me – going all weak over a woman.”

“ Your group was good,” she was saying. “I am sure, you will win the grand prize.”

“ We danced to share our culture not for anything else,” he replied with a smile.

She flashed white even teeth at him. “ Well, nice meeting you Benny, see you around,” she said, and she was gone.

Whew! what was that? He shook his head in amazement. He had never imagined himself going gaga over a woman. It was a strange feeling and he was totally taken by surprise by the new emotion. He would have wanted to know more about her. He released a long drawn sigh to calm his nerves. Well, he had to forget about her, he had more pressing priorities to think about.
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February came. It was the coldest month of the year. He was growing accustomed to the gelid, city air. He had anticipated that it would be cold, but not these bone-freezing temperatures. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was abroad and not in a tropical country. He had layers of clothing on; but still, the cold air permeated his skin and gnawed at his bones.

The University’s first semester went according to his plans. He was able to maintain his academic scholarship well into the second semester. Fr. Belucci took charge of his board and lodging in the University’s dorm for boys. He also deposited in the bank a monthly allowance for him. He knew he was lucky to have a benefactor in the person of the priest and had expressed it openly the last time the old priest hugged him goodbye.

“ Get a good education and look after your own people,” the generous and benevolent priest had said. “That would be enough payment for me.”

And that was what he wanted to do that Saturday night. He had been secretly contacted to a meeting as a Youth Representative regarding the building of a dam in the Chico river, which may pollute its clear, pristine waters . It was a clandestine meeting as powerful political forces were bent on pushing through with it. The dam- supposedly- will provide electricity for the neighboring towns.

“ Are you Benny?” his train of thought was broken.

He eyed warily a burly man accosting him.

“Yes, “ he replied.

“Come, they’re waiting,” he said and started to lead him to a parked car.

He was about to demand an ID from the man, but thought, “What the heck, if it’s time for me to go, I’ll go, no matter what I do.” and he quickly followed him.

(to be continued)

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( If you still have not read chapter 1, do read it here.)

As soon as they arrived in Lubuagan, Guinnaban was baptized to Christianity by Fr. Belucci and named Benedict – after St. Benedict. To Guinnaban, the name symbolized hope and courage – and he liked the sound of it!

The abrupt change of environment though, had made him and his family uncomfortable. There were sad moments that they thought of going back to the simple life in the barrio. It was difficult for them to adjust to the ways of the progressively booming town. The good priest however, insisted that they stay on as he knew Benny was a brilliant boy who could pursue a much needed education for the sake of his people.

The following school year, Fr. Belucci enrolled him at the Parish secondary school.
On the very first day, Benny was already taunted by his classmates. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Benedict” he would reply.

“Benedict? that’s a fancy name, huh? Far from your ugly, Kalinga name.” then the group would roar with laughter.

“ Let’s see if you can live up to it, “ laughing, they would leave him speechless at the center of the school’s quadrangle.

They frequently picked on him and made fun of him. “Here’s the native,” they taunted and ridiculed him.

On the 5th day of school, Francis the most intelligent of the class, challenged him to a spelling contest. Benedict was reluctant to participate, as he was brought up by his parents believing that a truly brave man did not have to prove himself.

But the whole class jeered at him:” C’mon, you – from Taloctoc, let’s see if you know something, ” and they refused to allow him to leave the room.

Thinking that it would do no harm to anyone, he accepted the challenge and stayed. They unceremoniously pushed him beside Francis; he could see the beads of sweat mushrooming in Francis’ excited face as he gleefully grinned at him.

Each of the students started yelling words for them to spell.

“pneumonia,” one shouted.

“Use the chalk dumbo! Write ” Francis snarled at him, “Let’s see if your teeny weeny brain recognizes words.”

” psychology”

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“gobbledygook”

“millennium”

“minuscule”

“sacrilegious”

There were two students assigned to both blackboards to check what they have written.

After each word, the uproar grew lesser and lesser as Benny had been able to spell the words correctly.

Unknown to them, since Benny’s first day with Fr. Belucci, he was allowed to use the old priests’ personal book collection. He devoured them like someone starving, and spent every free time savoring each page of the variety of books available for his perusal. He even started reading theology!

“And what is this all about?” a voice thundered from the doorway.

Everyone turned to meet Mrs. Garcia’s unsmiling face. “What are you up to, now Francis?” her piercing stare made Francis wince.

“Err… we were just having a spelling contest,” he was meek as a lamb in front of Mrs. Garcia.

The teacher took one long look at the board and said sternly, ” the two of you, come to my office, right now.” Her manner was succinct but there was a hint of pride in her tone.

Francis got most of the scolding as Mrs. Garcia was aware of his boisterous behavior at times.

“Let me finish what you started,” her voice was gentler now and there was a twinkle in her eye.

“Spell liaison” , she motioned to Francis.

Francis stood at attention and proudly blurted out, ” L – I – A – S – O – N” .

Mrs. Garcia – her face expressionless – nodded to Benny .

” L I A I S O N”, Benny enunciated each word deliberately.

The teacher happily tapped the shoulder of Francis, ” Now we have a new champion, Francis ,” she strode towards Benny and intoned excitedly, ” You are correct! I have high hopes we will win the championship this year. From now on, both of you should work together.”

As days laboriously passed , it was evident that academically, Benny performed better than Francis – to the other one’s obvious chagrin. In fact – he was the best in all categories – be it in Mathematics, English, Literature, or Music.

He had an eye and a heart for all extra-curricular and academic pursuits. He was the Grand Champion in the Math Quiz bee, the Spelling Bee and had won the Short Story Writing Contest sponsored by the English Society.

He then earned their respect and admiration. No one dared to taunt him anymore. Everyone wanted to be in his list of friends.

He graduated from St Theresa’s College as the Valedictorian of High School Class ‘ 76; with 6 medals: the gold, the leadership medal, the Insular Life gold, the Best in math, the Best in English, and was awarded “The Most Outstanding Graduate.”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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By: Jena Isle

The mournful chant reverberated through the small four walls of the hut…” Aieeeee”.

Guinnaban – 9 at that time – was cowering in the eerie shadows. He was staring at the wrinkled woman wailing for the gaunt, pale corpse laid on the long table. The head of the corpse was at a grotesque angle, almost totally severed from his body.

“ Uma nangwa kansika anna?” ( Who have done this to you?) the woman wailed even louder.

“Aiieeeeee”….. everyone joined in and the hut became a cacophony of mournful cries.

The barrio captain motioned to the elders for a conference and they filed outside, their faces grim and murderous. Outside, a heated and frenzied debate took place.

Finally, the barrio captain raised his arm and shouted amidst the din, “ Intakkon no, umma uwayon yo, ittod tako kanida de kingwada.”( Then what are we waiting for? Let’s avenge his death.)

And so a full blown “tribal war” had began.

Guinnaban, grew amidst these bloody chaos caused by two warring tribes, who both fought for domination over the municipality. He accepted it as a way of life: the constant refuge in the deep forest even in the stillness of the night when the “enemy” had come to attack and the code of silence even when all he wanted was to protest at the top of his voice at the injustice of it all – these had become routine occurrences for him. And at age 10, he had stood as a sentinel on one of the night watches.

The “enemy” did not select their victims. Women and children were not spared by their avenging spears and bolos. Men had their heads always severed from their bodies, as a symbol of victory. The victor would bring home the grotesque, bloody head and would proudly display it like a trophy in their barrio. The warriors would dance gleefully around it till the wee hours of dawn. Head-hunting was normal and considered a warrior’s noble deed.

It is for this reason that women and children did not dare venture outside their barrio’s perimeter unless escorted by warriors.

He was 12, when a Belgian, missionary priest , Fr. Carl Belucci, visited their far flung barrio. Everyone was wary of him. What did this white haired man with a long aquiline nose want with them? He was not the enemy surely but might he be a spy? No one wanted to welcome Fr. Belucci and his companions to their nipa huts.

Guinnaban could not explain what prompted him to approach the priest, “ You are not here to help us, are you?” he queried, his big round eyes – probing and curious.

“I am here not only to help, “ the priest said in his soft, mellow voice.

Guinnaban believed him. At his age, he had a keen perception of people. He can perceive just by looking at people’s eyes, whether they were sincere or not; and he knew, the priest was his salvation.

From then on, Guinnaban served as the altar boy in each Holy Mass the priest celebrated. He began to listen to Fr. Belucci and learned that there is salvation for everyone, even for his enemies.

The elders however, were too far gone to forgive and forget whatever the sins of the past were, and continued with their thirst for vengeance. Some younger men, pleaded with the elders to forge a peace pact with the other tribe to end the senseless war.

They started proceedings but it seemed that their efforts were futile, there was still no vestige of reconciliation.

It was at this time that Fr. Belucci was called back to the parish church in town as it was becoming increasingly dangerous for him to stay on, in the barrio.

“Do you want to come with me?” Fr. Belucci asked Guinnaban, two days before his scheduled departure.

“You can continue serving as an altar boy and can go to school simultaneously.”

“But what about ina and ama?” Guinnaban wanted to go, but feared for the safety of his parents.

“They can come with you.” The old priest patted his head.

So on that gloomy, Monday morning, Guinnaban and his parents got what little was left of their belongings and joined Fr. Belucci in his 5 hr-trek to town.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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