It’s said even the most acerbic of domestic squabble sparking household peace to decay can be stopped on the brink by eloquence of song.
So this uncivilized laborer who loves to kick himself with his own foot, beat himself with his own fist, found out.
Alighting last Saturday from a bus at a terminal along Slaughterhouse House Compound, Barangay Sto. Nino, Baguio City, this bearded derelict entered a cantina within the terminal and ordered coffee.
Waiting for his coffee, he got from his jacket Herald Express’s latest issue and read it upside down, when a customer accidentally bumped him.
Customer and the bearded derelict glanced at each other, the customer, said sorry when, oho of all ohos, the derelict recognized the customer, a longtime friend from Bontoc, Mountain Province.
Exchanging kumusta, etc., the customer said in Bontoc lingo, “Da! Kaat ay tawen ay adi ta nen –in-innila, ay; menkapi ta man.” (How many years gone we haven’t seen each other; let’s have coffee.”
For Bontocs, the word “da” is warm sentiment of expression. Like, “Da! Sik-a pet sa!” (Oh! It’s you!).
They sipped coffee, recalled old times, of gaiety, laughter and life’s trying periods. As they reminisced, the Bontoc friend unfolded a story of his life that cast humor and gentleness on Bontoc males.
When he narrated his story, he requested this laborer his story can be published by Herald Express as lesson for others, but his name remain anonymous. Granted!
But he allows us insights of him. This Bontoc friend previously worked with the Philippine National Police (PNP) and assigned for long time with Baguio City Police Office (BCPO) in the 70’s and 80’s.
During his tenure with BCPO, he was recognized as a hard-working police officer, his efforts opening leads that led to numerous arrests. He retired from government service, and enjoying fruits of his retirement.
On this occasion, it happens to be also the right moment for this derelict-laborer to take time and satisfy incessant questions of hundred readers who keep asking, “From where are you, Ah Kong, and who really are you?”
Ah comes from Bontoc, from bloodlines of Samoki, Talubin, and Gonogon, Mountain Province, where his Bontoc ancestors had fine notions of durability, honesty and hard work while poking fun at adversity’s face.
Who Ah is? Aah! Good question. Ah is an unschooled, unlearned, uneducated jack of all trades and master of nothing, unkempt caricature of a creature who has no sense of humor at all.
Ah worked mostly for the Philippine Government, first stayed with the government-run Philippine News Agency (PNA), worked as Information officer of the Highland Agricultural Development Project (HADP) now Cordillera Highland Agricultural Resource Management Project (CHARMP).
He then became Public Information Officer (PIO) for the Department of Health – Cordillera Administrative Region (DOH-CAR). On record, he was the only PIO of DOH-CAR, until he retired from government service.
Now with that fact beforehand, this bearded rascal hopes he answered your tooo many esking poolish kestions, eh!
So, back to our Bontoc friend, whom we tag here by nickname, Godo. You know there’s this wrong idea running wild that some policemen are “babaero, kanu?” No?
Now, Godo, when he was in the police force, and surely not a babaero, also suffered from this character assassination, as his story unraveled at the Slaughterhouse Compound cantina.
Godo started his story, saying, “You know Ah, it’s been said and recorded that the Bontoc males are descended from a lineage of warriors…”
Godo, pausing for a moment to sip coffee, continued, “However, I can’t shake off this queer and funny feeling that sometimes, Bontoc husbands are downright toothless and fangless when it comes with the wives. Kasla da under de saya!”
This laborer, listening, scratched his beard and hair, trying to pick lice… when…
“You listening to me, Ah? You infidel of the devil!” Godo boomed.
“Op kors, op kors, I’m listening. Wat’s dat all about you’re saying, eh?” the laborer asked.
Godo repeated, “I was saying Bontoc husbands are sometimes toothless and fangless when it comes with the wives Kasla da under de saya.”
This good for nothing vagabond gleefully clapped his hands and said, “Ahoy, my handsome, pren, your feeling is the same as mine. That the women of Bontoc, beautiful and bewitching as they are, are more warriors than us, the males.”
“Dat being the case,” the vagabond continued, “Since we are of the same plane of mind, I repeat what philosophers say dat birds of the same feather flock together and so, my pren, ag appear ken ag give me five ta man ta parehas panpanunuten ta.”
Godo mused, “Remembered that time I told my wife I was going to a get together with my policemen-colleagues. . .”
Hearing Godo, Godo’s wife answered, “Umayak!” (I’ll come!).
“But it’s a men’s gathering, all males. Besides, we’ll be talking about some police matters, a little hush-hush, you know” Godo protested.
But Godo’s wife was undeterred, insisted on tagging along. Godo shook his head and said, “Saan nga mabalin, baket.” (Not possible).
Thereon, Godo’s wife frustrated for not tagging along, went to accusing her husband and his colleagues. She said, “Anya nga men’s party. Anya nga hush-hush. Siguro mapan kayo agbabae kadagiti katrabahuwam!”
Pity our poor policemen who toe the straight line but being dragged by those who untoe the line.
Godo’s wife piled on, insinuated Godo intended to slip from the house, pass his hours in roaring iniquity like a bachelor, instead of staying at home and enjoying calm sunshine of domestic peace.
Their argument got so tangled up that Godo didn’t attend that meeting, and other meetings that came, as well. And, whenever he asked he’d meet his colleagues socially, his wife went on the warpath.
It got to a point Godo was tired out by clouds that shrouded their domestic peace.
Apparently, Godo’s wife understood the art of guerilla war better than Godo, and with her military genius like a five-star general, refused to receive Godo’s white flag, indicative of Godo’s wish to open negotiation and come to terms.
She persevered in her combative ways until she obtained surrender from Godo at her discretion. The demand: Godo stays at home. Ah likens the statement “under de saya” as government of the petticoat, or skirt, if you wish.
Godo meditated upon their affairs, balancing between a surrender of skirt government and dreaded domestic peace was slowly being shredded.
Painful that a difference lay between Godo and wife, during that time, a difference not easily expressed, but easily understood.
Married couples often have spats, short of physically hurting the other, but patch things up. But then eheh, one mustn’t keep abusing the other.
Days went, Godo went, too, about his official duties, the divide between husband and wife widened.
Arriving from work one evening, the family ate supper. Finished, Godo watched TV; his wife, in the kitchen.
As the lengthening night cast its cloak around and shoed away daylight, Godo heard it, the plaintive song, wavy with notes, eerie with its yearnings of meaning.
T’was the song, “Nan layad Nen Likatan,” gently being sang by his wife, while alone in her kitchen. Her voice trembled for a yearning for gentleness of understanding, in short, forgiveness.
Godo rose, went to their kitchen, and saw something wet slide down his wife’s cheeks.
Emotion pummeled Godo – the Bontoc-warrior policeman, the toothless and fangless. He strode towards his wife, hugged her silently, as stars appeared and winked happily, knowing a couple stood a test of time.
How many times did the song “Nan Layad Nen Likatan,” written and sang by the late Pedro Chinalpan, from Bontoc, Mountain Province, saved the day for those distressed? Nobody knows.
But Chinalpan left a legacy in the breasts of Bontoc people and any Igorot, as well, that won’t ever be forgotten, come generations.
Every lad, lass, and adult in Bontoc knows Chinalpan, their kailyan, and his eloquence of song.
