Flintstone's Club and the Igorota

By Freda Dao-ines

My dad said my calf muscles, butoy in my native Kankana-ey tongue, are big and round camote tubers. My very objective but highly euphemistic friend told me they are the "most developed ambulating device" she has ever seen. And I see my legs as the flogging club that Fred Flintstone carries on his shoulder when he goes out to hunt for dinosaurs.

Yes, I am talking about my calves, which are distinctly muscular, same as almost every Igorot woman-be they pencil-thin or living in the lowlands, chances are their calves will give away their Igorot heritage. I had a classmate before who could have been a Ford model if her body and legs were a bit longer, but once her pants were peeled off her legs, the unmistakable bulge showed up.

The Latin anatomist termed the calf muscles gastrocnemius. The gastrocnemius contracts when one is walking or standing. For a bodybuilder whose goal in life is to flex his muscles, the developed gastrocnemius is welcomed. But for a woman who has to wear a skirt, with half her legs showing, a developed gastrocnemius is a bane, like contraband to be hidden.

A well-toned body, especially the abs and glutes, is sexy, but a thick ankle and calf might be mistaken for a pine branch! This is the fate of the notorious Igorota's calves.

Nobody seems to know what to do with their calves; the Igorotas are even in a love-hate relationship with it. Some Igorotas hail their "flogging clubs" with glowing pride while others shun their "kamotes" from public eyes.

Many theories try to explain why the Igorota's calves were such. The forerunners Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer would account it to their famous mantra "survival of the fittest, elimination of the unfit."

Living in the mountains, with its waterfalls and morning mists, looked tempting only on postcards as my Lolo vehemently agreed to. He was around at a time when men still go out into the woods to hunt for wild boars or any game and even birds, to be roasted for dinner. Women were not exempted from such physically demanding tasks of feeding the family. The women hiked for hours up to plant or harvest their fields in the next mountain from their homes. The gastrocnemius developed then, mainly, for them to survive the twisted paths, endure long hours on the trail, and run after a pig's warm flesh.

On anatomical view, the law of "use and disuse" may shed light on the not-so-mysterious Igorota's calves. Accordingly, a muscle is developed if it is used for physical activity, and may grow to accommodate the person's lifestyle. If it is not used often, it will stay the same if not sag altogether. I don't put much faith in this theory, though, when it comes to the Igorota's legs. Except for the environmental factor, women in the lowlands who can be as active physically as the Igorota still don't have bulging calves.

Young Igorotas today, although they don't have to climb mountains or endure torturous paths as their ancestors did, are still endowed with sinewy gastrocnemius. In a society obsessed with perfect body proportions, its notions reaching the traditional view of beauty, it is understandable why young Igorotas are embarrassed with their legs and forever wrap them in pants. For their ceaseless "why me?" genetics perhaps pose the answer. It is all in the genes, they say; the good ones you would want to flaunt and the bad ones to be treated as a plague. However, one can't say possessing big gastrocnemius is bad, since others see the good in it.

So far, I was not able to dig up myths surrounding the Igorota's calves. I would like to think there was once an Igorot Adam who pleaded to Kabunian to give him an Eve as brawny as he is. So Kabunian fashioned a woman, not just from lumps of clay, but also gave her arms and calves of stone before baking and breathing life into her! Or if it is a contemporary myth, perhaps Flintstone was hunting in the Cordilleras when he lost his flogging club, and here comes an Igorot man who picked it up and gave it to his wife to strengthen her legs.

The measly legend I have concocted in 10 seconds may sound silly, but I have heard others as silly. My former biochemistry instructor's theory is that Igorots eat too much potato that they were stored on their calves! (Perhaps Kabunian did not give the Igorot Eve calves made of stone but of kamotes instead?) I would have accepted her theory if not for the glaring fact that women from other ethnic groups or tribes, if they become fat or ate too much mashed potatoes or French fries, would still have slender legs and calves.

Whatever the reasons behind my bulky, ambulatory flogging device, I couldn't care less. Along with other equally-endowed women, I'd like to think of my gastrocnemius as an Igorota's trademark. It is a trademark of endurance, strength, and a great sense of adventure. Passed on to me through a chromosome strand, my butoys are the trophies of my ancestors' struggles to conquer a savage land, and later live alongside the tempers of nature.

There may be time I wish I also possess the slender and seemingly endless legs of my lowland counterpart, especially when showing off legs are necessary. But I take heart in the thought that mine is also a great asset because I have in my legs a living tradition and the history of my Igorot culture.

Now, don't I wish there were still wild boars to hunt, and a wilderness to get lost in?

Diminishing memories and a tree

By Rachel Pitlongay

THE dispute over the tree began after the last typhoon of October when the new neighbor got to thinking that the tree might get uprooted by one more storm and fall on his newly-built house, such as what recent incidents have shown.

Content with the belief that the old man from whom he bought his land had also included the tree, he immediately filed for a permit to cut it down. It was around that moment that my cousin heard about the neighbor's intentions, reporting it to the immediate heads of our family who immediately contested any possible outcomes that would result to a tree cutting.

The dispute took itself legally and went to the barangay officials where it was summarily agreed that the tree would be cut down to avoid the real possibility of it falling upon the neighbor's head.

My mother was greatly saddened by the outcome, and a little angered by it too, because for her, the tree was a legacy from their late father who planted it to mark the division between his land and the old man's. The memory of her father reminding them to take care of that tree still echoes in my mother's mind, and perhaps this was the reason for her anger, for she feels that somehow, they are betraying their father's memory, which had already begun when her siblings sold part of his land.

I never knew him, this man who planted that tree, but I knew from stories that he was poor; living in a time where having land does not entail wealth, unless it also includes a herd of cows or seeds to plant. He claimed a whole mountain side though, and took care of it, perhaps anticipating the future where his children have prospered by themselves and will need land to build their own homes and to give to their own children.

Such foresight, if indeed it was, proved beneficial as my mother and aunts and uncles built their homes and had their own families. In family occasions of old, these siblings would get together along with their spouses and children, coming up to 50 people at the most, excluding the littlest of cousins or nephews and nieces.

My grandfather's land had diminished as the years passed. Typhoons stripped a little soil and caused bigger landslides. Some neighbors encroached and went beyond the agreed boundaries.

Mostly however, some of my aunts and uncles sold a few square meters, mainly on the sly or perhaps because they believe that it is their right and their other siblings do not deserve to know; causing a great deal of heart ache that was discussed only in whispers.

Like the tree, the land had been the subject of disputes, internally and externally. Unlike the tree however, the land had been saved somehow, and my generation will get its own piece of legacy.

Hopefully, we will keep it better than our elders, even if most of us haven't set foot on that land for years as we scattered around the world. It is yet home. I hope that it will still be there though when everyone comes home, unlike the tree, which would be cut down before this year ends, unremarkable to us grandchildren, and secretly mourned only by my mother, and her siblings as one more thing lost to memories.

To join Ubbog, writers in Ibaloi, Kankanaey, Iluko, Ifugao, Bontoc, Kalinga, Kalanguya as well as in English and Filipino below 30 years old may send manuscripts composed of any of the following: 5 poems or essays or 3 short stories or one-act plays to ubbogcordillera@gmail.com.

Marapait: For the Bitter and the Sweet

By Chinee Sanchez-Palatino

THEY are the beautiful receptionists greeting you a warm welcome amid the frigid breeze as you enter Baguio that you cannot but smile back at them. For some visitors however they are like little stars placed in a green sky -- visibly shining still in the midst of a bright sunny day. It is as if you are only an inch away from heaven, they say. On a gloomy, rainy day moreover they are like cheerleaders trying to perk you up.

With its sun-colored petals, one might imagine it is sweetly smiling. It is one of Baguio's trademarks indeed.

Marapait is the local term for the wild sunflowers growing like grass here in Baguio City -- common and abundant. How it got its name is because of its bitter-tasting leaves. Mara is an Ilocano term for "parang" (like, similar to) while pait, as we know it in Filipino means bitter.

But these Marapait are more than just an apple to the eye. For a Baguio local like Manong Larry, the mere sight of it brings him back to his childhood, to the simple pleasures in life and to the Baguio he had known before.

Having stayed here in Baguio for 32 years now, Manong Larry saw Baguio's transformation in the same way the Marapaits served as a witness to it as well. But his memories with the Marapait when he was just eight or so could never be altered. During his elementary years in a public school, he and his classmates used Marapait as floor wax whenever they were to clean the classroom.

"Pinagdodonate kasi kami ng titser namin 'nun ng floor wax," Manong Larry recalls.

But instead of buying one, he and his other classmates just brought stem of Marapait with leaves. They just continuously beat the stem against the floor. A glossy but greenish floor was the result. This obviously left an impression on his memory for they had fun while doing their responsibility.

Since Manong Larry's recollections was in the early 1980s, there where not much commercial toys unlike today where supplies are overflowing.

He and his playmates call the Marapait game tumba-tumba the goal is to "knock-out" the wild sunflower using a stick. Imagining it is an "enemy" they derive joy when the Marapait finally fall down. Insects living in the Marapait area were, in his own words like snowflakes dispersing as they hit the Marapait.

Moreover, that these wild sunflowers have its proven medicinal value is sutured with his memory of the childhood crush who threw stone at him because he was teasing her. He was hit in the forehead that he and his friends rushed at the back of their campus to get some Marapait leaves.

Of course, they also do the popular "she loves me, she loves me not," picking the petals until there's no more.

Manong Larry had a sudden shift in tone as he recalls how their place in Balsigan looked like before.

But the hills Manong Larry was talking about were now teeming with houses. He said a place near Balsigan was once a vegetable and rose garden but it is now a subdivision.

Bulldozers came and the other areas with a lot of Marapait where flattened and constructed into a road.

As Baguio becomes more and more urbanized, more and more areas are turned in to roads and if not roads residential or commercial lots, more and more Marapaits are cut down as well.

The mushrooming of houses here and there might perhaps be attributed to the growing population of Baguio in relation with its further urbanization.

Sweet smile, bitter taste. In a nutshell, these are the basic characteristics of Marapait. And just like the Marapait, Manong Larry's memories of these wild sunflowers were a mix of the bitter and the sweet. On the other hand, Baguio's continued urbanization is as bitter and as sweet. Today, what is left of the old Baguio, we try to preserve amid developments. For feedbacks and comment please email the writer: Xien81@yahoo.com or text 09174415398. Email Ubbog Cordillera Young Writers at ubbogcordillera@gmail.com.

Poetry and the Ibaloi Literary Tradition

By Melvin Magsanoc

THE Ibaloi literary tradition is an oral tradition; thus, it doesn't have the art of writing poetry.

Poetic lines are found in other literary genres such as the budikay (riddles), ba-diw (chants), and songs. The Ibaloi sayings, idioms, curses, and praises are also poetic in nature. Most of which are metaphorical.

But most of these literary pieces remain in the mouth of the Ibalois while some are written in personal journals like anthologies, and researches.

Before, the Ibalois weren't able to develop a system of writing although the spoken language is well-developed. Everything in Ibaloi is spoken.

The Ibalois started to learn how to write after the Americans in the early 1900s taught them the ABCs, However, not everybody was able to write and so even the brightest chanter wasn't able to write his chants.

And even if there were those who learned how to write, creatively writing and translating these literary pieces were not the main concern. The only book that was translated is the New Testament of the Bible.

The Ibaloi culture doesn't also put much emphasis on the literary arts. The focus of learning was more on the industrial and agricultural arts. The riddles, for instance, were just favorite past times and a good social activity in gatherings. Nobody has really taken the job of being a literary genius.

The Ibalois gather not to hear somebody deliver his speech or oration but to perform rituals and ceremonies.

If somebody has to speak, it is the mambunong (local priest) or the nagka-ama (elders) presiding the rituals and ceremonies.

At present, most Ibalois can read and write and even write poems. Many studied in the universities but only a few would take up literary arts and write poetry. There's a minimal interest in it.

Up to now, the industrial and the agricultural arts are the main concern of the people. And the use of the Ibaloi language is also becoming limited. Most would only use it at home and with fellow Ibalois.

My fellow Ibalois use other languages at work, in school, and in other institutions. The English language, Filipino language, and the regional language Ilocano became the dominant language of the Ibalois in the city.

Most became Christians also and have done away with the rituals and ceremonies which have these poetic lines. Who would recite the mambunong's chants since there are no more mambunongs?

But I'm happy because lately there's a growing interest among linguists and intellectuals in the Ibaloi language.

Hence, I'm very much happy to share what I know about the language. Just a week ago, an instructor from UP Los Banos, Monica Macansantos, the daughter of Palanca-winning poet Butch Macansantos and UP Baguio Chancellor Priscilla Macansantos, who is doing her paper about the use of languages in their respective communities, asked me about the Ibaloi language.

UP Baguio, in partnership with the National Commission on Culture and the Arts (NCCA), initiated a Cordillera Literary competition and one of the target languages is the Ibaloi language.

Baguio City is also celebrating its centennial year as a chartered city and I think it is just appropriate that its native beginnings would be recognized. One of it is its Ibaloi heritage and that the use of the Ibaloi language should flourish here.

With these initiatives and the continued use and appreciation and support from other people, it's not impossible that the Ibaloi language be intellectualized.

And so long as more Ibalois will write poems in their language and put to writing these oral literary pieces, the Ibaloi literary tradition will no longer only be in the oral tradition. There would be poetry as part of its literary genre and that there would be a word equivalent for poetry in Ibaloi.

Literature brings back 'relics'

By Charisse C. Acquisio

NOVEMBER is usually attributed to burning lamps on the eaves of our homes and setting out food for the departed.

In like manner, one could feel that the veil between the two separate worlds is just thin. Thus, November would always pull me back to my Lola's memoirs.

As a cultural practice, we set fires and light torches near our houses to guide her and other bereaved family members to the funeral meal that awaited them. Then, we would gather as complete families to eat, drink, make music, dance, and celebrate the love that we continue to share with them.

As the burning torch would keep its blaze, it always brings me to medias res when Lola used to tell stories.

Most of her stories speak volumes to Cordillera's past and even present philosophies and belief systems. In one way or another, her stories brought out my indulgence to the fascinating facets of Literature.

Every time my Lola is done sharing a chapter of her story, I'd always think -- if the history of Cordillera was not exactly written and, if its literature was not thoroughly transmitted, or they were at least hinted, in the dump.

For rummaging through its foul purlieus, I had several times been surprised and shocked to find relics of my own life tossed out there to blow away or not.

And yet not the blow that something else was, something that impressed me even more is with how closely the dump reflected the village's intimate life. This tingling thought often gets in my mind whenever I get to recall the story of my Lola about the relics of her nuang or carabao.

She once had this carabao, whose picked skeleton lay out somewhere in Bakun. Her nuang had been incurably crippled with no much reason to consider. She had worked then for months to make her nuang well, had fed it by hand, curried it, and talked to her forefather into having iron braces made for the carabao's front legs.

Although, Lola had not known that the nuang would have to be destroyed. A few days later, she found the nuang's skinned body, with the braces still on his crippled front legs, lying on the dump.

Now, I've been thinking, not even finding the nuang's body cured me of going to the dump, though my father forbade me on pain of cholera or worse.

The place fascinated me, as it should have. For this gave me the most tantalizing glimpses into our neighbors' lives and our own; it provided an aesthetic distance from which to know myself, ourselves.

The village dump was our poetry and our history.

We took it home with us by any vehicle, bringing back into the village, the things the village had used and thrown away.

Probably, the best way for us to keep our treasures which, always depict our rich culture, is to deem just how helpful literature is I our lives. Yes, it's maybe seldom useful, but always memorable.

I remember lola's nuang and her stories; I regret her yet. I regret her more whenever I hear elderly stories and chants during mourning nights.

Hence, in loving memory of our bereaved "chanters and story-tellers", let their chants and stories be recreated into any would-be-remarkable pieces that rather depict the rich signs of our culture.

Tuklas Katutubo: Balik Tribo

By Napoleon E. Paris

“Bakit sa Maynila ang daming tulay ngunit wala naman akong nakikitang tubig na umaagos sa ilalim? Sa bundok maraming ilog ngunit wala namang tulay na maaring maging daanan ng aming kalabaw upang ihatid ang aming mga pagkain…”- Manobo Children

These were the haunting words of the Manobo children. The Lumads of Mindanao are indeed subjected to issues concerning the lives of Indigenous Peoples throughout the country. The tribal communities in the Philippines have become one of the most inexpressive topics around our neighbors for time now.

Even in the socio-political scenario, IP issues are further isolated, or say, slowly forgotten by the modern society but considered important only when festivities and other major tourism celebrations take place.

These days, the IPs has become “endangered” like the country’s endemic flora and fauna. However, their reasons for disappearing are not only brought about by hunger but also because their way of living is threatened by the continuing affection of marginalization. As a result, they have become neglected and their situation later breeds to continuous poverty.

In view of, most of us, youth of this generation, would-be leaders in our local places, are facing many challenges as we play a critical role in the development of our tribal communities.
In dealing with the issues, we might wish to be in existence in a world like those of Bellamy’s Looking Back, B. F. Skinner’s Walden Two, Thoreau’s Walden, etc. —which are ideas of Utopia. Yes, we are too idealistic then; however, we only find ourselves struggling for breath in this smothering present situation of our poor country.

Now, the challenge for us to address are the gargantuan issues of these IPs. Or how we may be part of the solution to these IP problems?

Considering that we are natives living in the urban areas, and even in the rustic places, the primary requisite to be able to be part of the campaign in empowering the roles of IPs in the local setting and in nation building is being proud of our own ethnic group.
Like saying, “I’m proud to be an Igorot!” Isn’t it so simple to say yet difficult to prove? This is the case of some fellow IPs who are uprooted from their indigenous culture. The sense of being proud of one’s identity would be having a pioneering heart and initiative to help our brethren in need nearby.

To this cause, the idea of Balik Tribo was started. It is a program initiated by an Indigenous organization called TUKLAS Katutubo or Tuklasan at Ugnayan ng Kultura, Lahi at Sining ng mga Katutubo, which I am a part of.
Also known as the National Organization of Young Tribal Leaders of the Philippines, the organization aims to get back and rediscover one’s roots, and also bridge the gap between the tribal communities and the mainstream society.

Recently, I joined another Balik Tribo project that was successfully held in Barangay Upper Lumabat, Malungon, Sarangani Province on October 23-28, 2008.

“The place is where the Tagakaulo tribe hails. The residents there have undergone capability-building and life skills training that will help them become self-empowered and self-reliant” Edgar Tomino, one of the national organizers said.

Nevertheless, the program is designed to reach, to provide and to bring humanitarian services to different IP communities living in remote areas that will help them be equipped with skills, knowledge and proper attitude to become productive members of society.

Baguio's haunted heritage

By Jesus Miguel G. Agreda

ASIDE from the cool weather and lush pine trees that made Baguio famous, the city has also been synonymous to the haunted and the paranormal.

Watching episodes of TV 5's Philippines Scariest Challenge for the past two weeks featuring two famous haunted sites in the city made me realize that indeed, albeit feared by many, these haunted heritage sites over the past 99 years stand as silent witnesses to the growth of the once small hill station into a highly urbanized city.

To name just a few of these so-called haunted places that created Goosebumps, sent jitters and wrought fear among city residents and tourists alike, who experienced seeing shades of spirits and entities in the vicinity of these places, were The Diplomat Hotel in Dominican Hill, White Hall at Teacher's Camp, Casa Vallejo at Upper Session Road and the White Laperal House along Leonard Wood Road.

However, aside from all the fears of entities and spirits that inhabit these places is the apparent evidence that these paranormal sites have been a living testament to the rich heritage of the city.

In an online petition to declare Baguio as a Special Heritage Zone, Dion Fernandez whom our group Ubbog had met before in our monthly workshop at the University of the Cordilleras last year, believed that the city is the nerve center of four rich and diverse cultures: the Filipino culture in general, the highland Cordilleran culture, the lowland Ilocano culture, and the heritage culture brought about by the Americans during the early 20th Century.

The petition claimed that in the past two decades, the city has experienced a substantial degradation of its unique culture, environment and art. It also claimed that the approval of certain politicians with no respect for the aesthetics and the environment of Baguio by cutting numerous pine trees to put up concrete structures such as malls, overpasses and flyovers only worsened Baguio City's lamentable decay as a City of Pines.

Together with more than a thousand signatories of the petition, I believe this over-development and resulting pollution have to stop. By declaring the city as a Special Heritage Zone, I believe that this over-development of the city will be reduced if not eradicated. And that Baguio as a center of culture, the arts and environmental awareness, will be comparable to other major cities like Venice, Rome and Paris.

I join the call of the signatories of the petition for the government to reconstruct, restore and preserve these allegedly haunted sites if not for their spooky past but for its valuable role as a symbol of the rich culture and history of the city.

The recent renovation of the Teacher's Camp back to its full glory for example is a good sign of the government's thrust for heritage conservation. The Laperal house owned by tycoon Lucio Tan has been host to Baguio Correspondents and Broadcasters Club's recent anniversary party.

Soon, other haunted sites like Casa Vallejo and Diplomat Hotel will be restored back to its once beautiful state and will play an important part as a tourist destination of the city and not as a place where fear of its unseen inhabitants linger.

As of this writing, the Baguio Heritage Petition online has more than 1903 electronic signatures from individuals who have loved Baguio City dearly.

In a few days, what a coincidence it will be if the signatories will reach 1909, the same year that Baguio was declared as a chartered city. Let us all help push for this petition's dreams to bear fruit and become a reality.

Through the eyes of a beggar

By Peter de Jesus

THEY walk the streets of the city through the blaring heat of the sun or the heavy deluge of the rain. Regardless of time, they are usually there, extending their gnarled hands towards complete strangers, asking for alms or anything the stranger is willing to give.

Most of the time, they are rejected, or even bad-mouthed. They are treated without an inch of respect, and they are looked upon with disgust. They are the beggars of the city. Old, withered beggars who simply refuse to retire from their "profession."

While I was growing up, I would usually encounter them. I was actually a bit afraid of them before, mainly because of the way they look. After all, they do look a lot different from the everyday man or woman.

Dressed in the same rags from years hence, they would approach me suddenly with outstretched hands, totally freaking me out. I have to admit, I grew up loathing them, and I continued to do so for the greater part of my adolescent life.

That all changed when I read a one-act play from one of the participants in a writing workshop years ago. It was a short piece, but its impact was intense. Ever since that time, I never looked at them the same way again.

People usually spend a great portion of their lives working. Despite financial stability of the family, chances are its members will still work one way or another.

Half a century ago, things were, though fairly simpler, a lot more tedious. Without the aid of automation, people would toil under the burning heat of the sun to keep their finances stable. This is true even to the people living in the cool mountains of the Cordilleras. Cordillerans are resilient; the famous rice terraces are a testament to that.

But then, after they have accomplished that, after they have raised their children and put them through the education that they never had, what happens? Where do they end up?

I never even thought about that angle before. It was then when I noticed the next beggar that came across me. She was totally stooped, and she was getting mercilessly mocked by the people around her during that time. I noticed that both her hands and feet were severely calloused. She also bore the tattoos that usually mean a significant place in the family. She then looked in my direction, and our eyes met.

That scene has haunted me ever since. Her eyes were the same as my grandmother's: exhausted, desperate and sick.

I wish the City Government does something constructive about these old beggars. They have lived way longer than us, and though they are nothing but annoyances these days, we must always remember that years before, they were just like us; doing their part and hoping that they never turn
out as they are now.

Let's form this mountain

By Janice Bagawi

BEFORE there was the ubiquitous ship-shaped supermall in Luneta Hill, the Cathedral was the edifice that could be seen from almost anywhere in Baguio.

However, there remains a towering sight that the big mall has not managed to-and won't ever-overshadow.

That's Mt. Santo Tomas with its two somber eyes, the twin 'radars', which oversee Baguio and its surrounding municipalities. Even when you look up and all you see are low-lying clouds or stubborn fog, you know Mt. Santo Tomas is there, daring you to ascend it and scrutinize Baguio through its eyes.

For us young people of Cordillera, the Cordillera Contemporary Literature is like Mt. Sto. Tomas. It's just there, waiting to be climbed. However, this mountain that we shall call Mt. CCL is yet to be formed; or, rather, it's still being formed.

A browse through the latest anthology of contemporary Philippine literature would show you that under the subcategory Cordillera Literature you would find mostly legends, myths, epics, riddles, and proverbs.

It is lamentable that there are too few and far between contemporary writings to complement the cornucopia of Cordillera oral literature.

Nonetheless, our oral tradition is the firm base upon which Mt. CCL must be formed. To build upon this base is a task our generation must resolve to carry out. It is undeniably a daunting task, one that can't be completed by our generation alone.

Those who would come behind us would have to build upon what we have, and those behind them would do the same, and so on. Mountains, after all are formed over time.

Now, how do we go about forming a mountain? First, we must remove roadblocks that keep us from getting to the building site -- for example, thinking that literature is just for the bespectacled and grey-headed scholars from obscure universities, or that literature should be English.

Burn these misconstructions.

Literature is for and about real people with real experience who use real languages, including Cordillera languages.

Next, follow this advice from a wise writer: "Look into your heart, and write." Write of the Cordillera in your heart, write through the Cordillera in your heart, write for the Cordillera in your heart.

Don't worry that what you've written may not be Pulitzer caliber. Write anyway. The fine dusts on mountains were once crude rocks, or parts of crude rocks.

At the summit of Mt. Santo Tomas one could have a panoramic of vista of the entire Baguio City and the places that surround it.

In the same manner, when there is a Mt. Contemporary Cordillera Literature to be climbed, then there will be a point from which Cordillera could be scrutinized.

When Mt. CCL is formed and its apexes reached, one could better see what Cordillera is and what a Cordilleran is, and where they have been and what they are heading for.

On building a house

By Freda Dao-ines

TIMES are definitely changing. Several decades ago, the primary purpose of getting educated is for the cultivation of the intellect. At this age, our parents and those who have seen better days do not fail in hammering into our consciousness the fact that education is a means in itself to achieve the necessities life requires.

"It's strange how people come to build their houses these days," he said, smiling in a way only men who've greeted the sun for 80 years or so can smile. He sipped from his mug. "Then, it takes a day, a week at most. You get up at dawn, gather sticks and grass-lay them on the bamboo frame by midday, and sleep on it that night.

He chuckles, "Now, still fresh from your mother's womb, you start building a house. Before you can jump your first rope and say 'boo!' to your hide-and-seek pal, mother comes, thrusts a pencil into your chubby fist, makes you sit down, and starts drawing strange things: A-B-C. Follow, she says, and you follow, not having the slightest idea you'll be making ABCs in the long years ahead. By the time you can tie shoelaces, you can count one through twenty backwards so you'll be promoted?

Foundation, they call it. Subtractions, long divisions, frustrating fractions, confusing grammar, voice-exhausting phonetics -- punctuated by tales of men, kingdoms, beasts and gods; mad dash for glory at the playgrounds; fistfights, and Barbie dolls. You'd think six years of that qualifies you to erect a post. But Father says, No, it will take four years to have beams and posts.

"The next four years you lose nights trying to digest numbers, unpalatable subject-verb agreements, and a host of other 'reinforcement materials' -- music, dissecting toads, electric circuit, sewing machine, and QWERTY. You wonder how monstrous ships float while a number as low as 75 -- your chemistry grade -- is sinking you down.

"The four years eventually end and you can almost picture the trimmings on your windows. But grandfather shakes his head and tells you, "You need four years more to have steady walls and planks." Four more years you crunch algebra, spew out conjunctions and interjections, wrestle with Sartre and Descartes, explore the human body and mind, plot specifications, write volumes of ABCs -- all for that house you dream of.

Finally, you stand draped in a dark robe onstage, shake hands and receive a rolled up paper from sober-looking men -- saying that's your permission to buy all the cement and nails for your little house.

"You go to the hardware, and the hardware man shakes his head; that paper with its fancy penmanship is not enough, young man. Why don't you go buy a ticket to Saudi, US, or Europe even? No son, you won't go there and drink piña colada under a palm shade. You go there and wash dishes, an hour of it for a nail, an inch-square lumber; an hour building skyscraper is a GI sheet for you; a week on your feet for a bag of cement, a steel bar, and a cubic meter each of sand and gravel. And yes, that fancy paper will be your entrance pass."

"Yes, strange indeed. But those houses built over the years stand the rain and wind more than our grass-roofed huts," he said softly and stood up. I nod, that's what they tell us everyday, that we're going to school so we can have a house someday.

Languages matter in culture matters

By Junley L. Lazaga

LITERATURE is one way to intellectualize a language. The Cordillera literary tradition is an oral tradition; thus, it must not be regarded as a dead institution.

From its communal, oral and ritualistic nature, Cordillera literature has gone through linguistic transition (i.e. the oral tradition transcribed into written form using another language, most often English and Filipino) and transformation into other forms (i.e. folk/cultural songs popularized in modern versions, both in the vernacular and other languages).

The present concern is the advancement of literatures in the vernacular. The undertone of such endeavor is the conviction there are cultural identities and knowledge, which are constituent of vernacular languages.

Locally, this is also a project to enrich Filipino national languages and strengthen Philippine national consciousness -- by incorporating the consciousness and wisdom, not only from Tagalog and other foreign languages (Spanish, Arabic, English, Chinese, Japanese), but more importantly of all the vernacular languages and cultures of the Philippines.

In proclaiming the year 2008 as the International Year of Languages, the United Nations (UN) General Assembly continues to recognize the worth of every language and culture.

The resolution from which the proclamation originated is intended to assert that "genuine multilingualism promotes unity in diversity and international understanding."

This proclamation is a call to urgency. It comes from the threat of the fact more than half of the seven thousand-plus languages spoken in the world may soon disappear.

Language or a linguistic system is imperative in every human activity; because all human actions/relations are social. Thus, even in globalization, all languages, all cultures, matter.

Unesco Director General Koïchiro Matsuura stated, "They (languages) constitute a strategic factor of progress towards sustainable development and a harmonious relationship between the global and the local context." Global, in the first place is rooted in the local.

Thousands of the languages of the world are endangered because of their absence from the "intellectual" field. There are more than a 170 languages that constitute the Philippine Family of Languages belonging to the Autronesian linguistic family.

In the Philippines, only the official languages (English and Filipino), and the eight major languages (Cebuano, Tagalog, Ilokano, Bikol, Hiligaynon, Waray, Kapampangan, and Pangasinan) are "intellectualized", because of their active usage in literature, the education system, and the media.

The University of the Philippines Baguio, in cooperation with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), has initiated the Timpalak Panitik sa mga Wikang Kordilyera (Cordillera Literary Competition), a poetry and short story competition in any of the varieties of Ibaloi, Kankanaey, Bontoc, Ifugao and Kalinga.

The contest is open to all, aged 17 to 30 years.

The deadline for submission of entries is on October 31. For more details, interested individuals and parties may contact the College of Arts and Communication, University of the Philippines Baguio, Gov. Pack Road, Baguio City, telefax (074) 444 83 93, or email cac@mail.upb.edu.ph or junleylazaga@yahoo.com.ph .

The imagining of the Philippine nation (to use the concept of Benedict Anderson) ought to be rooted in all the ethnolinguistic communities of the land.

With this, we hope the Cordillera cultures are ascertained as a building block of a strong Philippine national identity. We cannot be a confused component of the global culture.

Ubbog and Cordillera Writing

By JM Agreda

The Cordillera region probably has one of the richest kinds of languages in the country.But soon, with the proliferation of foreign languages as well as languages from the lowlands, acclaimed writers like National Artists for Literature Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera and Dr. Virgilio Almario in last summer's Forum on New Trends in Philippine Literature at UP Baguio predicted that indigenous languages and literatures of the region may face the possibility of disappearance as many of its inhabitants prefer to speak and write in the more popular and widely spoken languages.


During the forum, Lumbera and Almario together with UP Institute for Creative Writing Director Vim Nadera called for a renewed interest of writing from the regions not only in common mediums like English and Filipino but also in the local languages of the Cordillera like Iluko, Ibaloi, Kankanaey, Kalanguya, Ifugao and Kalinga.

As one of the fellows in last year's UP Baguio-National Commission for Culture and the Arts Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop, I was alarmed with their forecast as it may soon spell out the end of writing in the local languages.

In an effort to continue the main aim of last year's workshop of preserving Cordillera literature, the Ubbog: Cordillera Young Writers was formed last April 2007.

In existence for a year now, Ubbog, which means spring in Iluko, aims to involve the youth as forerunners in the cause of continuing to write short stories, poetry, creative non-fiction and other literary genres in the local languages and in Filipino and English mediums that will help showcase the unique culture of the indigenous peoples of the Cordillera.

As a founding member of the group, I believe ideas from young bloods would be of great help in quenching the thirst for more literature coming from the region. This endeavor will also help preserve practices and traditions through written and published literature that are uniquely Cordilleran.

Together with 13 young writers who were my fellow delegates in the workshop coming from UP Baguio, University of the Cordilleras and Benguet State University, we conducted monthly Creative Writing workshops and occasionally performed vernacular poetry in open mike sessions and events in the city.

Ubbog members include young professionals and students who are engaged in a plethora of fields like Education, Creative writing, Journalism, Information Technology, Law and yes, even in the field of Nursing.

Expect the columns in the following weeks to tackle different views of the youth covering a myriad of topics such as languages, information technology, pop culture and other issues that concerns the youth.

In behalf of Ubbog, I take the opportunity to thank Sun.Star Baguio for their support of our goals. As the first writer tasked on writing the first column of the group, I consider this pioneering effort as just the starting point of an exciting journey of young minds to share and voice out their views on issues that matter to us.

Just a side note, UP Baguio and NCCA are calling for entries written in Ibaloi, Kankanaey, Bontoc, Ifugao, and Kalinga to the Timpalak Panitik sa mga Wikang Kordilyera. Prizes will be given away for winners in Poetry and Short Story categories. For more inquiries contact Junley Lazaga at UP Baguio College of Arts and Communication (074) 444 83 93 or e-mail him at junleylazaga@yahoo.com.ph. Forms are also available at the UP Baguio website.