81. FATHER AND SONS

A KAPAMPANGAN FAMILY. Emilio del Rosario y de Ocampo with his ‘titulado’ sons (by 1st wife Josefa Valdez). L-R. Fernando Odon (Medicine), Pablo Jesus (Dentistry), Bienvenido Conrado (Law), Dioscoro Arsenio (Dentistry). Seated : Msgr. Manuel (Secular Clergy). Ca. mid -1930s.

The only picture we have of my maternal grandfather, Ingkung Milyu, is this faded reproduction taken with his sons. The grandfather I never knew is shown seated primly with his 5 “titulado” sons, all half-brothers of my mother. My mother remembers her father as a very strict and stern figure; yet, in this picture, there is a hint of a gentle smile on his furrowed face, which, most definitely, comes from the feeling of accomplishment and pride at having raised his children well.

Ingkung Milyu comes from the very large Del Rosario clan of Angeles. He would carry on that tradition by fathering 20 children in all, from 3 different wives. But that is getting ahead of the story. Emilio del Rosario y de Ocampo was born on 2 September 1878, the 4th child in a brood of 10 of Cornelio del Rosario and Juana de Ocampo y Henson. Cornelio’s grandmother, Maria Arcadia Del Rosario (nee Henson) was the youngest child of Severino Henson and Placida Paras.

Severino was a Chinese mestizo who became a gobernadorcillo of San Fernando in 1815, while Placida’s family name suggested that she belonged to a pre-colonial ruling class. Maria Arcadia’s only brother Mariano, the 1st Filipino Lay Doctor of Laws, was married to Juana Ildefonso de Miranda, daughter of the founders of Angeles, Angel Pantaleon de Miranda and Rosalia de Jesus. Maria Arcadia would marry twice, first to Maximo Feliciano, then to Anacleto del Rosario of Culiat, a union from which sprung the overextended Del Rosarios of Angeles City, which included the katipunero, Isabelo del Rosario, his cousin.

This pedigree didn’t mean much as Ingkung Milyu led a difficult and challenging life, beginning with his first marriage to Josefa Valdez y Clemente. He settled in Sapa Libutad where he earned his income from his small farmlands. Quickly, the first set of children—9 in all—came in succession, only to end with the untimely death of Josefa. It was not long that he married again, this time to Felicisima Castro y Samia (my mother’s mother), resulting in 7 more children. Again, tragedy struck with Apu Simang’s death at the young age of 28. For the 3rd and final time, Ingkung Milyu sired 4 more children with Florentina Sanchez. Obviously, family planning was not in my grandfather’s vocabulary!

There is a story that has come down to us, about Ingkung Milyu’s brother chiding him for being so prolific—and so poor! Angered but challenged by his brother’s insensitive remark, he dared to work even harder so he could send his first set of children to the best schools. After years of sacrifice, his sons finished their studies with flying colors. Perhaps, to prove his point that nothing is insurmountable and that there is strength in numbers, he had this picture taken as a visual proof of his singlehanded achievement and his children’s triumph over adversities, a copy of which, I am certain, was sent to his brother!

And now, a few words about my uncles in the picture, standing left to right. Fernando Odon (Tatang Anding) was a Doctor of Medicine and practiced his profession in Angeles until his death. Pablo Jesus (Tatang Pabling) finished Dentistry and for years, also had a thriving private practice in the city. He was also at one point, a city councilor of Angeles and ran unsuccessfully for Vice Mayor. Bienvenido Conrado (Tatang Dadong), the youngest, graduated with a Law degree from the University of the Philippines. He married Perla Gutierrez, the eldest daughter of Justice Jose Gutierrez David and settled in Abacan, Balibago, where he held office and also owned and managed the popular Del Rosario Compound Swimming Pool. Dioscoro Arsenio (Tatang Kuring) graduated with a degree in Accountancy. Seated with Ingkung is Manuel (Tatang Maning), who rose to the rank of a monsignor and who became a parish priest of San Roque Church in Sta.Cruz for over 30 years. The only girl –and the eldest child was the noble Emilia, who, at her deathbed, married Patrocinio Feliciano.

Ingkung Milyu died 5 days after his birthday on 7 September 1947. It was to my surprise that I found his crypt at the Mount Carmel Church in New Manila, next to Tatang Anding’s, only this March. All my other uncles have departed this earthly life too, but I am almost certain that father and sons find time to huddle every day for their special bonding moments, just like in this picture!

80. BLAST FROM NEW YEAR’S PAST

COME, BLOW YOUR HORN. A pert and pretty Kapampangan girl all dolled-up for a New Year party, ready to toot her paper turutut and make merry. Dated 1926.

For the last 10 years or so, I have been greeting the coming of the New Year by just lounging in bed, flipping channels and hoping some holiday musical will sustain my interest till 12 midnight. Unfortunately, my ability to keep my eyes open till the midnight hour has been impaired by age, and now, I much rather prefer to welcome January 1 in dreamland. No amount of firecrackers will ever rouse me from my slumber! (Now for some historical trivia: New Year was not always celebrated on the 1st of January—it was Julius Caesar who moved it from March to the new month of January, which followed the celebration of Saturnalia in December.)

We, Kapampangans, always embrace the coming Bayung Banwa with wide, open arms. Customs like leaving doors ajar and opening house lights to attract good luck are still observed in many homes. Collecting 12 kinds of fruits and wearing polka-dotted clothes—practices adopted from the Chinese—bode prosperity and good fortune. Then, there’s the tradition of creating deafening noise, to scare and ward off evil spirits, so that after the din dies down, the good spirits can take over one’s domicile.

When I was a lot younger, my siblings, cousins and I were determined to make each Bayung Banwa noisier and more riotous than the last. We start by fabricating a kanyun kwayan (bamboo cannons), pre-selected and dried months earlier, conveniently sawed off from our bamboo grove at the back of our house. The nodes are opened and a hole is punched into one end of the 5 to 6 foot long bamboo. To make the bamboo cannon boom , one has to apply kalburo (calcium carbide) into the hole, blow in some air, and ten light the hole with kerosene using a stick. The resultant explosions were enough to make our neighbor’s carabaos sleepless the whole night!

When spare money came along, we would buy watusi from the corner sari-sari store, named after a dance craze from the 1950s. Activated by friction using our sandals, watusis spark and sizzle in any direction, thus giving adults a cause for (fire) alarm. Just as exciting were the trianggulos—triangular firecrackers wrapped in brown paper with a short wick. My Ingkung Dandu used to light these from the 2nd floor of our house and drop them harmelessly below. We prefer aiming these on our flock of ducklings, sure to cause a quacking rampage and an unfortunate victim or two. Bigger firecrackers like bawang and whistle bombs were not permitted in the house; they were just too dangerous and expensive for our means.

We were allowed though, to play with lusis (from Spanish luces, or lights)—wire sparklers which we favored over asthma-inducing Roman candles. I rememeber buying a boxful with the classic blue and red packaging illustrated with a woman holding a sparkler in a pose reminiscent of the Statue of Liberty (or that lady in the Columbia Pictures trademark). As an added dramatic flourish, we would often throw our lusis in the air as the sparks died down, simulating a falling star. One such New Year memory almost became a nightmare when my younger brother threw his lusis stick in the direction of a neighbor’s house. The lusis landed directly on the dry, thatched nipa roof, causing our hysterical neighbors to scream for help—and water!

More harmless though were the turutut (recycled from rolled celluloid film strips), tansan tambourines and wooden clappers, made in the shape of palo de tsina guns. Empty tin cans strung with wires to our bikes were also a way to raise ruckus in the neighborhood without spending a single centavo. Nowadays, noisemakers and firecrackers have become more sophisticated, assuming imaginative names like Judas’ belt, super lolo and whistling cow. There was one year, I think, when a special firecracker was named after a popular dance move—Macarena—although I don’t think this will ever replace the watusi in popularity.

Now that we’re older, we’re not necessarily wiser. With end of 2003, I wish to invite everyone to look back, even as we look forward to the New Year. Remember, those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Just think of those firecracker victims whose bloodied fingers are shown on TV every year!

MASAPLALANG BAYUNG BANWA KEKO NGAN!
( 27 Dec. 2003)

79. PASKU NA NAMAN!

SEASON’S GREETINGS. Christmas cards originated in England in the mid 1800s. The tradition was brought to the United States and the practice was introduced to the Philippines. Here, a custom-made photo postcard (pre-dating commercial cards)shows a young Guagua beauty framed by a horseshoe (a good luck symbol) with a traditional “Merry Christmas” greeting. Circa 1920s.

Whether you are young or old, Christmas is always a magical time and a lot of my pleasant, deep-seated family and hometown memories are pegged on the Yule month of December. For us elementary students growing up in the ‘60s, the month ushered in a long vacation that started on the 15th of December all the way to the 1st week of January’s Feast of Atlung Ari. But before we got to enjoy our hard-earned break, we had to complete certain school activities and duties associated with the holidays. That included the expected parol project for our Industrial Arts class. For a week or so, we whittled bamboo sticks to make the framework for our 5-pointed star lantern. With a bit of gogo paste, tinsel and papel de japon, my classmates showed off their skills with elaborate creations: multi-pointed stars, figurals, Japanese-style, triple-tailed lantern varieties. The more advanced students even had mobile lanterns that were wind-activated! For those hopeless with pliers and knives like myself, the frameless cartolina box lantern was the easy solution.

Our classroom also had to be decorated with Christmas ornaments, budget permitting. Red folding paper bells (usually bought from Atching Tali’s stall outside the school), were hung on door beams. Poinsettias were hand-drawn on the borders of the blackboard with pink and green chalk. A pop-out paper belen of the National Book Store variety, was the centerpiece of our room. Of course, our bulletin board displayed our hand-made Christmas card collection, products of our art education class, fashioned from Oslo paper, colored paper (6 for 5 centavos), palara glitter (from cigarette wrappers) and library paste. A mushy dedication copied from some old commercial Christmas card was handwritten with a ball point.

And the Christmas school parties!
This was the best time yet, as we got to wear and show off our party clothes instead of uniforms. Our parties were the usual “bring-your-own-baon” types but I do remember one occasion where we contributed one peso each for a smalltime caterer who prepared for us spaghetti with Mafran ketchup sauce and thin slices of Philips sausages. Our “Kris Kringle” culminated in a major “exchange gift” ceremony, highlighted with the revelation of your “manito” (gift sponsor-partner) . My favorite gifts included Curly Tops chocolate (already boxed for 75 centavos), hand towel and soap or toothbrush set, bought from Ong Sin Siu, our local neighborhood Chinese store which carried everything from groceries to perfumes.

Back home, our Christmas décors were more spectacular. From soap-decorated twig Christmas trees and coconut fiber trees, we finally got a silver tinsel tree (courtesy of our American friends, the Dandridges) from Clark, complete with an angel topper! We copied all the available American traditions, hanging red net Christmas stockings (packed with Brach’s candies, mini-chocolate bars and plastic toys) and putting our gifts under the tree. I still remember my favorite gifts: a harmonica, a tube of Tinkertoys and a coloring book featuring all the presidents of America, ending with Kennedy, which I still have. I also recall attending one dawn mass at our Mabalacat church where I was transfixed at the sight of the newly spruced up and brightly-lit Nativity altar. Mary, Joseph, Jesus and even the shepherds and animals seemed so alive and animated while a shrill soprano sang endless “Jesu!Jesu! Jesu!” to the accompaniment of violins. Last time I checked our belen, the shepherds and their flock of animals have all been removed from the altar, with the starlit background inexplicably changed into a bright daytime scene.

By Christmas morning, while there were no more gifts to open, we looked forward to receiving Ingkung’s aguinaldo envelopes containing crisp P5 bills. Sadly, in 1968, this tradition came to a stop with his death in December, our bleakest Christmas ever. Thereafter, a whole day of feasting and receiving guests followed, with platefuls of kalame ubi, bibingka, panara and ensaymadang Malolos eaten and shared. But, as always, time runs fast when one is having fun; before we knew it, it was back to the normal grind for us—plodding through school, work, summer, Holy Week, the typhoon season, All Saints’ Day-- until the coming of the next merry Christmas!

MASAYANG PASKU AT MASAPLALANG BAYUNG BANWA KEKO NGAN!
(20 December 2003)

78. LOST HOME ARTS

TOO MANY COOKS. A Home Economics class in Guagua emphasizes the importance of culinary arts in maintaining the perfect Kapampangan household. Under the watchful eye of their teacher, young girls learn the rudiments of cooking using coal-powered ornos or ovens. Circa mid-1920s.

In my elementary days, one of our first-week assignments was to bring pakiling (or isis) leaves to class. Pakiling leaves, when dry, have the texture of sandpaper, and it was our task to clean and smoothen the surfaces of our wooden desks using these leaves and sudsy water, making “isis” until the wood was rid of pencil scrawls. Handling these bristly leaves was definitely tough on our delicate hands and I simply detested this back-to-school ritual. Thank heavens, I didn’t have to scrounge around for these rare pakiling leaves—an old tree grew at the back of our house which provided me with these cleaning staples—the same reliable pakiling leaves that mothers of yore had used in cleaning wooden floors, banggeras and pasamanos.

Back in our Spanish colonial days, running a household efficiently was a challenge, what with the bahay na bato’s numerous rooms to clean, gardens to maintain, and loads of laundry to be done. The home arts of the era also included needlework, confectionary and music. Cooking entailed various kitchen tasks including daily marketing. Hence, the moneyed doña of the house often hired individual lavanderas, cocheros and cocineras to assist her in running the affairs of the house with the least of efforts. Household helps were paid anywhere from 3 to 5 pesos a month, while specialized Chinese cooks commanded more, getting as much as P20 monthly. Stay-in muchachos provided all-around help—from housecleaning and gardening to whisking flies off the dining table during mealtimes.

Normally, the first task of the day was daily marketing which was personally handled by the lady of the house who kept a tight pamalengke budget of 50 centavos to 2 pesos (early 1900s rate), ably assisted by a muchacha. Back in the kitchen, the doña orchestrated the sorting, cleaning, chopping, dicing and cooking of ingredients for the noonday meal. The kawas, tacho and other cooking implements were kept in tip-top shape with found cleaning materials like sand and ash. Fragile crystal was handwashed with bath soap and the first rice washing. A 1930s cookbook even had a special section on domestic arts—Kabaluan King Pamibale-bale (Household Knowledge). It featured tips on cleaning household items like silverware, with the ingenious use of chalk: “Kailangan ingatan mayap ding kasangkapang pilak. Iti ing gamitan yu: 4 a tasang tisa, pabukalan king ½ litrong danum. Parimlan at dinan 1 onzang ammonia. Basan ing kapirasung basan at iti ing ikuskus kaibat kuskusan yung mamuza o bulak” (One needs to care for silver well. These are what you will use: 4 cups chalk, boiled in 1/2 liter water. Cool and add 1 oz. ammonia. Wet a piece of rag to wipe the silver clean, then wipe off with cotton).

Housecleaning, on the other hand, was done at all hours of the day. To bring out the shine of wooden floors, a mix of melted candle wax, kerosene and achuete (for coloring) was boiled to serve as floor wax. After application, the floors were buffed with old burlap (langgotse) bags often with kids joining in the cleaning. Children were made to sit on the rags band dragged around the room! The bamboo slatted floors of humbler nipa homes were shined with banana leaves. Other cleaning aids included the ubiquitous plumero (feather duster), palis tingting and bunut made from coconuts.

Pieces of furniture were also polished with coconut oil while mirrors were cleaned with starch paste which was then wiped off with wet rags after application. Katol was advertised as early as 1928, so dealing with mosquitos was no problem. Bedbugs or suldot were another thing. To kill them, boiling water from a kettle was poured into the crevices of beds and sulihiya covered-seats. Iron grills were sure to be rust-free when cleaned with coconut oil and kerosene mixture.

Laundry was done in a wooden batya, using the speckled blue and white sabun intsik to rid clothes of dirt and grime. Other stain removing aids before the advent of modern day deodorants included kamias, kalamunding and sunlight. Tina, a blueing agent, brought out the whiteness of clothes, while gogo, local commercial starch, was used to stiffen butterfly sleeves and barongs. After drying, clothes were ironed on a dulang or pakabayo, using a plantsa korona, an open circular flat iron (sometimes made of brass) loaded with live embers. Care must be taken in applying the iron as sparks from the live coals can sometimes escape and burn holes on fabrics! To ensure that the plantsa glided smoothly, it was made to run on banana leaves every now and then.

The American regime offered a glimpse of hope for homemakers, as modern concepts in the areas of sanitation, scientific inventions and culinary arts were advanced and applied. It was only a matter of years before the Kapampangan household—as was true for every home in the Philippines--was magically transformed into a modern showcase of efficiency and design.
( 13 December 2003)

77. IT'S SHOWTIME!

THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT. A traveling band of performance artists such as this group, made the rounds of Pampanga towns, especially during town fiestas, to mount kumidyas and sarwelas for the entertainment-hungry public. Sta. Rita, Pampanga. Dated 24 June 1915.

Show me a Kapampangan who does not like to perform before a crowd. At the drop of a hat, a Kapampangan will sing, dance, act and perform feats of daring, without so much encouragement. A natural born performer, a Kapampangan loves basking in the spotlight, making it a point to maximize his enjoyment of his 15 minutes of fame when called onstage. That has been true for the last hundred years or so, when colonial entertainment, which consisted largely of plays with roles essayed by actors, musicians, dancers and poets, became a national past-time.

The idea of leisure in old Pampanga was to socialize and gather together to fill up free hours. And so, to the poblacion or town center the whole family congregated. Here, they were treated to spectacular didactic plays culled from the epics of Medieval Europe or inspired by the life of the town’s patron saint. This was the kumidya—a play in verse that dazzled the local audience with choreographed battle scenes, stylized acting and fabulous costumes. Plays that carried royal themes were also called moro-moro, and soon, scores were being written in Kapampangan, led by Padre Anselmo Jorge de Fajardo (1785-1845). This Bacolor-born religious, a product of the University of Santo Tomas, wrote the famous kumidya Gonzalo de Cordova, based on the real-life story of the Spanish royalty and his affair with the Moorish princess, Zulema.

Moro-moro plays were often carried out after the Mass, thus guaranteeing a captive audience. Stories often told of controversial courtships between a Catholic princess and a princely moor, with the latter converting to Catholicism to win the princess’ hand. Characters like moros, cristianos and reinas wore expensive colorful costumes complete with jewelry, thus providing the crowd with a fantastic visual treat. Favorite parts of the moro-moro included scenes involving magia—or special effects: moving animals made of bamboo and abaca, manipulated from underneath the stage. Music was provided by a brass band which played marchas, pasodobles and Himno de Riego for war scenes.

Just as mesmerizing were the musical zarzuelas derived from the Spanish theater. Unlike the kumidya, the zarzuela dealt with reality-based themes such as family issues and romantic conflicts. Mariano Proceso Pabalan holds the distinction of writing and mounting the first vernacular zarzuela in 1900, with the presentation of Ing Managpe in Bacolor. Pampanga’s leading zarzuelista of course was Juan Crisostomo Soto, who wrote the frequently staged “Alang Dios”, last performed at Clark Air Base in 1998.

Pampanga was among the first provinces to have theatrical companies with resident actors, playwrights and directors. Artists received anywhere from P4-P15 per show while the author got P100. Travelling professional groups like the Bacolor-based Compania Sabina (named after Ceferino Joven’s spinster-sister) toured Pampanga, Tarlac and Manila performing the works of zarzuelistas like Pabalan, Gutierrez-David and Soto.

Other popular entertainment events include tertulias, intimate socials often held in large mansions, with hours of music, poetry and free-wheeling conversation. Bodas, on the other hand, were held during weddings, marked with dancing, orations and poetry recital. Schools on the other hand offered more professional theatrical performances called veladas—music and literary programs with rich production design.

The Kapampangan’s love for the performance arts shows no sign of waning. Turn on the TV, tune in to Channel 7’s Starstruck and you’ll find a Kapampangan star finalist there. Then change the dial to the other channels, and chances are, you’ll find another Kapampangan singer-contestant belting his heart out in those popular star searches. Open a playbill and you will encounter the names of Lea Salonga, Andy Alviz, Yolanda Tolentino—all Kapampangans—lighting up the marquees of Broadway and the world’s best entertainment circuits with their formidable talents, providing relief and momentary diversion to a country in turmoil. For these gifted Kapampangan performers--despite coup talks, peso devaluation, increased criminality and economic crisis--the show must go on.
( 6 December 2003)

76. AGAPITO CONCHU: Kapampangan Martyr of Cavite

A KAPAMPANGAN AMONG 13 MARTYRS. Agapito Conchu of Guagua, made Cavite his home after his Manila education, settling down there and earning a livelihood as a musician and lithographer. Implicated in a revolutionary plot againt Spain, he was executed as one of the Trece Martires de Cavite on 12 September 1896. Picture from the book “Mga Anak ng Tangway sa Rebolusyong Pilipino by Emmanuel Franco Calairo”, from where most of the above information on Conchu were taken.

For my National Heroes’ day article, I decided to have for a subject, a little-known Kapampangan hero whose noble deeds—and even his name--have been blurred by time and forgotten in most history books. My rediscovery of him began in one of my visits to my favorite antique dealer who resides along a narrow street that cuts across the busy Zobel Roxas in Makati. Conchu Street, that’s how it is called, and if you don’t pay attention to the street signs, it’s easy to miss. When I asked for directions, people would scratch their heads and ask in return, “Conchu who?”. Just like them, I never knew who this Mr. Conchu was, until I later found out through the internet that he was, in fact, one of the 13 Martyrs of Cavite, and more significantly, a Kapampangan. Agapito Conchu, like the street named after him, is largely unknown to many Kapampangans but his role in the revolutionary history of Cavite and needs to be told and recognized.

Agapito Conchu was born in Guagua, Pampanga on 18 August 1860 to parents Saturnino Conchu and Nemencia Hocson. He obviously had Chinese mestizo roots judging from his parents’ surnames and his extant picture that shows him with distinct Sino features. His paternal aunt, Leonicia Conchu brought him to Manila, together with his two brothers to pursue their studies. Agapito attended Ateneo de Manila where he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree.

It was also in this Jesuit-run school that Agapito began his love affair with music, an interest that earned him an assignment at the Binondo Church where he moonlighted as a church organist. Occasionally, he would also conduct the local orchestra which provided music during fiestas and other events. His brothers, Deogracias and Candido opted for more practical courses, becoming a seaman and a tailor, respectively.

Looking for a more stable job, Agapito worked in the printing press of Salvador Chofre. Here, he learned another trade: lithography printing. Having mastered this art, he set up his own printing shop at Calle Real in Cavite in 1890. His studio, established next to the pharmacy of Victoriano Luciano, was called Foto-Litografia Moderna de A. Conchu. Here, he printed colorful labels for medicines, cigars, perfumery and pharmaceutical products.

It was also at this time that Agapito settled down with Isabel Basa with whom he had 9 children. To supplement his income, he returned to his first love, music. He taught piano to children of government officials and other prominent families. When Agapito Escacio, the music teacher of the local elementary school, passed away, Agapito Conchu took his place.

Agapito lent his talent to the social events of the town, organizing orchestras for both young and old. He launched La Compaña del Trueno, a band which included Francisco Osorio (drums), Victoriano Luciano (bass, violin), Dr. Hugo Perez (fife, triangle), Basilio Borromeo (violin, piano, cantor). Agapito himself, aside from the organ and the piano, played the violin. Julian Felipe became its famed Conductor. On certain occasions, Agapito also sang at the Church of Porta Vaga, and as if his services to the church were not enough, assisted in painting the reredos of the Church of San Pedro. His main source of income however, was his burgeoning printing business. In 1892, during a regional exposition, Agapito’s lithographic prints won for him a Silver Medal and a Certificate of Honor. The winning works included paintings and artworks.

In the Revolution of 1896, Cavite and its towns actively participated in the revolt against Spain. A plot was hatched by the principalias in the province but was twarthed when Victoriana Sayat of Imus told Dña. Victorina de Crespo, the wife of military governor, of the suspicious moves of Severino Lapidario (jail warden), Alfonso de Ocampo (asst. warden) and Luis Aguado (connected with the arsenal).

On 3 September 1896, Agapito was arrested on the basis of the testimony of de Ocampo, who, under torture named him as one of the cabecillas of the revolutionary association of Cavite. He, together with 12 others (Victoriano Luciano, Maximo Inocencio, Francisco Osorio, Antonio San Agustin, Hugo Perez, Jose Lallana, Eugenio Cabezas, Maximo Gregorio, Feliciano Cabuco along with Aguado, de Ocampo and Lapidario) were arrested and executed at the Plaza de Armas at the Cavite arsenal on 12 September 1896. Thus one brave Kapampangan—Agapito Conchu of Guagua-- joined the pantheon of noble heroes collectively known today as the Trece Martires de Cavite.
(29 November 2003)

75. PAMPANGA'S RICE: Ing Kakanan Mi King Aldo-Aldo

POUNDING RICE IS NEVER FUN. Husking rice entails the pounding (“bayo”) of rice using a wooden lusong (mortar) and pestle.Rice is then winnowed on a “bitse”, where the white rice grains are separated from the husk. In this staged photo, music accompanies the rhythmic pounding of rice. The subjects are identified L-to-R: Carmen Nava, Filemon Nava, Luding (?), Jose Ganzon, Jose Alejandrino, Teodoro Viray. Dated 3 March 1925.

In our grade school geography class, our books often clustered provinces into regions and assigned them fancy monickers. Hence, Mindanao was labelled as “The Land of Opportunity”, Palawan as “The Last Frontier” and the Central Plain provinces of Luzon, to which Pampanga is a part of, had the imaginative title of “The Rice Granary of the Philippines”.

Indeed, long before Pampanga became the country’s 2nd largest producer of sugar, it had rice for its main crop. Rice agriculture after all, started in Southeast Asia, where monsoon rains are conducive to its growth , and today, rice remains the staple food of half of the world’s population. Governor de Sande, in his 1576 report, writes: “The province which in all this island of Luzon produces the most grain is that called Pampanga…Manila and all the region is provided with food—namely rice, which is the bread here by this province; so that if the rice harvest should fail there, there would be no place where it could be obtained”.

When the Spaniards surveyed Pampanga towns, they found rice growing predominantly in riverine towns of the south, where the ground was lower, thus allowing the Rio de Pampanga to supply the soil with much-needed water needed to grow and nourish the crop. In fact, only in southern Pampanga was it possible to grow two crops of rice a year, unlike northern towns which had drier, sandier soil. The Frenchman Le Gentil writing in 1766, marveled at the fertility of Pampanga and its ability to produce more rice crops than other provinces. Pampanga’s rice belt included Apalit, Minalin, Santa Ana, San Simon, Candaba, Santa Rita, Floridablanca, San Fernando and Lubao.

With the realization that Pampanga could be important to the Spanish administrative center in Manila with its abundant rice harvest, Spaniards lost no time in demanding rice sustenance from the province. Manila’s dependence on Pampanga’s rice supply often had terrible consequences. In 1583, when Kapampangans were forced to go north and work in Ilocos gold mines, Pampanga’s rice fields were neglected, resulting in a great famine for the country. This turned out to be the last straw for 2 native elites, Don Juan Manila and Don Nicolas Managuete, who led a failed uprising and invasion of Manila. In 1589, an issue was made of the agricultural slaves kept by Kapampangan chiefs. The chiefs came to plead in Manila, negotiating successfully for the continued use of Negrito slaves by using the importance of rice to leverage the merits of their case.

The peak months for planting rice are May, June, July and November, when monsoon rains prevail. The initial wet-field process begins with preparing the soil by plowing, using the trusty damulag. The seeds are sown in the wind or are dropped into holes punched by digging sticks. It takes from 90 to 120 days for the grass to mature, depending on varieties. Working together in the fields gave rice to the spirit of comradeship—the bayanihan. When the rice plants are a foot high, they are transplanted accompanied by rhythmic singing. However, the long wait between the planting and harvesting season often built up a debt relationship between tenants and landlords.

For many years, Pampanga, with its expanding population, found it hard to satisfy the country’s demand while meeting its local needs. Finally, in 1910, Pampanga produced a surplus of rice. In 1917, Pampanga ranked 4th in national rice production with an output of 1.422 million cavans. In 1919, a new rice crisis developed. Sugar found favor when new demands in the world market caused a shift from rice to sugar production.

Though cultivated not as extensively as before, the wonder grain continues to sustain us in our daily life, feeding our hunger while contributing to the economy. Of course, rice has also enriched our culinary heritage. Our language is filled with word references for rice in its various states. Unhusked rice is called “pale”. When husked, it is called “abias”. And when cooked, it becomes “nasi”. Ground in a stone gilingan, glutinous rice becomes "galapong", the main ingredient for our mouth-watering bibingkas, suman, sapin-sapin and palito. For Kapampangans, rice is, and will always be the staff of their life.
( 22 November 2003)