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My Banana Republic Memoirs Part VI
Still reminiscing Botolan…
I remember that some folks were the butt of jokes of the town when I
was growing up. I heard these all the time...
“Don’t talk Memoy, I will give you a pay rise” when the church’s
caretaker, Memoy, walk-in the Catholic Priest and his congregation girlfriend.
“Class is dismissed. You, big girl, stay”,
ordered the teacher. This is insinuating that the male teacher had the hots
for the older or bigger girl.
“ Class, what is this?” asked the
teacher. “Paliyâ po, Sir” one
student replied (Sir, it’s a trout.)
“Matawayan wari?” asked the teacher. (Do you think we can try some?) The teacher
implying that the student should bring some trout to class next time so he can
have some.
By the way, talking about Mr. Memoy, I
learned to ride the bike from his bicycles. I use to rent his bikes for 10 centavos for half an hour ride. Although
in order to afford this meager rent I had to sell dinner rolls (pan de sal)
on commission or gather enough kasoy to sell. I believe we sold them by
the hundreds.
Another thing, that the older folks
constantly warn us kids was not to wander far or we may get kidnapped (mandakep-anak)
for the construction workers who are building bridges. They say that the
builders were constantly looking for virgin kids for their blood to use for
sacrifice (padayaan) so no accidents will happen at the bridge. This
generally goes on during the kasoy (cashew) seasons.
Just like most kids I know, I had my share
of corporal punishments. I remembered having taken quite a few of heavy lashes
of leather belts on my butt and legs and
sometimes rattan flog (for carabaos). I did not realize how bad the lashes
looked until I saw my big brother’s legs. We got it worst when our father uses
the flog. The “batils’ or welts were about one half an inch wide and
about a eighth of an inch raised. It stung like hell and hurts at night for
about a week. One time we both got it because I was told to go find him and to
tell him to come home right away but not being able to find him I got
sidetracked and preceded to play without telling my father. I was so embarrassed to go to
school that week as I did not have any long pants and the bruises were very
visible. (long pants were more expensive than shorts).
In Consuelo, I always walked to school with
my cousin Eno (Filomeno M.) and a friend Estong (Ernesto D.) The school was
located in the town- proper about a 3- mile walk one way. One time we decided to
hitch a ride (makikabit) unto any jitney that slows down for potholes,
so we didn’t have to pay (we did not have any money anyway). They were both
taller and heavier thus more athletic than I was. So we hitched and when we got
near our houses and the jitney slowed down, we all got off . They did not have
any trouble getting off… they just let go and let one foot touch the ground
first then the other foot and then run forward but I did not know this simple
trick so I fell flat on my face on the dirt road. That was the last time I
tried that antic. If they hitched another ride, I just walked alone.
Top
There was a medically discharged sailor
living in Tampo while I was in the grade school. I believed his last name was Achacoso.
He used to come down to our school in his white boxer shorts and t-shirt. (I wore
the same navy- issue shorts in boot camp in San Diego) and hang out at the sari-sari
store across the street. All the kids in the school were afraid of him
especially the girls.
Another U. S. Military-type was an American
by the name of “Dowing” who I believe married a girl from Botolan. I
presumed he was a Seabee for towns people were saying that he operated the
bulldozers and graders for the highway crew. He must have gotten out of the
Navy after the war and decided to stay in Botolan. He spoke fluent Botolan
Sambal according to them. I never met nor saw him though. I just know that
his daughter (mestiza) was two grades ahead of me. I would have loved to hear him talk about
the stories of the World War II Seabees.
“Maru” was our usual game of choice
at school. It is a cheap game for there is no need for special equipments. Just
needed a semi-straight line drawn by bamboo sticks in the dirt about 10 yards
apart or whatever the available cleared area size was. Sometimes we had to wet
the dirt with water with a homemade
sprinkling can and a bucket to minimize kicking up some dust. The game was
formed with two captains (Captains of a team are normally the fastest kids) who
took turns selecting their team mates. The
object of the game was try to capture all the opposing players by touching (taga)
any parts of their body (mostly the back) before they can get back behind their
own line. There was a rectangular “jail” set up just a couple of feet in front
of the line. When a player gets captured, he goes to jail. His teammates will
try to rescue him by touching his hand without being touched by the opposing
players. Players may sometimes bait opponents with slow players but then the
faster team mate may try to touch the pursuer first before he touches the person
he is pursuing thus he gets captured instead. I’m not sure now if the game
was automatically lost when a team
captain gets captured.
I still got a reminder from this game above
my left eye brow- a scar from colliding head on full speed with another
team mate. My face was covered with blood while another team mate was trying to
stop the bleeding by direct pressure with my handkerchief. Since we did not
have band-aids then or emergency clinic to get the cut sewn up, the cut never
mended right.
I was never good at driving the carabao
drawn cart . I cannot get the cart between two posts to get it through
my grandpa’s yard without tearing up one of the gates posts. As you see there
was a steep slope (1:1) from the
national highway to the fence. The gateposts were a couple of feet away from the toe of the slope. And the gate was only a foot wider either
side of the cart. So a slight miscalculation in alignment when driving through
the gate was always a major disaster. Of course the carabao will not adjust for
me. I have had several near misses so grandpa had to take the carabao leash
from me every time we got closer to the house.
I earned my first few centavos selling doughnuts from a Panaderia in Tampo. I believe my commission was five
or ten centavos per one peso worth of sales. I walked the streets selling the
stuff one hot Sunday afternoon.
Top
The Docuyanan family owned the
store/bakery. I did not know the family or any of the kids. Would you believe
that I met one of the kids in Norfolk, Virginia? The homeboys call him “Otoy”
but his real name is Arnulfo. He was stationed at NOB or Naval Operating Base
while I was on board my first duty station, the USS Vogelgesang, a destroyer. I used to hung out with him whenever my ship was in port. I sometimes slept in an empty
bunk in his cubicle.
When my classmate Rudy L. (they own the
only barber shop in town) convinced me to go with him to San Juan to visit his
Nanay Apang to catch some cooking beetles or “abaw”. I went because I
have not done that before and also to see the barrio of San Juan. I remember
the house that we went to was the nicest one in the barrio and we were treated
rather nicely. Nobody ever told me that the owner was in the navy and did not
lived there.
I met the owner of the house in Puerto
Rico. It was the late Chief Juan
(Johnny) Dollette. He told me that he took an unaccompanied tour for his last
duty station (twilight) before retiring. Of course I was glad to meet the Chief and to talk Botolan Sambal every
time I visit or meet him at Filipino parties. I finally met his wife in Carson,
California when I got transferred to Port Hueneme, California. The family was
good people. I learned that they were my kinfolks too.
Bert Guiang
Tampo, Botolan, Zambales
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