Mapalad, I Remember My Home

(There is a reason this post has to be this long)

My consciousness brewed and awakened as a child grew up in a provincial life of Mapalad, Iligan City in Lanao del Norte. A small village of less than a hundred families. We lived in a parcel of land I was told was owned by the Alcantara family in Lanao during the Marcos era up to the present. Not sure really wether they still owned the property until now. By good grace of the Alcantara family, my grandfather, being an employee, was granted temporary settlement on the property but the years spent there was a handful of life for everyone in our family.

That was between 1978 to 1984, no electricity - only kerosene lamps. The house of my grandparents where my parents used to live also stood near a road pebbled with limestones. Such that, as far as I can remember, you can never worry getting home late at night because the road leads you to that old wooden house of my grandparents because it is dimly lit.

The property was packed with coconut trees. From my family's house, a quarter of a kilometer, is a brook where my family would do the laundry and a portion of the brook is a carved limestone where my Papa and uncles would fetch drinking water. The water tasted differently there such that it would quenched your thirst right away from a hard day's labor.

I remember the breeze is cool as it would touch your cheek; the sight of that place was beautiful during those nights when the moon was round above the sky; and the sound was serenely peaceful and calm. You can even hear the sound of the waves slamming ashore during the evening when most things were silent.

During the night when the moon is bright in the sky, my young aunties and uncles who were then children at those times, drew huge circle with bucket of water on the limestone road and played a game called bulan-bulan. Everybody has to enter the big circle not so big enough to fit ten kids. Everybody has to keep up running just inside the circle from being tapped by the bully one. He has to run along the line in circle and attempt to catch anyone from the inside. When not in mood for play, we gather round in warmth from among each other to feast on the storytelling of then, teenagers of the pack  - uncles and cousins.

I remember a row of four two months old papaya pulp tree where despite its young age was stout with fruits of huge sizes. And it was sweet too. Next to it, were the pile of chopped fire woods as high as a standing man. My Uncle Boy or Uncle Junior amusedly and devotedly stockpiled those themselves. I remember the arm-wide ditch in front of our house had to be shoveled from time to time by some adult men because it came filling in with soil every after the rain. The rushing water from the hillside would usually flood our area carrying eroded soil. A hauled grains of sand from the shore is usually dumped to overcome the mud problem.

Farther more can be seen a house like a barnyard who lived there, kind elderly couple who were distant family relatives. Near their house, just across the street is an old 'Lomboy' tree. It's a favorite place of the clan. It's an alamo of the beach where families usually camped there from the heat of the sun.

I remember east to our house, a quarter kilometer away is a group of houses where Nong Pisto and his family lived. He worked in a local cement factory. That same year or so, he was shot dead in front of his wife and children; murdered by the NPA rebels who suspected him as a government military asset. Insurgents were common in that area during those times; roaming the country side from town next to another, looking for recruits and spreading the communist ideals.

Not far from his house stood the family center and a barangay (small municipal) hall. Further away inland to a hill, there stood the Lolo Isaac's house. Good hearted Lolo Isaac and his family is a distant family relative who owned the land by title. He earned a living by corn farming and rental of his greasing animal.

On the right side, not far away from the house was a family relative also. Lolo Edil and family live just right at the corner of the national highway and the road leading to us, inland. He owned a small store where most families around the location avail of his stocks by credit. In front of his house was a waiting shed that was a haven for the greasing goats as well - hundreds of them. Lolo Edil was a very experienced fisherman. My father usually lend a kilo of fish from him for family consumption.

Rear side of the house, few hundred meters away, is a factory called Refractories Corporation of the Philippines (RCP) where my father was an employee. He worked in masonry preparing bricks for curing. The company was said to be co-owned by the late President Marcos and its products were mainly for export to Japan. I loved going to that place; my father being fond of gardening, along with other co-workers, was granted permission to put up a garden full of vegetables. His superiors and friends would mostly love to visit their flourishing garden to praise and share the harvest. The place was usually always noisy from industrial furnace.

Many experiences I earned as a child from this place. Like, this is the place I flew a kite for the first time. This is the place a company nurse visited our house to have me circumcised - ala provincia style. This is the place I was almost killed for gulping kerosene liquid mistaken for a gallon of water. This is where I and my siblings been sickly kids. This is where my father almost lost his life for attempting to retrieve a narra timber amidst the strong sea current on that cold and swift 1984 typhoon. This is where I saw my mother struggled for being away from her family and dealing conflict with her in laws.

(More to come of this post....)

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