“MANANANGGAL, HOW DO YOU DO?”, part 2

by Graham Payne

2nd of two parts

The Toyota van drove us through the outskirts of Iloilo and south-west along the coastal road. We passed through towns with names like Oton, Guimbal, Miagao and San Joaquin. Here in the provinces of the Western Visayas the Philippines takes on a different view. Open roads, schools with open basketball courts and nets on the baskets, bright roadside stores with freshly baked pan de sal and ensaymadas, and the Spanish-style churches all reminded me of coastal California by-the-sea.

The lazy, white-washed days of these picturesque communities with views of the sparkling blue waters of Panay Gulf suggested a Philippines that Manila-bound tourists don’t have access to. That was ok with me. I prefer to avoid the touristy havens of Boracay, Puerto Galarta and Shangri-la Hotels. I’d rather go where the Filipinos go and get a real flavor of the Philippines.

After San Joaquin the road turned north-west as we climbed into the mountains that separate Antique from the rest of Panay. The rainy season, just behind us, left the roads devastated with potholes and slowed us down considerably.

Antique is a narrow, right parenthesis-shaped province lying on the west coast of Panay Island. It is not well known and less traveled, typically poor yet uncommonly beautiful even by Philippine standards. Rice, sugar cane and fish are its main products. The warm waters of Cuyo East Passage off the coast of Antique are known as especially rich fishing grounds.

My friend, Amanda, was a nurse I had met in Manila. We became texting friends without a romantic relationship which was ok with me. I mean, Amanda was attractive but not really my type. Nor did she seem interested in anything but a normal friendship. I was comfortable with this and we became friends. We occasionally met for dinner and I was happy to have developed a local friend. Moreover, she wasn’t determined to go to the US, though she easily could have given the demand for Filipina nurses there. Amanda was originally from Sibalom, Antique. When she unexpectedly invited me to visit this unique province I decided to take her up on it. She would be there on a short vacation visiting her relatives.

When Amanda rescued me at the airport, somehow, she looked different, perhaps more provincial than that Metro Manila look. No makeup, just bluejeans, sandals and a simple button-down pale blue blouse. She explained they were late because the road in the mountains was in such bad condition from heavier than usual monsoon rains.

The afternoon sun dominated the western sky and somehow seemed so much larger than the California sun. The 100-mile drive from Iloilo to San Jose de Buenavista would take more than 3 hours to navigate as we bumped along the two-laned provincial road.

We finally drove past a sign that welcomed us to Antique Province as we continued over the mountains. We stopped in some small nameless community that displayed an incredibly panoramic view of the mountains giving way to the Sulu Sea as the afternoon sun continued its journey west. We stopped briefly for some baked goods and a Pepsi. I liked this place. People didn’t really pay much attention to me, though I had to believe not too many Americans passed this way. But that’s what I liked. I just wanted to blend in.

 

The road began to level out as we approached Hamtic, the old capital of Antique, and the land of the large ants - its namesake. History tells us Hamtic was where the migrating datus of Borneo settled sometime during the 13th century.

It was now late afternoon and we drove towards Sibalom, just a few miles inland from San Jose, and a small barangay just outside. We stopped on an unpaved road in front of a small nipa house where Amanda’s grandmother - lola - lived. We simply called her Lola. Lola had raised Amanda after her mother struck out for Manila to find work when Amanda was still very young.

In those days Lola and Amanda liked to hike into the mountains behind Sibalom, across clear, cool mountain streams, through rice fields and mango groves to another small nipa house perched above several levels of rice fields which Lola’s son tended. Here they would cook dinner and spend the night, the cool evening breeze buffeting their small quarters.

Outside there was small pond in which they raised different types of fish. Banana trees surrounded them.

Amanda walked every day down from the mountain to her school in the barangay(village). And everyday she walked back up the mountain. There were five streams to cross.

* * *

We spent the night in Lola’s small nipa house by the dirt road in the barangay. Lola provided a thin mattress which I spread out in one of the rooms. Before I slept I stepped outside and looked up at the Antique sky - a sky filled with sparkling diamonds - I had never seen so many stars. They lit up the evening!

These were not tiny pinpoints of light. They blanketed the deep purple sky like a maze of white Christmas bulbs. It was an astonishing sight.

The next morning we got up and decided to drive into Sibalom. I was excited! This is what I liked to do; explore this surprising and revealing country.

The mountains that separate Antique from the rest of Panay Island also shelter the province from typhoons that blow in from the south-east. The climate here tends to be drier than most of the rest of the Philippines.

Its hard to convey just how beautiful this province is. We stood on a straight road taking us from the barangay to Sibalom proper, scanning the rice fields to the east and the mountains standing behind, then looking west across more rice fields unfolding into the Sulu Sea. Somehow, our motorized tricycle unexpectedly broke down. Did the Mananangal have a hand in the tricycle’s demise? Who knows and who cares! Here we were, Lola, Amanda, the young brother, an old auntie and nanay - mother - all riding on the tricycle with the 2-stroke engine. I picked up a stone and threw it high into the air above the earthen brown and bright green fields.

I glanced at the engine noticing something was wrong with the chain that drove the wheels. Well, somehow the driver fixed it. I don’t know how he did it because it looked like a terminal problem to me. But the resourcefulness of Filipinos is a redeeming quality and something I admire greatly about them.

We continued on into Sibalom. Sibalom is an interesting town with broad, dusty streets. There are outdoor markets, small department stores and a crisp corner bakery. I asked the driver to stop at the bakery as I was famished. I purchased some pan de sal for a few pesos. Even in a small town in a remote province people speak English. The sales lady behind the counter had no problem helping me with the transaction. Of course, always with a friendly smile!

I stepped back outside and noticed a large truck passing by filled with young men dressed in dirty shorts, tee shirts and tank tops and wearing red and white bandanas. They were staring at me and I was careful to avoid eye contact. These men were certainly workers on their way to the fields. Their faces were deeply tanned and expressionless. No “hey Joes” here and that was ok with me.

From Sibalom we drove into San Jose de Buenavista. San Jose is the provincial capital of Antique. Its a bustling city complete with high schools and colleges, a large city hall, department stores, street markets and a Philippine Airlines travel agency. We alighted from the tricycle and walked through the streets.

I noticed a foreigner standing on a corner smoking a cigarette. Curiously, like the Filipino field workers his face revealed no expression except for a burned-out sort of look. After standing motionless for several minutes he abruptly crossed the street and disappeared into a small street side shop. I thought it unusual to see a foreigner here but Amanda told me there were indeed some who lived or visited here including Germans, Brits and Australians. Later that day I would see this guy again, standing on a dusty street corner smoking a cigarette, with no expression on his red face.

 

Amanda, her brother and I stepped into one of the department stores. No air conditioning here. I couldn’t believe how hot it was and I began to sweat profusely. My hair, having difficulty getting used to this humid climate, curled embarrassingly. We walked up to the second floor to a small cafeteria. I ordered a mango shake and mineral - bottled - water. It seemed I was the only person in the building sweating.

I finally asked Amanda about Mananangal. Also known as Aswang, Mananangal apparently is human by day, living in their barangay homes just like other normal people, but turning into vampire-like creatures by night. With long hair and wings, as best as Amanda could describe them they were half human and half some-other-kind-of thing, and they had a reputation for eating people. When I was there the word was the Aswang were wary and even afraid of me, the only American in San Jose.

Though they are commonly associated with Antique, Antiquenos say Mananangal are more active in Capiz Province in the mountainous region near the Antique border.

Naturally, I had some difficulty relating to this but kept these thoughts to myself. The fear of Mananangal is taken seriously here, even by nurse Amanda, and in fact her comments carried a tone of caution. I was careful not to press her though common sense told me this was ridiculous. When in Manila, Antiquenos may not admit they’re from Antique. Perhaps from Iloilo or Guimaras instead. Amanda initially told me she was from Guimaras, but having traveled there myself once I realized she didn’t seem to be familiar with Guimaras. She finally admitted she was from Antique. I never knew why until she explained about Mananangal.

Later in the day Amanda startled me, pointing out two older ladies standing near the downtown outdoor market. She whispered they were Aswang.

“So, how do you know those ladies are Aswang?” I asked.

“Lola says they are.” she answered.

To my surprise she walked me over to them and I greeted them with handshakes. They seemed like a couple of friendly old ladies.

However, Lola cautioned I may have trouble sleeping that night, a symptom of contact with Mananangal. Well if that’s the case why did she insist I greet them, I thought. For crying out loud!

Actually, the only problem I had that night were the terrible explosions I heard intermixed with the rooster calls at dawn. These turned out to be coconuts intermittently falling onto the tin roof that shook the entire house. All seemed to sleep through this except me.

* * *

The next morning we lounged around outside and talked about a German missionary, an older lady, who spent several years in this barangay outside of Sibalom. She had done much to help these people and continued to write letters long after she returned to Germany.

One of the younger women there was preparing to go to Cyprus to work as a DH - domestic helper. She was excited about the prospect of making money but I gave her credit for her courage to go to such a faraway land. Cyprus is also known as a place that turns Filipina OFWs into prostitutes but I hoped this wouldn’t happen to her, nor did I say anything. Months later I received the good news that she was ok and her employers were kindly - mabait. She sent the money she earned back to her family in Sibalom, a small part of the $7-billion OFWs remit each year to the Philippines - an amount large enough to rank as the Philippines second largest export behind semiconductors and electronics.

As an American in a sleepy remote barrio of course I attracted lots of attention. I sat on a small wooden bench on the road across from the concrete house enjoying the morning sun. People young and old walked by and either smiled or greeted me. The kids were especially happy to see me. Filipinos, particularly in the provinces, are always impressed and honored when a foreigner visits and they particularly seem to take to Americans. I always went out of my way to greet seniors, either shaking their hands or blessing them, an important show of respect. They were always appreciative of this. The men my age seemed more reserved though they would return my smile. I’ve picked up the Filipino habit of raising my eyebrows as a way to say hi. Actually, I like this gesture and find myself doing it almost without thinking.

My biggest problem, of course, was having to face the bathroom. At some point I needed to do this, not necessarily to take a shower or wash my face, but the other stuff. I was courteously shown the bathroom, a dark corner of the house with a thin curtain guarding a small concrete-block room. A simple toilet bowl sat on the concrete floor that led somewhere below the house. A small candle provided little light. Honestly, I wasn’t going to sit on that. Wow, those office decisions back in California paled in comparison to this challenge. Enough said. When you travel to paradise one never considers the bathrooms.

That evening we drove back into San Jose and stopped at a restaurant named Regine’s. It was really one of the nicest restaurants in town. The menu included an array of Filipino and American food. I ordered a cheeseburger with french fries and a green mango shake. The waiter, the cook, didn’t flinch. When it came it was delicious. However, instead of catsup, they served a red banana sauce. That’s ok - it still hit the spot.

* * *

The highlight of the few days I spent in Antique was the trip we took to La-waan some 50 or 60 miles up the coast from San Jose. I expressly requested we ride on one of those tricylces with the 2-stroke engines. The only highway in Antique traced the coast of the Sulu Sea as we headed north during the late morning. We passed through towns such as Belison, Patnongan and Bugasong.

Bugasong. An incredibly beautiful seaside town complete with a modern-looking town hall, banyan and acacias populating the village square, white-washed stucco homes and offices. Because the mountains do a good job of blocking the monsoon weather, rainfall is less a factor here. Therefore, you don’t get that moldy concrete and rusty steel look that is so common in the rest of the Philippines.

As we headed north again there were expansive sugar cane fields leading up to the mountains and very reminiscent of Maui’s Kaanapali coast. Upon reaching La-waan we stopped at a nipa house on the west side of the highway across from the sugar cane fields and overlooking the passive Sulu Sea.

We were greeted by Auntie, a middle-aged woman with a kind way about her. The first thing I wanted to do though was go to the sea. We made our way down to the beach and out to the water. My guess is the water temperature there is about 80°. I waded into the water though wary of that ubiquitous nemesis, jelly fish. Portuguese Man-O-War. Deadly.

I found some flat, smooth and round stones and flung them over the glassy waters. The sand on the beach was hot. I didn’t see any other people along the beach. I waded back into the sandy waters. Small waves, perhaps a few inches high, gently washed against my legs.

Looking out across the sea towards the western horizon, I could see a tall cloud gathering in the distance, standing on the water by itself, narrow at the waist and rising into a lavender sky with the unmistakable top-heavy, anvil-shaped thunderhead. This is one sight that makes the tropics unique. Well, I was really getting a taste of tropical paradise here - a secluded sandy beach, the warm waters of the sea and a distant thunderstorm.

After awhile we returned to the nipa hut for an early dinner of rice and the most masarap - delicious - barbecue chicken. Filipinos use forks and soup spoons - the spoons double as dinner knives. I’m ok with that but have trouble getting used to the bare hands and greasy fingers. There was a special ambiance as the afternoon sun slanted through bamboo slats as we ate by candlelight.

After dinner we piled back into the tricycle and headed back for Sibalom under the setting sun. This was a long ride, approaching two hours on the tricycle. I thought about the Nissan Cefiro I was accustomed to riding in back in Manila. As the reddening sun set it began to cool. I must admit it’s the first time I was ever feeling chilled in the Philippines, on the road between Belison and Sibalom in Antique Province.

* * *

The next morning Amanda made the arrangements to drive me back to Iloilo. The drive, again, was an ordeal. The driver charged me 2000-pesos - about $40 - to endure the numerous potholes and generally poor condition of the road. I glanced at the basketball courts in Guimbal and thought, “I could live here…”

We finally reached the Iloilo airport and waved our goodbyes as I entered the modest air terminal. There was a small line of people as I looked up at the Philippine Airlines schedule of departures, maintained by hand. This older wood and plaster-board building, painted in hospital green and white, really caught my imagination of what airport terminals of yesteryear must have looked like.

The PAL employee behind the counter quickly processed my ticket and, with a smile, handed me a boarding pass and directed me to the check-in gate.

I settled into one of the brightly painted plastic chairs bolted to a horizontal extruded steel bar standing just off the linoleum floor. Large picture windows gave me a view of the runways which baked in the late-morning sun.

While I waited several planes landed and made their way to adjacent boarding gates. After disgorging their passengers onto the tarmac the planes were quickly prepared for departures to either Cebu or Manila.

Finally, a PAL plane landed and slowly turned its way to our gate. After its passengers disembarked we filed out onto the tarmac as we made our way up the stairs and into the Boeing 737. As the plane lifted off I felt a slight rush of adrenalin, but then sadness that my exploration into one of the remote, forgotten and ultimately beautiful provinces of the Philippines was over.

Graham Payne is a high tech consultant who does business between California’s Silicon Valley and the Philippines.